#will go back and add it to the other posts

[realcube]

— BEST FRIEND! SUNA

desc ;; after being blocked by a situationship, you show your best friend your nudes and ask for advise. tws & tags ;; nsfw mdni. distribution of explicit material, oral, objectification, mentions of squirting, breeding, anal & filming.

the door to suna's room creaks at you step inside.

after having spent all day bed rotting with your best friend, you decided to step out for some fresh air (and a quick smoke), and unsurprisingly, suna is still exactly as you left him — on his phone, leaning back against his headboard. he doesn't spare you a glance as you enter the room.

your phone is still perched precariously on the edge of his bed, and you approach it with caution. part of the reason you rushed outside was because during an awfully risque text conversation with a guy you've been talking to, you obliged and sent him some lewd pics. but he left you on read.

in your defence, it was a heat-of-the-moment decision, and he did request it, so it's not as though you were sending unsolicited images like some sort of perv. but the fact he was taking so long to respond did make you feel like one, though a small voice in your head tried to reassure you that surely he wasn't ignoring you, perhaps your pics have just given him something to take care of.

regardless, the larger part of you was moritified and unsure what to do, so you just dropped your phone on the bed and removed yourself from the situation — clearing your mind before you returned.

now, it was time for the moment of truth. you sat yourself awkwardly down on the corner of the bed, and hesitantly reached for your phone. no new notifications: that didn't fill you with much hope at all. after inputting your password, you navigated to the app and searched for his contact, and suspiciously it wasn't it your 'recently messaged' tab.

your heart was already thundering in your chest, but this only made it far worse. all your messages and chat history with this guy had disappeared, and when you tried to desperately type one out to him, it was immediately marked as 'failed to send'.

you frown, body going slack as you fall back onto the back and defeatedly drawl, "he blocked me.."

suna finally perked up from his oblivious post at the other side of his bed, "who blocked you?"

"the guy i was texting.."

"that sucks." suna responded bluntly. though you couldn't blame him, he clearly didn't understand the severity of the situation, so you tried to explain it to him,

"you don't get it! i actually really liked him, and we were having such a nice time talking until.." you trail off, failing to find the courage to admit the shameful truth.

"until?" suna pried.

"rinny! can i ask you something?" you inquire, swiftly sitting upright as you shift the conversation, "can i send you some photos and you can tell me what you think of them?"

if suna was being completely honest, he was only half paying attention to whatever it was you were saying, so naturally he didn't notice the sudden change in topic of discussion — or he just didn't care. your new request wasn't foreign to him though; often you'll ask him to review random pics that you plan on adding to a photo dump online. or asking him to rank what order you should add the pics to your instagram carousel. or in which of these three images are you serving the most cunt. stuff like that, thus he agreed.

"sure. send them and i'll look."

"yay." you hummed with delight, and eagerly forwarded him the pics, "let me know what you think. i thought they looked fine but now i'm having second thoughts.."

he tapped the notification at the top of his screen and was directed to the chat with you. in which, he was met with an influx of images he was not expecting.

you, his best friend, who he's known for as long as he can remember, perched on your bathroom counter and posing for a mirror photo — wearing nothing but a floral thong and no top. your back was facing the mirror so he couldn't see your chest, but the plump globe of your ass was fully exposed and unshielded by the skimpy sliver of fabric.

his blood rushed to his head, and also his dick. his whole body was tense and thus his eyes were glued to the lewd picture of you, not only because he was mesmerised but also since he was so rigid he couldn't bring himself to move his thumb.

the furious pounding of his heartbeat rattled in his eardrums. he's never seen you so bare before. of course you've worn revealing clothes around him before — like when you go to the beach together, or sometimes when you're just hanging out in a warm environment — but never in such a purposeful or pornographic manner.

don't get him wrong, you've always been alluring to him but he just assumed that was just a part of your nature and he was being a sly pervert for secretly viewing you in an explicit way. like when you'd pull your hoodie off and your shirt would ride up and he'd get a peek of your underboob. or when you'd sit with your legs up on the couch while wearing shorts and he could see the outline of your sweet folds. it was undoubtably hot but that was never the intention, or so he assumed.

even though your back was to the mirror in the image, he could still tell that you weren't wearing any top, and the placement of your other hand just underneath the rotund curve of your ass was so deliberate and hot. it's like he was seeing you in a whole other light; he didn't know you were capable of being so sexy on purpose — he always assumed it was more of an accidental thing for you.

it's like his whole impression of you was shattering. maybe you weren't the sweet girl with a grimy sense of humour he thought you were; maybe you were truly a slutty bombshell. it was surreal and nauseating yet he still ached to see more.

though, before he began scrolling through the several other images you sent him, he gulped and turned the phone to show you the screen, "uhm, did you mean to send me this?"

you furrowed your brows together and leaned forward to inspect the screen, afraid you might've sent him pics of your medical anomaly that you meant to show the doctor. but once you examined the pic, you sighed and sat back in place, "yeah, those are the right ones." you state plainly, and suna proceeds to stare blankly at you, entirely speechless.

it freaked you out a little, so you attempted to fill the uncomfortable silence, "what do you think? that's what i sent to the guy before he blocked me. i thought they were kinda cute.. but there must be something wrong with them." he still looks astonished, so you clarify, "and he asked for me to send them, by the way. i didn't just do it randomly."

suna nods slowly as if that were of any reassurance what-so-ever. you press him to continue looking, and he cautiously does so. his thumb moves on his own as he swipes through the multiple suggestive images you sent him. and his dick begins to throb looking at each one.

they are all so hot; makes him feel so perverted for enjoying it. many are taken in your bathroom mirror, a string bikini top with a measly little thong on. he recalls you wore that exact set to the beach with him one time, except you were wearing a floral sarong too. it was sheer but there was still enough fabric to obscure you're delicious ass. but in this picture it was all out for the camera.

there was even a couple shots from that one halloween where you went as a zombie cowgirl. the costume itself was cool but suna recalls it wasn't revealing or intentionally 'sexy' or anything like that — which is why his heart leaped upon seeing your various upskirt pics, that were probably taken after he walked you home after a night out. some were shot directly up your skirt, showing the plushness of your ass up close, while others were taken in your bedroom mirror. either with you lifting your skirt up teasingly, or full-on bent over for the camera. from certain angles, he could even see the imprint of your lips through your thin panties which drove him absolutely insane.

to think, if he was smart enough that night, he could've stayed over at yours and buried himself in that cute ass, that you were clearly so desperate to show off. could've ate that pristine hole and felt your soft ass cradle his face. it's as though he could hear the adorable little noises you would've made, ringing in his ears.

he been gawking at his phone screen for a while, saying nothing, so you pry, "i look fine, right, rin? c'mon, please don't tell me i look weird! i thought these pictures were cute, so i don't know why he didn't like them.." you whine with a frustrated pout. you really don't understand men, thus you were hoping suna would be of some assistance, but he wasn't even saying anything or providing useful insight. just gaping at his screen.

"uh, they look.." he started, voice trailing off as his eyes were still glued to your perky ass clad in nothing but a thong, and his mind began to run wild with fantasies, "uhm.."

you interpretted his lust-fuelled daze as disinterest, and sighed. "really? they're that bad. what's wrong with 'em? i don't get it.. oh! is it because i'm leaving to much to the imagination? are they not overt enough?" you bite your lip as you antsily scroll through your secure folders and forward him some additional pictures, "look, i have dirtier ones. whatdya think? are these ones better?"

as promised, the new images you sent him were dirtier. filthy, in fact.

now you were wearing absolutely nothing. suna choked on his own spit at the sight of you stood bare in front of your bathroom mirror, posing suggestively for the camera. your whole pussy was exposed and so were your erect nipples, that he had previously only seen when they were teasing him by straining against the fabric of your tank tops.

he knew you were attractive but it was shocking to realise that is the body you've been hiding this whole time. had he knew that earlier, he would've ripped your clothes off a lot sooner.

in some of them your hair was wet and the bathroom mirror was steamy, as though you had just gotten out of the shower. for the most part he's been hyper-focussed on your seductive body, however, he's suddenly beginning to notice things in the background. like the pattern of the bathroom tiles.. and the shape of the mirror.. and the colour of the countertops.. shit, were some of these taken in his bathroom?

there was no denying it. the reality came crashing down on him like a sack of bricks and knocked the wind right out of him. at some point, he was chilling in his room, probably playing video games or texting his friends without a care in the world, patiently waiting for his turn to shower, while you were in the adjoining bathroom, posing for nude selfies and showing off your slutty tits for the camera. in his mirror.

fuck, if only he knew. now he feels like an idiot. the things he would've done to that hot body in the shower, his dick aches just thinking about it. he'd need to finish in you so many times, until his cum was drooling out of you and he'd only stop once the water ran cold.

there were shots with your legs spread too. on halloween again, your skirt was hiked up and your panties were pulled to the side, exposing your glistening cunt. he'd do anything to lock his mouth to those puffy folds of yours. taste that sticky, juicy cunt. even without flash, your pussy was visibly soaked with your arousal. it coated your lips and stuck to your inner thighs.

and the sight of your tantalising hole was enough to make him light-headed. so puckered and cute for the camera. and it was about the tightest little thing he's ever seen. from the way your own juices soak your pretty pussy, he could tell you were undoubtly needy that halloween night. he hates himself for not burying his cock into that snug hole and stretching you out. pounding his fat dick into over and over, and making you take it. or his tongue, then he wouldn't stop until you squirt in his mouth, and he'd keep going for several rounds until you—

"hellooo? earth to rinny. anybody there?" you wave your hand in between his dry eyes and the phone, which momentarily rips him out of his horny trance.

"huh?" he groans, confused as to what you are disturbing him for, when he was so close drinking up your first orgasm (in his imagination.)

"do you think i should've sent the dirtier pics?" you pondered aloud, waiting for suna's much-needed input, "maybe he blocked me because he thought i was a prude, or something like that."

"you're definitely not a prude." suna utters his first coherent (and sfw) thought in the last ten minutes. "why.. did you send me these?"

"so i can get your opinion, dummy!" you roll your eyes, prodding at his shoulder, "that's what i've been syaing this whole time. it's not like i'm showing you my nudes for fun."

"right.." his brows twitch, trying his best not to even glance down at his phone screen, as he knows he'll be distracted again, "i think you look fine."

"fine?!—"

"—great! you look great." suna swiftly corrects himself, then continues, "why do you care that some guy blocked you? he was probably just an asshole."

"what if he blocked me because he thinks i'm hideous?" you whine.

"you're not." he states plainly. "but if you're that worried about it, i could help you take some better photos."

"really?"

"yeah." he slowly stands up from the bed, weary as to conceal his throbbing erection as he moves, "what're friends for?"

you smile gently up at him, and without further question, you begin to remove your clothes. in truth, you are a bit hesitant because you've never purposefully stripped for him before — yeah, sometimes you guys would change in front of each other, but that was never as intimate as this. however, you persevered because you felt as though during your embarrassing moment, you reached a new level of friendship and camaraderie with suna. one in which you could be more vulnerable with each other.

first to come off was your jumper, then your shorts, and next thing you knew, you were laying completely nude out in front of suna. he loomed over you, grasping onto his phone camera for dear life. his eyes were zeroed in on your tits, but you tried your best to ignore that and giggled, "how should i pose first?"

rintaro forced himself to gulp down whatever hedonistic thoughts were brewing in his mind, for now. he didn't want to risk appearing too eager, even if your naked body in such close proximity to him almost caused knees to give out under him. he needs to act casual. "lay on your back."

you do as you are told, and you mewl slightly as his cold hands runs over the back of your thigh, massaging your silkly flesh. he kneeds the doughy meat of your ass with his palms, then promptly spreads your cheeks to expose your puckered asshole. you can almost hear his devilish grin as he snaps a photo and hums, "there we go. so tight for the camera. you wouldn't mind if i.." his muses, as his fingers idly dance over your rear, playfully poking your ass until they sneak down to prod at your hole.

then, without warning, he shoves two digits straight in, takes the pic then yanks them back out. your back arches instictively at the lewd intrusion, "ngh, rinny!" you squeal, scrunching your features, "just take normal ones.."

"this is the sort of stuff guys like, though." he reassures, stroking your perky ass, savouring the sensation of your supple skin under his hand. "action shots."

"hmm.." you considered his suggestion, bearing in mind that he's a horny fuck that probably just wanted to stick his fingers inside you, "maybe my old pics are a bit vanilla.." you admitted.

"yeah. they're hot but you could look a lot hotter." he said, blinkly slowly, "you know what guys like? squirting pics."

"...really?" you raised an eyebrow, peering over your shoulder so he could see your clearly dubious expression.

"mhm. most guys are super turned on by it. you could land any guy if you had a pic like that." he explains with an absurd amount of sincerity and confidence, despite the fact he pulled all of that out of his ass.

"and how would i get a photo like that?" you slowly roll over onto your back, so you're looking up at him while he's stood at the edge of the bed, holding your thigh in one hand and his phone in the other — with his camera pointed directly at you.

"i guess i'd have to tongue fuck you.." he says 'begrudgingly'.

"oh i'd never made you do that, rinny." you're onto his agenda, since he does a terrible job at hiding it. the massive tent in his pants was making it too obvious that he wanted to fuck you. but you like to tease him about it. "i could just use a vibrator, while you take the picture."

his face drops, "uh," he splutters, not anticipating pushback, "girls can't squirt.. with vibrators." he blinks. the lies were somehow becoming less and less believable, despite how they weren't very convincing to begin with.

"that's a shame." you bow your head in attempt to suppress a chortle at his ridicoulous claim. finally, you decide to give him what he wants, "would you please tongue fuck me, then, rinny?" you bat your eyelashes at him.

"...sure."

[possumsus]

Note: A lot of people in the comments are talking about how the specific screenshot here is not legitimate. Whether or not this is true, the reason I'm reblogging this is to spread the general advice and lesson to take away from this, which is to NEVER EVER click on a link, as the other reblogs here have already said.

With that said, I would like to add some advice of my own onto this, with some of my own strategies I use.

Never click on a link in an email. Ever. If you get a notification about one of your social media accounts, go to the site manually to check it out. If you get an offer on a store site, go there yourself. Only exception I can think of is if you receive a verification email for account signup or changing credentials, and even then, exercise caution and make sure it's the right email. Scammers really like to fake security alerts as well as a way to make you panic into clicking. It can be difficult to remember, but always check the site yourself for an alert. If it's not there, then on any regular site your account should be fine.

This may be a little bit paranoid of me, but I've personally configured my network settings so that remote content in emails (images, files, etc.) cannot load automatically. I can manually load these if it's from an email that I trust. I also avoid opening spam texts entirely, instead deleting them and, if I can, reporting them as junk.

We're also going to go a bit outside of the original topic here, but USE ADBLOCKERS!!!!! Seriously, use them. It's becoming more and more of a necessary security tool every day. Besides just the general convenience of no longer seeing ads, it can prevent a whole lot of tracking and whatnot if they're configured right. I really recommend Ublock Origin, since it's free, open source, and lets you configure custom filters for whatever you'd like.

Only issue about that is, if you're on a browser like Chrome, Ublock has been blocked from the extensions store. You might not like to hear this, but it's probably time to switch to something like Firefox or Librewolf. I know that switching browsers is difficult, especially as someone who isn't a big fan of sudden change (iykyk) it was really difficult at first. Over time though, it's been so so so so so SO much better than when I was on chrome.

I also personally made the switch from Windows to Linux as my primary operating system about six months ago, and I haven't looked back. It's been great for me, but I cannot in good conscience just recommend that everybody switches to it. No matter what other people say, the average person can and will have difficulty using it, as I have myself. I recommend looking into it, and if it's not for you, then that's completely fine.

In all honesty, most of this is really overkill! You don't need to stress a ton about cybersecurity, and god knows it's not healthy. I just hope that your main takeaway from this post is to put some thought into your online activity, and think twice before you do anything.

Thank you for reading! Stay safe out there, and have a wonderful and secure pride month!

WARNING!!!!

People, please be careful. There are also people tracking children and people and putting bids on them based on their profile pictures on whatsapp, tracking and kidnapping them. Especially young children, so please be cautious, especially parents who have their children as their profile pictures.

Please pass this on to everyone so that they are aware of the danger. I don’t how it is all around the world but I know it can’t just be here so please please spread the word. Thank you.

[moonwoodhollow]

Berry's Oasis Springs Rebuild Project Pt.I (a work in progress) There's something I love about Oasis Springs and it's one of my favourite worlds to build in, even though its climate and architectural styles couldn't be further from home. I've worked on a "complete" Oasis Springs for quite some time and it's a project dear to my heart. First, I obviously want to finish rebuilding one world, which is something I've struggled with and never actually done before. With that being said, finishing Oasis Springs is pretty much the challenge I've set for myself this year. Second, building mcm houses has become one of my favourite pastimes in TS4, and it's one of those architectural styles I've come to love and be good at it.

So let's see how far I got in Oasis Springs until now - and what's still missing! (ramblings after the cut)

Disclaimer: This is not a save-file by any means! I'm not cut out for that, but (!) I've shared some shells before and will share some more in the future. Some of these builds are not originally by me - so they are - for obvious reasons - private.

When I started building in Oasis Springs, I did it without any intention of ever 'rebuilding' it and I used old blueprints of mcm houses to get a general idea of the layouts of the houses and the architectural characteristics. I had to compromise very often as the lots were too small or the proportions were off, but the blueprints have been a huge help for me to get into a groove with mcm builds!

I initially started out with cc builds, as I hoard cc and love to use it, but as I sometimes like to challenge myself (read: suffer) I recreate my builds without cc. Most of the early mcm-builds I shared on the gallery (ID: aeromantica) are also available as cc-versions, but as I never posted them "officially" on my blog as they precede its creation, there's no use in downloading them tbh, there's no cc list either and I'm not interested in creating one.

Let's begin with Bedrock Strait - the most complete neighbourhood, from which I shared 3 builds already. The above image was actually the inspiration behind Begonia Drive 509. Today (after a long break) I finally finished my latest build on the remaining 20x15 lot, which in turn started this whole "I need to write a detailed post about my Oasis Springs project"-thing lol.

And this is the build! A very simple yet elegant build, that some might recognise from my Literary Club post early this year:

So what's missing is the Trailer Park, although I'm not really sure whether it'll stay a trailer park. This was meant to be Johnny Zest's home and I already did the interior, but I might just add another mcm house, though I do like the idea that there's still one lot that isn't so 'polished' in between the mcm houses so I might just keep it. I'd have to add one or two additional trailers though.

Now, Parched Prospect is also almost finished - just one more build for me to build. I dislike the playground right next to that one lot immensely though!

I think the first build I built here was Wisteria Drive and then I just kept going and added the other 2 houses in a record time. The Spanish revival house in this neighbourhood that is also pictured in my header is not mine but is by @/alcearosea-sims. I think it's called Helena Drive... and it's meant for a bigger lot so I had to do some landscaping. For the last house in this neighbourhood I'm still indecisive - another mcm house or a Spanish revival house (which will be difficult on a 20x15 lot I think)?

So that's it for now - I'll be back with a 2nd part at some point to talk about the other builds in this world. I hope you enjoyed this little behind the scenes peak into this project!

[ricciardo133]

Montreal 2017

maxiel, vampires, blood, dry humping, and some dubious consent

-

"You smell good, Daniel."

Daniel looks over at his teammate in the bumpy backseat of the team van that carries them post-PR event back to their hotel. In the dying daylight, Max's shockingly blue eyes are brilliantly lit up in staccato beams of light as their car passes each streetlamp. His typically direct stare somehow feels even more locked on than usual, eyes glued to Daniel. It's too dim in the car to tell if he's even blinking.

"Thanks, bud. After hauling ass around town today, I think I smell pretty fucking fresh."

"You do not smell fresh. You smell like sweat."

"Got any normal compliments?"

"You look so alive."

"Okay," Daniel says as the car blessedly pulls up to the hotel's entrance. He hauls himself up and hunches over in the van, waiting for Max to move out of the way of their shared backseat. "Love ya, man, but let's get boogying so I can shower."

Daniel knows he shouldn't be so careless with his coworker's extremely obvious crush, but a little schmoozing does work when he wants something. Max flushes and scoots off the seat and out into the crisp night. Daniel pulls on his backpack and scampers out after him. Two Red Bull managers await by the door, handing off two key cards with the same suite number written on their paper pouches.

"Gotta be a mistake, right?" Daniel asks helplessly. An apologetic headshake as he and Max are informed the hotel is overbooked and it's more convenient for the team to not add another hotel stop to their tight schedule for logistics ahead of media day. Their team helps get their suitcases upstairs, and they leave Max and Daniel in the single room with two king beds.

"Dibs on the bigger one," Daniel jests as he flops back onto the plush mattress. He figures he might as well make this as light and easy-breezy as possible. They've managed to not share a room ever since becoming teammates in 2016. He actually thought Max would look more excited at the surprise slumber party, but the young man stands unnervingly still in the cold room, staring at him.

"This isn't good. I need to...do things alone tonight," Max breathes tensely.

"You can shower first if ya need to jack off."

"No. Daniel, why would they...They're always so good about it when the timing...overlaps," he pauses and pulls out his cell phone. In a rush, he holds it to his hear and speaks quick, unintelligible Dutch to someone on the other end. The call apparently doesn't help. He pulls on his jacket in terse and quick moves. "Sorry if I wake you, when I get back."

"Don't tell me you're going clubbing without me," Daniel teases.

"Not for fun. Just going out."

"For how long? May call up a girl if you're gone for a while. No better way to get out the pre-race week jitters with a little sucking and fucking, eh, Maxy?"

Max stares at him. Rather, Daniel feels he's staring just below his line of sight, as if those blue eyes were piercing his nipples. He glances down like he may have something on his shirt but by the time he looks up, the younger man is out the door. It closes with a sharp thud.

Wired and surprisingly off-kilter, Daniel disrobes and showers. He stands under the hot spray and feels a confused rush. He would've thought he'd have to bat Max off him given the sleeping arrangement. They've never touched beyond sportsman-like claps on the back and too-firm handshakes, but it feels obvious, to Daniel, that he could ask for way more if he wanted. The way he catches Max staring, the disproportionately hardy laughs at Daniel's shit jokes, the easy-to-conjure blush with the smallest compliment, it was clear. Daniel's been on the receiving end of puppy love many times. Usually it has been fans or girls from back home, but he knows what it's like to be admired, to be wanted.

Or so he thought. Max practically sprinted out of the shared suite, seemingly with no intention of spending a second longer than he had to around him. Which was...fine, Daniel assures himself. He still feels a twinge of something like disappointment. A lad's night in could've been fun, rare sightings of seeing Max stripped of team gear. Daniel wonders if Max sleeps in boxers or briefs as he pulls on his own loose sweatpants, brushes his teeth, and nearly puts in his night guard before the door slams open again.

"Daniel," Max says through heaving breaths. Daniel goes to open the bathroom door and finds it pushed shut again. "Don't come out."

"I'm straight, Max," Daniel attempts to joke. He tries to open the door again and feels it impossible to move. "Christ, Verstappen. What gives?"

"I'm not...you can't see me. I fucked up."

"Got an impulse tattoo? Bad haircut? Ill-placed hickey? Trust me, Max. I've done it all. You can't surprise me."

"They won't go back in. I did it too sloppy, people were coming...so just...stay there, please. I'll fix this."

Daniel raises in hands in surrender as if Max could see him through the flimsy door. "Not making a lick of sense, but okay. Put whatever it is away, then." Daniel wants to make a jab at anal beads to get a laugh out of him, but Max sounds scared. It makes Daniel ache. He hears his teammate bump around the hotel room, a bag unzip, rustle of plastic, a soft swear. Daniel holds his breath and then hears a sharp gasp of what sounds like pain.

"Max," he says, pushing the door open reflexively. Max, kneeling over a bright red bloodstain in the carpet, looks up at him. Daniel sees two sharp fangs over Max's full, parted lips.

Daniel freezes. They both stare in wordless shock. Max doesn't blink. He doesn't seem to breathe. He's turned into a statue of a young racer with impossible fangs like a-

"Vampire," Daniel says quietly. "Are they...are those real, Max? The blood."

Max is up at him, holding his shoulders in a flash. Daniel didn't even see him get up and move, it was so impossibly quick.

"Don't tell anyone."

"Yeah, bud. I really was going to go into the media pen tomorrow saying I saw you sucking off a blood bag before bed. Christ, Max." Daniel looks back at the busted plastic IV pouch on the floor. "Please tell me they're fake and that's cranberry juice and you have some weird vampire kink so I can make sense of this."

"They're real. It's blood. I'm sorry."

Daniel looks straight into Max's too-blue eyes. He's tearing up. Max looks off as a tear slips down his sharp cheekbones, and Daniel feels wracked with a horrible guilt.

"Aw, hey. Max, man. Don't...I'm sorry." He pats Max's shoulders. "We all have uh...baggage, y'know? Or, sorry. Not baggage. Maybe being a vampire is fun? Or just like being allergic to peanuts? Because, let me tell you, that also sucks. Uh. Not literally sucks, like...is that what you do? Do you suck? I mean. Oh, I'm fucking this up, I'm-"

Max's hands are quickly on Daniel's back, holding him flush to his chest. Daniel freezes as Max starts to breathe in deeply at the crook of his neck.

"I normally feed once a week, alone," Max says softly into his skin. Daniel sucks in a breath, feeling his skin heat with a blooming desire. "But you're here. I couldn't feed in here with you. So I...I tried...with a guy at a club who wanted it, but..." Max pauses to lick along Daniel's neck. Daniel, instantly, is hard. He swallows, making Max keen. "Fuck, I was careless, too quick. People nearly saw me, so I ran and I couldn't finish right. They can't go back in until I get enough...blood."

"You nearly sucked a guy off at a club?"

"Not through oral, Daniel. Through here." Max kisses on Daniel's fluttering neck. He feels a mix of fear and frenzy, like he's melting into Max's arms despite his best efforts to keep it together. "That's how we feed, we...entice. It's fucked up. I'm fucked up."

And he leaves his arms. Daniel shivers in his spot, falling to sit on the bed as Max paces around in front of the hotel window. The skyline glitters behind him, a modern backdrop for an impossible man.

"Vampires aren't real," Daniel says, hands over his neck, feeling the pulse and heat and wetness left from Max's tongue. He shouldn't want more but every ounce of normalcy is out the same window. He wants more. He wants Max. Desperately, despite himself. "You said you entice?"

"Vampires can compel. We can feel who's open to it, and then we," Max pauses, making frustrated circles with his hands in the air.

"You kill them?"

"No, fuck. No, we don't kill people. Not unless you don't stop."

"Then...you turn them into vampires?"

"Also no, they'd have to drink from me, too. Not happening."

"Oh, well, that's not too bad then? Just a little blood?" Max stares at Daniel, blank and stone-like again. "Like, Max. If that's all it is, that's not a big deal. I thought you were going on a light killing spree, but you can have some blood. If you need it."

Max remains motionless.

"Unless my blood is shitty."

"Your blood smells amazing, Daniel."

"Then, uh, go to town, Max." Daniel wants to get up but he realizes his grey sweatpants would immediately reveal his surprise boner. He squirms. "Ignore the moans, though. They're super manly and super normal, but when you touched me it felt really good."

"That's part of it. You may come."

"Max," Daniel says in shock. He's used to dishing ribald remarks, hardly taking it as Max walks over with that inhuman speed and sits on his lap. "Max."

"If you don't want this, I can go."

"And risk you getting spotted in vamp mode and making me spend longer talking to the press tomorrow about my monster teammate? No dice. Just do it." Daniel doesn't even have to try to make Max swoon. Quite the opposite. His own need feels overcharged, electric, unwieldy. He needs a wordless, formless craving for more. He looks up to the younger man and means it when he says, "please."

"Oh, Daniel."

Max sinks his teeth into Daniel's neck.

Daniel's done plenty of drugs in his younger years, absconding with illicit substances in Perth summers and free-wheeling Monaco ragers in the off-season. Those were nothing. Pale and lifeless against the rush he feels now in Max's grip. He had expected getting his neck bit would be painful. It's not.

He keens, hips bucking up into Max's. Max's large hands grip into Daniel's bare back as Daniel squirms and groans despite his best intentions to hold steady. He's always the giver. Always on top. Always making girls do this under him, not like this. Not with a guy. Not with Max.

He's pliant as Max hoists him up and back onto the bed, flipping so Daniel's poised on top. Max keeps one hand on the back of Daniel's head, fingers lacing through rings of curls. The other grips on his waist, encouraging him as Daniel ruts into his thigh.

"Max," Daniel breaths as he feels a dulled sensation of sucking and the much wilder rush of his length against Max's firm leg below him. "Max."

He groans as Max sucks harder. Daniel feels his cheeks burn and a sweat breakout between his shoulder blades and drip off his forehead. His hands cling to Max's back as he works his hips down, pleasure hitting him in hard, wonderful waves as Max's presence sucks up all thought, all feeling until Daniel is snapping his hips into Max with a blissed out, thoughtless heat. It's hot and building and too fast and not enough. Daniel strains and breaks in a trembling cry as the end finally hits and he comes hard in his pants, tears pouring and the distinct feeling of wetness leaking from his neck. Max licks the tracks of blood away and then sucks with finality over the painless wound.

Daniel can't see it. He can't see anything but stars and Max's chest as he falls into him. Max's breath is tinted with gasps, his voice ragged as he speaks.

"Are you okay? Daniel?"

"Yeah, yeah. Very okay."

"We need to get you water. I think I took too much. Daniel."

He's asleep before he hears anymore than that.

Daniel wakes up to the smell of eggs. He pops up on his elbows and looks around. Max sits on the edge of the bed, untouched room service breakfast sits further on the hotel desk. The Dutchman turns over his shoulder and sighs when he sees him.

"I, um, ordered food."

So delightfully awkward. Daniel smiles, relieved. It's still Max.

"Only fair since I was the room service last night."

"Daniel. I'm-,"

"If you say 'sorry' I'm tossing that omlette at you." Daniel gets up. Max hands him a much appreciated glass of water.

"I know I took too much," Max says as he drinks the entire cup. "Of your...blood."

"So taking a normal amount wouldn't make me come like a fucking horny virgin or is that par for the course?"

"That part is normal."

Daniel laughs. "Excellent. I usually last way longer, too, just for the record. Don't go telling other hot creatures of the night I'm some two-suck chump, if vamps compare notes."

"No. I'd never tell."

"And your secret's safe with me, too."

Daniel didn't realize Max's shoulders were held tense until he drops them with a shuddering sigh.

"Thank you."

"And just ask next time."

"Ask? To use you again?"

The thought of Max doing that with some random guy in a random club makes Daniel irrationally pissed. "Yeah. I can, uh, help. As teammates. It's probably easier for you, right? So you can do it again, if you want."

He was certain, based on that wide-eyed quintessential stare and now much deeper flush that Max did want it. He maybe always had wanted it. Daniel just didn't understand why he wanted it, too. A question for later as he wonders if Max is blushing with his own blood.

"I'd like that a lot, Daniel."

"And if you can turn into a bat, you gotta let me watch."

Max laughs. Daniel feels relieved, as he always does when he can pop Max's nerves into a relieving rush of giggles. "No, no. No bats. I can fly without being a bat."

"Now you're just bragging. Next you can tell me you can read minds."

"No, you are too obvious, I don't need to read minds."

"Me the obvious one?"

"You are very easy to understand, Daniel."

"Like how?"

"You like to stare at me, especially when I stare at you."

Daniel, now flushed himself, chucks a pillow at Max's head. The young man laughs as Daniel glances at his teammate's now evenly straight teeth, picturing the fangs from last night, thinking of all that came after.

"Just staring since I'm trying to see if you ever actually blink, you weirdo."

"I don't have to blink. I have to remind myself to do it."

"Okay, then remind yourself to also not compliment someone's sweat smell. Or stare at their jugular. How's this, I'll teach you how to be more human in exchange for super lowkey orgasms between bros, kapeesh?"

Max laughs again, earnest and fangless for now. "It's a deal, Daniel."

It's something. It's weird, but it's them. Daniel and Max shake on it, and Daniel feels the urge to pull him in and hold him tight despite himself. Later, he thinks. After media day, if Max needs it. Daniel silently hopes he will, that he'll need him over and over like that again and again for as long as they are teammates. As long as they are together.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

MY NAME IS. BRUTUS.

Damn fourth fic of the day, yeah? Why am I listening to these music while writing? Idk. But let me do my thing ‼️‼️ P.S. All this while it was 5pm in the evening too🙏

Gender Neutral reader

Genre: as you can tell with many others in the singer!reader au posts, Romantic.

Involvement: Main cast

Warnings?: cussy [yk what time it is ‼️‼️], comedy cus I can't live without it, if you see mistakes I'm probably half brain-dead for not noticing it, OOC[just in case], and uhmmm other things idk help me I'm multi-tasking through apps [texting my friends in whatsapp, TikTok, going back to Tumblr, and random ass research that has nothing to do with any of my works 🙏‼️], idk what else to add.

Ayeee shoutout to @sparklybasementcherryblossom

Thank you for reminding me I had this in my playlist!!!

So you see, you've been getting popular recently... but who cares? You're actually getting paid for it so, Letts cook up another one ‼️‼️‼️

And you thought of one thing.

Brutus...

Oh, that name. With so much envy driven into madness. Yes. That one.

You are going to have so much fun with this.

For the next performance.

They have no idea what's coming for them.

You've already set up the stage, and set in the camera for streaming. You've already had a few people in your otherworldly band, so you were happy to do more.

☆~~———~~☆

You've set up the play, it was like everything before, everyone had sat down to see the play, you had new additions for this music, though.

Because it's gonna get loud.

Riddle, Ace, Deuce, and Trey all sat in front since yk, they're your first friends in a dorm?? And so on with Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Jamil, Vil, Rook, Epel, Idia[tablet], Ortho, Malleus, Silver, Sebek, and who else could be companions of yours.

You've started it.

Now they'll hear it.

The music begins...

It went silent before it got louder and louder.

You hear the chorus of women, humming, singing random incoherent words.

And no one fucking understands.

The beats sounds heavy, like any other songs you've recently played, but this one has something, unspoken, heavy, feeling.

I've been watching him for my entire life,

I hate the air he breathes,

his foolish decrees,

His words so contrived

And I hate the way the townspeople gather outside,

They hang on every breath,

Cling to his chest,

Home to his heart full of pride.

Whoa, now that was a surprising start, your voice seemed exhausted, angry in a way. It's like speaking through your teeth with unbridled rage.

The oracle told him to beware of the Ides,

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing,

For an untimely death or demise.

You've spat out those words like venom.

DAMN. Right off the bat?? Chill [Name]! Ruggie would've been scared if it weren't it being a music play.

Or am I just wishing just wishing I could be like you?

That the people would see me too as a poet,

And not just the muse.

The envy in your voice pours out for everyone to see.

Rook was wondering if it was pointing to him...

Vil felt a strange feeling of Deja vú.

Oh, it's not true,

I don't wish harm upon you,

You reassured in a mocking way.

Riddle was thinking on what the implications might be... Trey was attentively listening, could you be envious as well? Cater stresmed again, in a more hushed tone.

From birth,

We've been like brothers of different mothers,

within the spirit of the same womb,

May the Gods strike me down if I forsake you,

You sounded desperate, in what way, though?

Frater Meus, you're beautifully made,

And to you,

I'm forever grateful.

I'll never forget that you showed me to make art,

And I know the love you showed me came,

From a pure and noble heart.

Okay... weird thing to say when you literally wished for someone's death...

Idia seemed interested, Ortho likes the emotions put into this, Malleus is wondering why your singing all the time, Vil explained its a form of expression.

I love you,

And if you want, I'll call you king.

You said in a hushed tone.

All are listening closely like a secret being told

But why do I lie awake each night thinking,

"Instead of you, it should be me"?

Jamil looks at you like you've hit amnesia, no shit???

Something wicked this way comes,

And as I set to face it,

I'm unsure.

Should I embrace it, should I run?

The words weigh heavy, lingering in the air, crashing down in suffocation.

What motivates me?

Hatred? Is it love?

What's more wrong:

That I too wish to be great

Or,

My mother wished she'd had a son?

Your voice grows frantic, in a desperate dance.

Everyone is worried on the implications of what it could've meant, jealousy.

You gasp.

And even if I can't be the one,

Maybe I could at least help

Make way for him,

Until the day that he comes?

In a crazed manner, your expression was manic.

Maybe my name could also be known,

That I helped return good to the people,

And restored greatness to Rome?!

You raised your voice slightly.

Making some flinch in surprise.

A chant of 'Brutus' in the background.

A scene of Brutus killing the man she envied.

MY NAME IS BRUTUS,

AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY,

SO WITH A HEAVY HEART,

I'LL GUIDE THIS DAGGER INTO THE HEART OF MY ENEMY.

Oh! Uhm...

MY WHOLE LIFE,

YOU WERE A TEACHER AND A FRIEND TO ME,

PLEASE KNOW THAT MY ACTIONS ARE NOT ONLY MOTIVATED ONLY BY,

ENVY.

I, TOO, HAVE A DESTINY, THIS DEATH WILL BE ART!

Your voice grew louder and louder, enough to awake the sleeping students.

THE PEOPLE WILL SPEAK OF THIS DAY,

FROM NEAR TO AFAR!

THIS EVENT WILL BE HISTORY,

AND I'LL BE GREAT TOO,

I DON'T WANT WHAT YOU HAVE,

I WANT TO BE YOU...!

The intensity of your voice increases, never ceases. The envy boiling in your tone like a forbidden spell not to be chanted.

The audience is left hypnotized with its intense tones and harsh words, it's like sharpening knives grazed on their ears.

I always knew I could be the one,

Though, I feel the endless pain of being,

And I am scorched by the sun.

What.

-Malleus, probably.

Of humble origins,

And born of the cursed sex,

My name is Brutus,

But the people will call me Rex.

Hushed out a voice from the last verse, a rasp sound in the throat.

The women hum and chant in incoherent voices.

The music ends.

Well done.

The audience was quiet, then finally.

"Wooo! That was amazing!!" Epel yelled.

Everyone erupted into an applause.

You're talented, [Name]. No matter what it is your good at, whether your confident or not.

You'll be recognized by the others.

The End.

OOUUFF DONEEE!!!

Enjoy !!! :>

[demie90s]

Need a hard launch with Azzi. With that one TikTok trend where azzi is putting on lipstick messes up and R hand comes in wipes it away then the camera pans to R and her face is covered with lipstick kisses.

But to add a twist to it R plays for Tennessee…

So kinda like a “rivals” to lovers trope.

ᴀᴢᴢɪ ꜰᴜᴅᴅ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Lip Locked

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Azzi’s TikTok starts off innocent—just a lipstick trend. Until your hand slides in to wipe her smudge. And the camera pans. To you. Tennessee orange, smirking, covered in Azzi’s kisses. Yeah… it’s a problem now.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:rivals-to-lovers, soft launch gone viral, TikTok trend fic

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:rivalry tension, teasing, lipstick, suggestive humor, social media chaos, light PDA

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.8k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: lipstick smears, rivalry turned romance, team reactions in the comments, UConn x Tennessee fans losing their minds, soft hands + smug grins + chaos in the replies

The video starts off slow—Azzi centered in the frame, hair pulled back, flawless skin glowing under warm vanity lights. Music low in the background, just that soft R&B beat TikTok’s been running into the ground lately. She picks up the lipstick like she’s done it a million times, twisting it with precision, giving the camera a subtle smirk.

And just like the trend says—she goes to apply it. One slow swipe. Then a second.

And then, deliberately, she “messes up” the corner of her lip. A smudge, slightly crooked, barely noticeable but just enough to fit the format.

She blinks. Tilts her head.

And then a hand—your hand—enters the frame. Calm, confident. Thumb brushing the edge of her lip with the kind of familiarity that says this ain’t your first time. The crowd watching doesn’t even have time to react before the camera shifts.

Pans. And reveals you.

Tennessee warm-up tee, black sweatpants low on your hips, Tennessee orange loud and unapologetic as you smirk straight into the camera—your face covered in lipstick marks. Neck. Cheek. Jawline. Even your damn collarbone peeking from your oversized tee.

And you? Completely unbothered. One arm draped across the back of Azzi’s chair. The other holding her phone. Like you started filming the whole thing for her.

Azzi turns slightly, biting her lip.

“Too much?” she whispers, just loud enough to be picked up on mic.

You glance down at your chest, where one particularly bold kiss mark sits above the Vols logo, and raise an eyebrow.

“Nah,” you say. “Mark your territory, baby.”

Then you kiss her temple and stop the recording.

Uploaded. Within minutes: chaos.

Top Comments:

@/paigeybuckets: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?

@/ladyvolsfan_12: is that…Tennessee merch? AZZI?????? I’m sick

@/kkarnold02: uconn vs tennessee just got personal

@/icebrady__: oh we HARD launching now 😭 not the lipstick all over her like she’s property

@/genoauriemma: i’ll allow it if she drops 25 on us

The replies won’t stop.

Fans freeze-frame every second, analyzing the angles, the way Azzi leans into you without thinking, the way your fingers linger at her jaw even after the smudge is gone. UConn fans are screaming. Tennessee fans are screaming louder.

You’re not sorry. At all.

Azzi’s comments are locked within the hour. Your DMs are flooded. Screenshots already circling group chats. ESPNW posts it with the headline: “From Rivals to Romance? Fudd and Mystery Tennessee Player Break the Internet”

Your jersey number’s visible in the corner. Mystery gone.

Back in the room, Azzi watches you scroll.

“You good?” she asks.

You shrug, head still buried in her neck. “Just waiting for Geno to call.”

She laughs. “You think he will?”

You don’t answer. Just tilt your head, press a kiss to her throat, and murmur:

“Think your coach is more chill than mine?”

“Not a chance.”

You both laugh.

Still—your phone lights up.

Text from your assistant coach:

“We’ll talk Monday. Nice shot though. 💅🏽”

Another one right after.

“She better not cross half-court next game. You’ll get benched for making me root for her.”

You snort and toss the phone onto the couch. Azzi grabs your jaw with her freshly clean hands and pulls you in close, lips brushing yours.

“Still want war on the court?” she teases.

You grin against her mouth. “Only if I win.”

“Oh, baby…” Azzi leans in, smiling wide. “You already did.”

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part one [REWRITE]

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 15.8k

Warnings: Unrequited love, jealousy from many ends, the reader is shorter than Theo, and wears a bikini. Theo calls reader fiore. Discomfort/sadness. Reader doesn’t really know how to swim. Brief mentions of blood. There’s for sure more but I’m gonna have to go back and add them!

A/N: Omg hi! This has been a long time coming, and not much has been added, just a couple new scenes and some more details added. Most of the rewrite will be in the second part, but it feels too much to have a 30k+ fic posted in one go. So I’m dividing it up! Since it’s been so long I figured I’d post this to hold you guys over, thank you for being so patient! It’s much appreciated! <3

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Against your better judgment, you’d fallen hard for Mattheo Riddle. And yet, you were fully aware that nothing would ever come of it. 

You’d grown up in the same circles, your families often crossing paths at dinners and parties, but you were never particularly close, barely acknowledging each other in those polished, formal settings. It wasn’t until you both started at Hogwarts that any real friendship formed. Being eleven and navigating the overwhelming experience of a new school was daunting for anyone. When you were both sorted into Slytherin, you naturally gravitated toward each other, being the most familiar thing the other could find.

Over time, you’d been there for him more times than you could count. You were the one cleaning his cuts after a fight, always telling him it was the last time because you couldn’t bear to see him get hurt. Yet, each time he showed up, you let him in with an exasperated huff, carefully tending to his wounds. When he’d appear at your door late at night, eyes dark with whatever was haunting him, you’d silently walk with him, sitting together in the quiet of the common room until the tension in his shoulders finally eased. You’d pretend to be annoyed when he asked to copy your coursework, but in truth, you savored every moment he sat close to you—the way his arm would brush against yours as he scribbled down your notes, the warmth of him, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. It left you longing for him to stay close just a little longer, even though you knew he never would.

He moved from one fling to the next, a string of one-night stands that never seemed to reach his heart. While you’d never been one of them, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if you were. A stubborn, hopeless part of you clung to the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, he’d one day let you be the one he trusted with more than just a night tangled in the sheets.

Your friends always joked that if Mattheo ever got serious about a girl, it would be you—but you knew the chances of that were painfully slim.

So you were caught off guard when you walked into the common room and saw a girl you barely recognized sitting with your friends. Cozied up in the same armchair as Mattheo. Your steps faltered as you approached, trying to piece together who she was and why she was sitting with your friends and more specifically, Mattheo. It wasn’t that you were opposed to meeting new people, but your group had never once welcomed anyone new. You’d tried, it didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.

“Hey, love.” Enzo murmurs, patting the cushion beside him on the couch. He’s the only one who’s noticed you so far; the rest are absorbed in their heated discussion about the latest Quidditch match. You were never particularly interested in discussing Quidditch—what interested you was watching Mattheo talk about it. There was just something undeniably attractive about listening to his voice when he talked about something that interested him.

You slide onto the couch next to Enzo, your gaze briefly flicking to the girl sitting directly across from you, trying to place her without being too obvious about your stare.

“Hey, Enz.” You say with a soft smile, setting your bag down as you settle onto the couch.

“What’s going on?” You tilt your head toward the girl, and Enzo glances in her direction. She’s not paying attention, her gaze fixed on Mattheo with a lovesick expression, hanging onto his every word.

“I’m not sure,” Enzo replies quietly, ensuring his voice doesn’t carry. “Mattheo just introduced us, and we’re all a bit confused about it, too I think.”

“Oh.” You murmur, and Enzo watches you carefully. He knows about your feelings for Mattheo; he’d have to be blind not to notice.

Enzo leans in closer, and you shift your gaze to him. “Listen, love—”

Enzo doesn’t get to finish before a soft gasp of your name catches your attention. You look over, surprised to see the girl leaning forward with her hand extended. You briefly wonder how she knows your name and if you should know hers too.

You notice that her other hand still has a tight grip on Mattheo.

“I’m Veronica,” she says warmly, her smile never wavering. “Mattheo’s girlfriend.” The way she emphasizes the word girlfriend startles you—it takes a second to register, and then it hits you like a punch to the gut.

Girlfriend. When did Mattheo Riddle start dating? 

And why wasn’t he introducing her himself?

You’re at a loss for words, a nauseous feeling curling around you, tightening its grip until you’re not sure you could speak even if you tried. You know you should smile, should tell her how happy you are to meet her. But you can’t find it in you to do so, not when you’d rather be anywhere but here.

You swallow the urge to ask if she’s joking, if she’s hit her head, because Mattheo Riddle isn’t a relationship guy. No one knows that better than you.

Yet, you’re rooted to the spot in stunned silence, your gaze flitting between her hand, now entwined with Mattheo’s, and the soft, content smile playing on her lips.

Your mind races, struggling to process the situation that’s just blindsided you. You always knew he’d never be yours—not in the way you wanted—but hearing it, seeing it laid out so plainly before you, feels like your heart has been ripped from your chest.

You force a smile, so strained it makes your head spin, and you finally take her hand, the gesture automatic and devoid of real warmth. “Nice to meet you.” You manage to say, though the words feel foreign on your tongue.

Her smile widens, and she shifts closer to Mattheo as if silently asserting her place by his side. Your eyes flicker to Mattheo, whose attention is pulled to Veronica as she presses closer into him. You’re not surprised he’s been oblivious to the conversation, or lack thereof, happening next to him. Talk of Quidditch had a tendency to do that to him.

You study his face intently, searching for any hint of his feelings toward her, hoping to find anything that might betray his feelings. 

But when you see the way he looks at her—eyes soft, filled with a tenderness you’ve never seen from him before—your stomach churns with a sickening mix of jealousy and heartache. 

His eyes meet yours, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I didn’t even see you come in. Glad you’ve met my girl,”he says, the warmth in his voice making your chest tighten.

I didn’t see you. Your stomach lurches at his words.

Clearly not—if you had, you wouldn’t be flaunting another girl right in front of me, you think bitterly.

You glance at Veronica as she nods enthusiastically. “Me too, Matty,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness. “I’m already so excited for the girls’ nights we’re going to have.”

You can’t tell if she’s genuinely that nice or just putting on a show for Mattheo. “Oh yeah. That would be fun,” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. Neither of them notices the unease behind it—they’re too wrapped up in each other, their attention locked in a gaze that makes you feel invisible.

The last thing you want is a girls’ night. Pass the popcorn—oh, and by the way? I want your boyfriend.

No. Absolutely not.

You tear your gaze away, the sight of them together too painful to endure, and instead turn to Enzo. “What the hell?” You mutter, barely managing to keep your voice steady.

“I’m sorry, love, I wanted to tell you before they did.” Enzo whispers, wincing as he gives your hand a quick squeeze. You murmur a soft “It’s okay,” but inside, you’re far from feeling that way.

Desperately, you try to compose yourself, but the effort feels pointless. As your eyes wander, they lock with Theo’s. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable. You muster a soft smile, hoping to mask the heartbreak inside, but he doesn’t return it; he just keeps watching, his gaze heavy with something you can’t quite place.

You manage to stay for half an hour, offering the occasional nod and murmured agreement to feign interest in the conversation. But your mind is elsewhere, detached from the words being exchanged. No one seems to notice your distraction; they’re all too absorbed in their own conversations to catch the distant look in your eyes.

Without realizing it, your gaze keeps drifting back to the couple. Veronica rests her head on Mattheo’s shoulder, and his hand is gently resting on her knee, his thumb brushing softly against her skin. You can’t help but notice how at ease he seems with this physical intimacy—something you’re surprised he’d be so comfortable with.

It took Mattheo ages to grow comfortable with your touch. The first time he came over after a particularly brutal nightmare about his father, he sat hunched over on your bed, eyes hollow as he confessed he kept reliving Christmas break—how his dad had slapped him for something he couldn’t even remember. Something so insignificant. When your hand barely grazed his back, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was months before your touch started to soothe him instead of making him flinch.

When Pansy casually asked how Mattheo and Veronica had met, you felt a surge of restless energy. You couldn’t bear to hear that they’d been together for months, falling in love while you remained oblivious, never realizing you never stood a chance. Without thinking, you abruptly stood up, the couch creaking loudly at the force. The sudden noise drew theattention of everyone in the room. All eyes shifted to you, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity as they awaited your next move.

“Um,” you winced as the room’s gaze fixed on you, feeling the heat of their attention. “I’m coming down with a migraine. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

Your friends’ voices fade into the background as they shout their goodnights, the words scarcely reaching your ears. You speed through the common room and down the cold, empty hallway, desperate for the seclusion of your dorm. Just as you’ve made it halfway to your room, a firm grip catches your hand. Startled, you spin around to find Theo standing there, his eyes searching yours with a mix of concern and hesitation.

“Fiore,” he says softly, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet hallway. His eyes follow the tears streaming down your cheeks, and you watch through blurry vision as he takes a tentative step closer. “What’s going on?”

You open your mouth to respond but find yourself unable to form the words. The lump in your throat feels insurmountable. Instead, you just shake your head slightly, your tears continuing to fall one after another.

He releases a quiet sigh and says, “Come here.” Without a second thought, you step closer, encircling his waist with your arms while resting your head against his chest. His arms come up to settle around your shoulders, and he gently rests his head against yours. As you press your face into his chest, sniffling softly, he whispers soothing words in Italian, his voice a comforting murmur. 

You must have been standing in the cold corridor for fifteen minutes before the distant murmur of approaching students prompts Theo to gently pull himself from you. He takes your hand, his touch warm against the chill, guiding you away from the freezing corridor.

“It’s just you and Pansy, right?” He asks, using his hand to guide you in front of him to let you go ahead and enter your room first.

“Yeah, but she’ll probably stay with Blaise.” You say softly, the strain in your voice revealing that you’ve been crying. ​​Theo doesn’t say anything; he’s long since lost count of the times he’s told them off for leaving the curtains open or forgetting to cast a silencing spell. Instead, he follows you into your dorm, the door clicking softly behind him.

The walls are lined with polaroids of the group, and Theo’s gaze lingers on the numerous pictures of you and Mattheo. Your dark wood desk is topped with a silver lamp and a few textbooks, its surface cluttered with quills and scattered notes. Mattheo’s jersey is draped over the back of your chair, and Theo recalls all the times seeing you wear it at each game. Your teddy, a well-worn bear that Theo recognizes as the same one you bring every year, sits at the top of your desk. 

The room feels markedly warmer than the corridor outside, though it might just be because it’s your room.

“You can sit.” You offer. Theo’s eyes move to where you’re perched on the edge of your bed watching him.

You’ve kicked off your shoes and tossed your robes over your trunk. He swallows, his gaze lingering on you. Despite the tear stains on your cheeks, he finds it hard to look away—you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s always thought so.

It’s rare for him to spend time with you alone. Usually, when you’re together, it’s with the rest of your friends. Over the years, you’ve been paired up in classes a few times, but neither of you has ever gone out of your way to be alone together.

He sits down next to you on the bed, deliberately leaving some space between you. For a while, neither of you speaks. When Theo finally glances at you out of the corner of his eye, he notices you staring at a polaroid of you and Mattheo. It was taken at a party celebrating Slytherin’s win. In the photo, you’re perched on his lap, one arm casually draped around his shoulder, the other holding up a cup of whatever you were drinking. Your smile is bright, full of life, while Mattheo’s is more subdued, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s looking at you—content, almost in awe, as you laugh above him.

He was sure you two were going to get together that night—and he nearly drank himself blackout drunk at the thought.

“Hey,” He murmurs. You hum to show you’re listening, but don’t look away from the picture. “You know I’m here for you. In any way you need me.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the picture at first, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stare at it. Finally, you let out a sigh and turn to him, “I appreciate that. But how fair would it be for me to vent about your best friend to you?”

It’s the first time he’s ever heard you say anything that hints at your feelings for Mattheo.

“I don’t care about him right now. I care about you.” He says, and you look a tad surprised at his words.

There’s a moment of quiet as you process Theo’s words. He’s always been Mattheo’s best friend, so hearing him dismiss Mattheo like that catches you off guard. You hesitate, not wanting to unload all your feelings onto him, especially since the mere thought of talking about Mattheo and Veronica makes your stomach turn.

“Theo,” you sigh, your voice tinged with vulnerability, on the verge of breaking. He can hear how close you are to tears. “Will you lie with me? If that’s weird, I understand—”

But before you can finish, Theo gently takes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring, leaving no room for doubt. He gives a small nod, silently gesturing for you to lie down, and you follow his lead. 

“Where do you want me, fiore?” He asks, his voice soft. You feel a momentary hesitation, your heart stuttering at the tenderness in his tone.

“Um,” you murmur, turning onto your side, feeling the unease settling in your stomach. Not because you feel uncomfortable around Theo, but because this is wildly different for the both of you. “Will you face me?”

Theo doesn’t hesitate. He moves effortlessly, sliding into place beside you. You watch as he slips off his shoes and sets them aside, then settles himself on the bed, positioning his body so he’s facing you. You find yourself holding your breath, acutely aware of how close he is—how you’re sharing the same pillow and could study every detail of his face if you wanted to.

“Why did you follow me?” You ask, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

“I got the impression you needed someone.” You don’t say anything to that, just take in his words. It startles you that Theo—someone you’re hardly close with—noticed, instead of Mattheo, who’s seen you at your worst more times than you can count.

“Thank you.” You say, and you cringe inwardly at the way your voice wavers. There’s nothing hiding the sadness in your voice, it’s impossible to mask.

His eyes gently trace your features, a soft concern evident in his expression as he takes in the sight of you, “For?”

“Laying with me. Coming to check on me,” Your voice drops to a whisper and your eyes well up in tears when you think about why you were upset in the first place. “It means a lot.”

Theo lets out a soft hum, his gaze soft as he lifts his hand to gently brush away a tear that slips from your eye. The gentleness of his fingers against your face feels soothing; you’ve never had anyone touch you like this before.

You shift closer to Theo, and for a moment, he tenses, as if unsure of your proximity. The hesitation makes you wonder if this closeness is too much, but then he wraps his arm around you and draws you in, holding you firmly against him. You wonder if it should feel awkward, letting Theo hold you this close when the two of you have never been this close before, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You let your eyes flutter shut, inhaling his cologne—surprisingly more comforting to you than Mattheo’s—and feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt.

As his fingers move gently over your hair, a calming touch, you rest your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat becomes a soothing reminder that you aren’t alone, and soon you find yourself drifting off, wrapped in the quiet of your dorm.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

When you wake up, Theo is gone, and you’re not sure if you’re more disappointed or relieved. Given how you feel, you’re leaning toward the latter. Your head throbs with a sharp, relentless ache, and your puffy eyes serve as a reminder of the tears you shed last night.

You’re nearly done getting ready when Pansy slips into the dorm, her brows knitting in surprise as she takes in the sight of you. 

Her gaze lingers on the dark circles under your eyes and the slight tremor in your hands as you fix your tie, “I didn’t think you’d be leaving the dorm today.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You snap, and Pansy raises an amused brow at the agitation in your voice.

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood to see them.” She heads to her trunk, her current clothes rumpled and clearly in need of a fresh uniform. You don’t need her to spell it out—you know exactly who she’s talking about.

“I left because I had a migraine.” You grit out and she glances over her shoulder, obviously amused and doubtful at your answer.

“Really? A migraine after seeing those two?” Pansy hums, rummaging through her trunk with deliberate slowness, her eyes flicking to you as if gauging your reaction. “They were all over each other last night. Who’s to say they won’t be again today?”

You stiffen at the mention of Mattheo and his girlfriend, your fingers pausing on your tie. The events of last night rushback—Veronica’s hand on Mattheo, the way he looked at her. You feel a fresh wave of nausea but push it down, not wanting to give Pansy the satisfaction of knowing she was right.

“It doesn’t bother me.” You mutter, trying to sound indifferent, though your voice wavers slightly. You force your hands to finish with your tie, pulling it tighter than necessary.

Pansy glances over at you, a flicker of something like sympathy in her eyes, as she drops the amused smirk, “You know you can tell me, right? About how you feel about him.”

You study Pansy, debating whether to finally say what you’ve kept to yourself for so long. It’s only been hours since you basically admitted it to Theo, and now telling Pansy feels like too much—though you’re sure they’d suspected for a while. But voicing it out loud feels like stepping into territory you’re not ready to face.

“What difference does it make, Pans? He’s got a girlfriend now.” You sigh, the sadness from last night seeping into your words. She abandons her trunk, standing up to fully face you, her expression unreadable.

“If it helps, we were all surprised.” She says, her voice unexpectedly gentle. That’s not normally a word you’d use in the same sentence as her name. “None of us had a clue he was sleeping with anyone more than once.”

Your stomach churns further, “I don’t think that really helps, Pans.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of comfort. “I could make her life a nightmare if you want. Maybe then she’d decide it’s not worth it.”

“No,” you say, wincing as you stare at the wall, feeling the heaviness of the room. “I want him to be happy, and if shemakes him happy, then I need to accept it. Even if it hurts.”

Pansy narrows her eyes, disbelief crossing her face. “Are you joking? You’d make him happy—”

“Pansy,” you cut her off, frustration making your voice sharper. “I don’t need you to fix this. I just need to figure out how to deal with it myself.”

Pansy falls silent, her gaze shifting as she takes in the raw pain on your face, a flicker of guilt passing over her expression. She heads off to change, leaving you on your bed, the weight of her offer hanging in the air. You sit there, lost in thought, waiting for her to finish getting ready. Despite her nights spent with Blaise, you both always made a point to walk to breakfast together.

When Pansy finally emerges, you both make your way to the Great Hall in quiet unison. The hum of conversation and the steady flow of students around you create a backdrop of normalcy.

“What did you do after you left last night?” Pansy asks, her gaze shifting from the bustling corridor to you.

“Had a good cry.” You reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the heaviness you feel.

Pansy’s brow furrows. “Babes, you shouldn’t have been alone.”

“I wasn’t.” You say, almost reluctantly.

“What do you mean?”

“Theo came back to the dorm with me,” you explain, your voice softer now. “He stayed with me, just… holding me, until I fell asleep.”

Pansy’s eyes widen slightly, and she falls quiet for a moment, “He did?”

You let out a soft hum, and Pansy grips at your hand, her touch both firm and reassuring. Her eyes reflect a mix of concern and guilt as she looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice softening with sincerity. “I should’ve come to check on you instead of leaving it to Theo. I didn’t realize your feelings for Mattheo were this strong. I thought it was a harmless crush, I really didn’t know.”

You shake your head slightly, your gaze dropping to where her fingers clasp yours. “It’s okay,” you murmur, trying to steady your voice. “Theo being there helped more than I thought it would. I’m glad I wasn’t alone.”

Pansy nods, her expression softening. “I wish I’d known,” she says quietly. “I would’ve gone with you immediately. I just thought you needed some space.”

You offer a small, appreciative smile, grateful for her concern. “Thanks, Pansy. It means a lot.”

Pansy pulls you into a warm hug, and despite the heaviness in your chest, you can’t help but chuckle at the unexpected show of affection. When she finally lets go, she takes your hand and leads you toward the Great Hall. 

As you make your way to the Slytherin table, your spirits, momentarily lifted by Pansy’s support, are quickly deflated when you see who’s occupying your usual spot.

A heavy weight settles in your stomach as you spot Veronica nestled against Mattheo’s side, her head tilted as she whispers something into his ear. His laughter, genuine and warm, makes your appetite vanish. You decide that you’re not very hungry anymore.

You swallow hard, struggling to keep your emotions in check. Pansy gives your hand a comforting squeeze and tilts her head toward an empty seat beside Theo. Usually, Theo would be next to his best friend with you on the other side sandwiching Mattheo, but today he’s positioned next to Draco across from where he normally would be. You hesitate, not wanting to assume he saved the spot for you, but then Theo turns and offers you a gentle smile—a smile you’ve never seen him give anyone else. As you stand there, he reaches out with that soft smile, his hand extended to gently guide you into the seat beside him.

You settle into the seat beside Theo, and with a resigned sigh, you reach for some food to add to your plate. Even though your appetite is all but gone, you know it’s important to eat. That and you know Pansy would shove it down your throat if you didn’t.

Theo leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur as he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up,” he says quietly. “I had something I needed to take care of.”

“That’s alright,” You murmur, sending him a quick, soft smile. “Were you able to get any sleep last night?”

Theo hesitates, unsure whether to tell you that it was the best sleep he’s had in a while or simply agree. He settles for a nod, “Uh yeah. I slept pretty well. Did you?”

“As well as I could,” You shrug, “But it was nice having you there.” You send him a shy smile, your gaze dipping back down to the tea you’re stirring, and he struggles to resist the urge to offer to stay the night with you again.

“I meant what I said. I’m here for you in any way that you need me.” You turn towards him, your expression softening as you take in the genuine look on his face. Your lips part, but you can’t manage to get anything past them. The way he’s looking at you makes you nervous.

“Oi! What are you two whispering about?” Theo’s head snaps toward Draco, who is watching you both with a look of clear distaste at the way you were leaning into each other, gazing at one another so intently.

“Nothing.” Theo snaps out, and Draco raises an eyebrow at the sharpness in his tone. A sly grin begins to form on Draco’s face as he opens his mouth to speak, but Theo interrupts with a low murmur that you can’t quite make out. Draco doesn’t say anything, but faces his breakfast with a disgruntled look on his face.

Theo engages in a lively conversation with Enzo and Draco, leaving you content to eat in quiet. However, it’s not long before Veronica’s giggles start to cut through the silence, growing louder with each passing moment. When you finally look up, your heart sinks. Mattheo’s arm is wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as he murmurs something into her ear. She glances up at him, still laughing, and Mattheo leans in, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Overwhelmed, you instinctively reach for Theo’s thigh, your hand gripping it tightly as you try to steady yourself. Theo looks at you, startled by your sudden reaction, but you’re not meeting his gaze. Instead, he follows your line of sight to where Mattheo and Veronica are entwined, lost in their own world. 

He drops his fork with a sigh, his hand immediately reaching out to grasp yours with a firm, reassuring grip. His touch is warm as he gently pulls your focus from the scene before you. Theo’s gaze lingers on the tear-brimmed edges of your eyes, his expression concerned. He glances at your friends, still lost in their animated conversation, and feels a pang of relief that they’re oblivious to the devastation written across your face.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, rising from his seat while maintaining a firm hold on your hand. With a quick, reassuring glance, he leans down to grab your bag. “I’ll walk you to class a bit early.”

Without a word, you follow him, casting a glance back at Pansy. You silently mouth ‘class’ to her as she watches you with curiosity from over your shoulder. If your friends notice the way Theo’s hand is intertwined with yours, they make no mention of it.

The moment you’re out in the hall, it feels like you can finally breathe again. A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you cling tightly to Theo’s hand as you walk, finding some comfort in the feel of him. You appreciate how he doesn’t push you to talk or ask any questions, just quietly staying by your side. There’s a relief in knowing he’s there if you need him, without the pressure to say anything.

After a couple of minutes of walking, you squeeze his hand and Theo glances over at you, “I’m not sure how I’m going to do this.”

He squeezes your hand back, “What do you mean?”

“Seeing them together,” You mumble. “It fucking sucks.”

“I’m sorry, fiore.” He speaks softly, wishing he had the right words to offer, some way to tell you how to get over someone. But the truth is, he’s still trying to figure it out himself.

“Will you help me get over him?” Theo’s steps falter slightly at your question, his heart aching at the helplessness in your voice. He swallows, the meaning of your words sinking in. You don’t seem to realize what it sounds like you’re asking him for.

He glances at you, unease settling in his stomach, “How exactly?” He briefly considers the fact that whatever you ask of him could make him fall for you more. But as long as it meant you were happy.

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the floor as you search for the right words. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… be there, I guess. Help me forget about him. Distract me.”

Theo nods slowly, his mind racing. He wants to say something, to offer more than just his presence, but he knows that pushing too hard might make things worse. Instead, he gently squeezes your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a comforting rhythm.

“I can do that,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the nerves inside him. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

You offer him a small, grateful smile, and he can see the hint of sadness still lingering in your eyes. It breaks his heart, but he pushes those feelings aside. Right now, what matters is helping you heal, even if it means hiding his own growing feelings for you.

As you continue walking, Theo keeps you close, his hand never leaving yours. And though he doesn’t say it out loud, he silently vows to do whatever it takes to make you smile again, even if it means keeping his own heartache hidden in the process.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

By the time you reach your dorm, exhaustion weighs heavily on you. You’ve spent the entire day with your head down, avoiding any sight of Mattheo and Veronica. The silence between you and Mattheo feels foreign; it’s the first time you’ve gone a whole day without speaking to him, and you’re unsure if he even noticed your absence.

Unfortunately, you share several classes with both Mattheo and, evidently, Veronica. The sound of her laugh has become something you never want to hear again.

You kick off your shoes, fatigue weighing heavily on your limbs as you move towards your bed. As you pass your desk, something catches your eye—a bundle of red flowers sitting on top of your books. You pause, your curiosity piqued, and approach the desk. With a gentle touch, you lift the bundle, revealing vibrant red peonies. Their rich color stands out against the soft light filtering through the window, and their subtle, sweet fragrance fills the air.

Your eyes catch a note nestled among the flowers. You bite your lip to hide a smile as you read his messy handwriting: your name followed by a simple heart.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Last night had been brutal. Sleep barely touched you; your mind was flooded with images of Mattheo and Veronica, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The thought of them together was unbearable—it made your head throb and your stomach churn. You hated it. Hated how it made you feel. But no matter how tightly you shut your eyes, your thoughts wouldn’t quiet. So you gave up on rest entirely, dragging yourself out of bed before the sun had even risen, hoping that a book might be enough to distract you from the images popping up in your head.

It was quiet in the common room—so quiet, you weren’t sure it would be enough to drown out the rancid thoughts circling your head. But you sat down anyway, curled up beside the fire with a blanket draped around your shoulders.

Reading ended up helping, so much so that you didn’t even hear anyone come in. You nearly jumped out of your skin when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught someone sitting in the chair beside you.

“You scared me.” You mutter, shooting him a look as he keeps his eyes fixed on the fire in front of him.

“Didn’t mean to,” Mattheo mumbles, finally glancing over at you. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say with a shrug, praying he won’t ask why. “I’m guessing it’s the same for you?”

He sighs, and you know the answer right away, “The usual.”

The words rise in your throat, begging to ask why he didn’t come to you��but you swallow them down, because deep down, you already know the answer. That was someone else’s job now.

So instead, you stay quiet—he’s never been one to talk after a nightmare. He prefers silence, sitting with it, letting it settle while he works through whatever’s clawing at him.

“I haven’t seen much of you.” You murmur after a good ten minutes of silence. It’s not easy to focus on reading when the person you’ve missed so achingly is sitting right in front of you. It was hard not to say anything—you’d barely made it through a page of your book, too distracted by stealing glances at him. You always thought he looked his most beautiful like this—hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep. It was a kind of vulnerability only you were ever allowed to see.

He sighs, leaning back in the chair as his hand threads through his hair. “Been busy. You know how it is.” The smirk that tugs at his lips makes your stomach twist. You don’t know how it is—not really. You’ve been too busy waiting around for him to find out.

“Oh,” you choke out. “Well, maybe this weekend we could do something? It feels like it’s been ages since we’ve done anything.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and your spirits lift for a second. “I’ll have to check in with Veronica first, though.”

“Check in?” You repeat, a frown tugging at your brow.

“I don’t want her thinking I’m neglecting our relationship, you know?” He explains, and you swallow down the scoff that threatens to leave your lips. Like you’re doing with ours?

“Sure, I understand.” You say, but you really don’t. But you have no right to voice that. He’s in a relationship now, and you have to learn to respect that.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

It’s well past midnight when a knock echoes at your door. You sigh, adjusting your shorts as you reluctantly crawl off your bed, leaving your notes sprawled across the covers. As you swing the door open, you find Theo standing there, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet yours. A hesitant smile plays on his lips, as if he’s unsure whether he’s welcome at this late hour.

“Hi.” You greet him with a mix of confusion and warmth, offering a sweet smile. You pull the door open wider, and Theo’s gaze briefly flickers over your tiny sleep shorts and oversized shirt before he meets your eyes again.

“Pansy’s at our dorm.” He says, his voice soft.

You let out a quiet laugh, “I know that.”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just thought... maybe you wouldn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised, your lips parting as you glance over your shoulder into your room. Theo’s heart races, a wave of panic surging through him as he mentally scolds himself for not holding back. Offering to stay the night with you felt impulsive, but the moment he saw Pansy enter his dorm, his thoughts had gone straight to you.

“Shit,” Theo shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I just—when I saw Pansy, I couldn’t help but think you might need someone tonight. But if you’d rather be alone, I can go.”

After you asked Theo to help you get over Mattheo, you wondered if it had been too much to ask of him. But to your surprise, you’ve spent nearly every day of the past three weeks with Theo. You knew he had his own worries—between school, Quidditch, and the pressure from his father. But the morning after you asked for his help, he was there. 

You never expected him to put so much effort into helping you move on from Mattheo, but you couldn’t be more grateful. 

You hadn’t seen much of Mattheo since that early morning you’d run into him in the common room a couple of weeks ago. He’d been wrapped up with Veronica—you’d really only caught glimpses of them around the castle now and then, and the boys hadn’t stopped grumbling about their mate being stolen. It bothered you more than you cared to admit. You missed your best friend, even when you were agitated with him. Still, you were doing your best to respect his relationship, which meant spending more time with the group—minus the new couple. As it turned out, the distraction was a welcome one.

“No,” you quickly respond, a smile spreading across your face as you reach out and grasp his hand, gently tugging him inside. “I’m glad you came.”

Theo visibly relaxes at your touch, allowing you to gently pull him into the room. As the door clicks shut behind him, sealing out the quiet corridor, his initial hesitation melts away. He takes in the familiar surroundings of your room, which, despite being a bit messier than usual, feels even more comforting in the warm, dim light with you.

He swallows his disappointment as you release his hand to clear your bed of scattered notes. Standing there awkwardly, he tries to keep his gaze focused, making an effort not to let his eyes drift down your legs as you lean over to pick up the last piece of parchment.

After you place everything neatly on your desk, you turn to face him, leaning casually against the edge with a soft smile. “Are you okay with sharing my bed again?” you ask, your voice light but sincere. “Or if you’d prefer, I can sleep in Pansy’s bed so you’ll have more room.”

Theo bites his tongue, fighting to keep his voice steady and avoid sounding overeager. He doesn’t want more room; what he wants is to wake up with you pressed close against him, just as he did weeks ago. This time, though, he’s determined to stay and enjoy the feeling of you in his arms.

He clears his throat, “Your bed is fine.”

“I was actually about to head to bed before you knocked, but I can stay up if you wanted to do something.” You offer, your voice gentle and inviting.

Theo shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “Thanks, but I’m pretty wiped out from practice today.” He admits, and you can hear the exhaustion seeping through his words.

“You should’ve gone to bed at your dorm, you would’ve been asleep sooner.” You say with a slight frown as you notice just how tired he looks from the day.

“No,” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing you were here alone.”

If your heart could have melted, it would have done so right then.

Theo’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer before he glances away, almost as if he’s embarrassed by his own admission. You press your lips together, trying to hide the giddy smile threatening to break through. The idea that he cared that much for you made your insides flutter, warmth spreading through your chest.

Pushing away from the desk, you walk over to your bed and pull back the covers. Theo watches as you crawl in, adjusting the pillows before looking back at him. The unspoken question hangs in the air—are you going to join me?

He hesitates, slowly dropping his bag at the foot of your bed before moving closer to the edge. He’s slept in a bed with a girl before, but this feels wildly different. You make him nervous, and he has no idea how to hide it when he’s this close to you.

You settle into the covers, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight as you shift, and watch as Theo does the same, kicking off his shoes and slipping under the covers beside you.

Once the lights are off, silence settles between you, not at all uncomfortable. The only sound in the room is the soft rustling of sheets as Theo shifts beside you. You lie on your side, trying to make out his form in the darkness as your eyes slowly adjust. You can tell he’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the past couple of weeks.” You say softly, and Theo turns his head to look at you.

“Yeah?”

You hum, reaching out your fingers to brush against his hand, and he takes it without hesitation, his grip warm and reassuring, “Yeah.”

It’s become a habit in the last couple of weeks—intertwining his fingers with yours. He would grab your hand every time he noticed your discomfort around Mattheo and Veronica. And at some point, you just started reaching for his hand yourself. You liked the warmth of his palm against yours and the way he’d brush his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You know I don’t mind, right? Spending all this time with you has been nice. We never really hung out much, just us two.” He says softly.

You nod, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Yeah, I know. It’s been nice for me too,” you admit, your eyes meeting his in the dark. You both fall into silence, and it doesn’t take long before you drift off to sleep, your hand still clasped in his.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Panic hits as you suddenly realize the time—you’re running late. By now, you should already be at breakfast.

“Theo,” you whisper urgently, trying to shift out of his hold. The sheets are tangled around your legs, your back pressed firmly against his chest. His arms are locked around your waist, holding you close, and he’s not loosening his grip. His body is warm against yours, and even as you try to move, his grip tightens slightly, like he’s not ready to let go just yet. “Theo.”

“Fiore,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, and you freeze at the sound of that deeper, morning rasp. “Quit moving.”His grip tightens just enough to keep you still, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“We have to get up,” you huff, trying to slip out of his arms, but Theo just pulls you back against him, his hold firm. “We’re late.”

“We’ll just skip.” He mutters, his voice still low and groggy. The idea is tempting—staying wrapped in his warmth instead of braving the cold corridors—but you sigh inwardly, knowing better.

You’d grown used to Theo’s small gestures of affection over the past few weeks, and you’d been just as affectionate in return. But waking up tangled in his arms like this felt different, more intimate. You were certain that once Theo fully woke up, he’d be a little sheepish about how closely he was holding you now.

“We really can’t,” you sigh, trying once more. “We need to get going—” Theo grumbles in response, finally loosening his grip and releasing you. A triumphant smile tugs at your lips as you slip out of bed, quickly heading to get ready. You racethrough brushing your teeth and pull on your uniform, skipping any attempt at fixing your hair in the rush. By the time you step out of the bathroom, Theo is standing by the bed, just finishing the last button on his shirt, looking just as disheveled as you feel.

You hurry Theo out of your room as he finishes brushing his teeth, and he complies, adjusting his tie as you both sprint toward the Great Hall. Just before joining the bustling breakfast crowd, you grab Theo by the arm, pausing to smooth down his disheveled hair.

“Is it a mess?” He asks, watching you closely as you stand on your toes to thread your fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it.

“Just a bit,” you smile, stepping back on your heels and giving his hair a final nod of approval. “How’s mine?”

“Pretty,” Theo responds immediately, his gaze lingering. “I’ve never seen your hair like this before.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your smile at his compliment. You had let your hair fall naturally, and his reaction makes you feel unexpectedly warm.

You mumble a shy “thank you” before leading the way into the Great Hall, Theo trailing close behind. His cheeks are still tinged pink from the way your fingers had grazed through his hair, and he’s quietly grateful you haven’t seemed to notice. However, his relief is short-lived when he catches Draco’s eye, who immediately notices the pink tint and raises an eyebrow in amused surprise.

As you make your way to the table, Draco leans back in his seat with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds gracing us with their presence.”

“Fuck off.” Theo grumbles under his breath as he lets you slide into your new seat before settling in beside you. Ever since your usual spot had been taken, you’d claimed the one next to Theo, and not just in the Great Hall. You found yourself gravitating toward him in class, the common room—anywhere you could. It had become a newly formed habit, one that neither of you seemed keen on breaking.

“I should’ve figured that’s where you disappeared to last night,” Enzo says with a knowing smirk. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately, haven’t you?”

You really had. Theo had taken to meeting you outside your last class of the day, content to walk around the castle or by the lake, just so you could avoid witnessing Mattheo and Veronica together. You had learned he was the perfect study partner—far more patient than Mattheo, who would get restless after twenty minutes and start pleading for a break. He seemed to remember every little detail you shared, from how you took your tea to the smallest quirks about yourself.

He’d been so attentive to you that you overheard some girls in the year below talking about how Theo Nott was no longer single.

Theo gives him a flat, unimpressed glare, clearly not in the mood for Enzo’s comments, “Yet again, fuck off.”

“Well, have you two got anything to tell us?” Blaise prodded, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was teasing, sure—but there was a hint of hope beneath it, a quiet wish that the two of you would finally admit to being together. Theo was the happiest Blaise had ever seen him, and he knew it had everything to do with you. It always did.

Theo looks up from serving himself breakfast, shooting Blaise a sharp, warning glance. He could handle the teasing from the boys himself, but he didn’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, especially if it made you uncomfortable.

“No.” Theo replies flatly, his gaze flicking to you. You return it with an amused, yet sympathetic smile. Unconsciously, a soft, faint smile tugs at his lips, a detail the boys are quick to notice.

“Are you sure? Because—” Blaise starts but is quickly interrupted.

“I think you two would be perfect together,” Veronica cuts in, her voice dripping with an overly sweet tone as she flashes a saccharine smile. “Don’t you think so, Matty?” she adds, glancing over at Mattheo with a raised eyebrow.

Your eyes meet Mattheo’s for a fleeting moment, and he holds your gaze. You barely registered them, so absorbed in the boys’ teasing of you and Theo. And honestly, you’re still unsettled by what he said the other day—his comment about not wanting to neglect his relationship with Veronica. What about your friendship? Was that something that was okay to neglect?

Clearly, as much as you tried to shake it, there was still some bitterness there.

For just a moment, there’s something unreadable in his gaze—something that makes your heart falter—but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his gaze shifting between you and Theo while Veronica cozies up to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You two would be.”

A knot tightens in your stomach, and your appetite evaporates. The lightness you’d felt just moments before vanishes, replaced by a heavy weight. Even though you knew Mattheo didn’t have feelings for you, hearing him so openly agree with the idea of you with Theo stings more than you expected.

As long as you’d known him, Mattheo had never been in a serious relationship, let alone had a girlfriend. Now that he was with Veronica, it was painfully clear that you were never truly an option for him. If you had been, he would have made a move. You had dropped hints for years, and his playful flirting had always kept your hopes alive.

But maybe that’s all your relationship was ever meant to be—a friendship with a hint of flirtation. If that’s the case, you needed to move on. Fixating on a guy who now had a girlfriend was a losing battle. If you weren’t careful, you might risk losing the friendship you valued so much.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts, pushing the food around on your plate, that you don’t even hear the chatter of your friends going on around you. It isn’t until Enzo tosses a grape at you that you glance up, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

You immediately know he’s referring to the Quidditch match. You’d missed the last game, which had surprised everyone, but you weren’t in the right head space to watch Veronica cheer for Mattheo.

You nod. “I planned on it.”

“Good,” Pansy interjects matter-of-factly. “I missed having you there.” You offer her a smile, but it falters when you see Veronica nudge Mattheo. He clears his throat and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Speaking of the game,” Mattheo starts, his voice slicing through the breakfast chatter. “I need my jersey back.”

Your brows knit together in confusion, and it takes you a moment to find your voice, “I don’t understand—”

“My jersey,” Mattheo repeats, his gaze steady as he watches you. “I need it for tomorrow.”

“Did something happen to yours?” You ask, caught off guard. You’d always kept one of his jerseys while he kept the other. It had become a sort of tradition between you.

Mattheo hesitates momentarily, a flicker of something like regret crossing his features. “No, it’s just... I need it back now.”

“Oh.” You say softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. Veronica’s eyes dart between the two of you, her brow knitting in irritation as she takes in the way Mattheo’s gaze lingers on you.

Theo’s eyes watch you with careful intensity. And when he catches the flash of hurt in your expression, he reaches out and intertwines his fingers with yours beneath the table, his touch reminding you that he’s there if you need him. You squeeze his hand back immediately.

“I’m wearing it,” Veronica interjects, her tone bordering on something nasty. “I’m his girlfriend. It would be a bit strange if you kept wearing it.”

Your gaze flickers to hers, and a familiar twist of dislike coils in your stomach. You hadn’t been her biggest fan when you first met, but you’d tried to make an effort. That morning, after seeing Mattheo in the common room, you’d even asked Veronica if she wanted to hang out. You told yourself it was a healthy step—getting to know her might help you understand what Mattheo saw in her. Maybe if you saw why he’d fallen for her, it would be easier to let go. The feelings you had for Mattheo? Those were going to be long gone soon.

But she’d barely spared you a glance, tossing a dismissive look over her shoulder before slamming her book shut and rising to face you, “When I said we’d have a girls’ night, I didn’t actually mean it.”

Your lips parted, confusion knitting your brows. “It doesn’t have to be a girls’ night,” you offered, trying to keep your tone light. “I just thought maybe we could grab lunch—just the two of us, or even with Mattheo, if that’s more comfort—”

“I don’t have time,” she cut in sharply, lifting her books in emphasis. “Besides, tonight’s date night for Matty and me. It’d be weird if you tagged along.”

You bit back the retort—“I didn’t say tonight”—deciding her tone said enough. You’d tried, but her attitude had made things crystal clear. You didn’t like her—and nothing was changing that.

Your friends exchange glances, their confusion palpable as they watch Mattheo allow Veronica to speak to you with such disdain. They’ve seen him start fights over someone supposedly speaking badly of you, so this new passivity is surprising. Enzo’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he mouths a quick ‘what the hell’ to Draco, whose puzzled expression mirrors his own.

Everyone, except Mattheo it seems, has noticed that Veronica has gone from bright and friendly to curt and possessive over the past few weeks. At first, everyone agreed she seemed sweet—confused about how she ended up with Mattheo, but sweet nonetheless. But the longer the relationship went on, the more Veronica’s personality seemed to shift. It became clear she wasn’t a fan of them, especially not you.

When you remain silent, Veronica sighs impatiently, “Did you hear me—”

“Yeah, I get it,” you snap, your frustration evident. You turn your gaze back to Mattheo. “I’ll give it to you later.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You spent all your classes obsessing over returning Mattheo’s jersey, and no matter how hard you tried, it was getting under your skin. It wasn’t just any jersey—it was the one Mattheo had given you, the one you’d worn countless times. His new relationship with Veronica had stung, but this felt even worse. Maybe it was because taking back the jersey felt like a tangible sign that Mattheo was serious about Veronica, and it drove home the reality of how much things had changed.

Logically, you understood why it was reasonable. Having another girl wear your boyfriend’s jersey would be uncomfortable, and if the roles were reversed, you’d feel the same way. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. You found Veronica irritating, and the thought of giving up something that meant so much to you—both the jersey and Mattheo—was unbearable.

By the time you made it to your dorm, you were in a foul mood. The plan had been simple: stay holed up all day and hope that, by tomorrow, you’d be completely over Mattheo Riddle.

You’d barely been lounging on your bed for ten minutes when the door burst open. “Get ready, we’re heading down to the Black Lake,” Pansy announced the moment she stepped inside. You glanced up to see her toss her bag onto the bed before rifling through her clothes like she hadn’t just disrupted your entire plan for the day.

“Sorry, this is what I’m doing for the rest of the day.” Pansy looks up and quirks an eyebrow at you—an unmistakable This? Really? written all over her face

“It’s not. I told the boys you were coming.” 

“Why?” You ask, annoyance flickering through your veins.

“Because you’ve been in a mood since breakfast and you need a distraction,” she says, tossing a black bikini onto her bed before heading over to your side of the room to dig through your wardrobe. “Besides, it’s nice out, and I need a tan.”

“A mood? Did you not hear him? He wants his jersey back!” You snap, sitting up in bed and flinging your arm toward the garment draped over the back of your chair.

“I know, babe,” Pansy says with a sigh. “But what’s the point in arguing? It’s not going to change anything. His girlfriend already doesn’t like you, and if you push it, you’ll end up seeing him even less.”

She barely spares you a glance as she goes through your clothes, and your stomach sinks. You’ve hardly seen Mattheo as it is—but the thought of not speaking him at all? That’s the last thing you want.

It’s not long before you’re spreading out your towel and sinking down beside Pansy. She’s already reclined, sunglasses balanced on the bridge of her nose, a satisfied sigh slipping past her lips as the sun warms her skin.

“I needed this.” Pansy hums, and you glance over at her.

“I think it’d be a lot more relaxing if they weren’t here.” You mutter, your gaze flicking to where Mattheo sits behind Veronica, obediently rubbing sunscreen on her back as she directs him like a puppet.

Pansy cracks one eye open, follows your line of sight, and groans. “They weren’t supposed to be. Mattheo must’ve overheard the guys talking about it.”

Your jaw tightens as you watch him finish with her shoulders, leaning forward to press a kiss to her neck. She lets out a high-pitched squeal of his name, and suddenly, you regret not fighting harder to stay curled up in your dorm.

“Would you just relax?” Pansy murmurs, sliding her sunglasses down to eye you properly. She gives your t-shirt a light tug, then pinches at the hem of your shorts. “Take these off—you look like you’re melting.”

Something sharp about how it must be your anger, is on the tip of your tongue. But Pansy adjusts her sunglasses and rolls onto her stomach, clearly signaling the conversation is over.

You sigh, glancing over at the boys seated a little ways from Mattheo and Veronica. It’s obvious from their expressions that they’re talking about them. A part of you bristles instinctively, ready to defend Mattheo—but you shove it down before it can surface.

Theo’s eyes are locked on Mattheo, anger simmering just beneath the surface as he watches him drape himself over Veronica—right in front of you. It’s all Theo’s been able to think about these past few weeks: keeping you distracted, keeping your eyes on him. Because if you’re looking at him, maybe you won’t notice just how completely enamored Mattheo is with a girl that isn’t you.

He doesn’t get it—how Mattheo could have you as an option and yet choose someone else. It drives him mad, keeps him up at night. Because if he were in Mattheo’s position, there wouldn’t be a choice to make. It would be you. Always.

He’s so focused on his thoughts that he barely registers Enzo nudging him.

“Huh?” He mutters, distracted, but his words catch in his throat the moment he follows Enzo’s subtle nod toward you. Wrapped in a cherry-red bikini, shoving your denim shorts down your thighs, completely unaware of the way the sight knocks the breath out of him.

His irritation simmers into something else entirely—something heavier, something that sparks low in his stomach.

A low whistle sounds beside him, and Theo’s head snaps toward Draco, who’s shamelessly smirking in your direction. “Salazar, I love the view on days like this,” he drawls.

Irritation flares hot in his chest, and without thinking, Theo snaps, “Shut the fuck up,” before pushing to his feet and heading straight for you.

He doesn’t have much of a plan when he gets to you—just knows he’d rather not sit there while the guys keep eyeing you like that.

“Fiore.” He greets, and you blink up at him through your sunglasses, taking a second to admire him. Exposed skin and defined biceps completely short-circuit your brain, and it takes a moment to catch up. Pansy shoots you a look at how long it takes you to answer him.

“Theo,” you hum, and his lips twitch into a smile. Pansy’s eyes flick between the two of you before she pushes herself up, calling over her shoulder that she’s going to say hi to Blaise. You watch as she saunters over, drops to her knees beside him, and leans down to press a kiss to his lips. Blaise, lying back without a care in the world, welcomes it, while Draco and Enzo groan dramatically, muttering that the two of them need a room.

You giggle quietly to yourself, amused by your friends, as Theo settles onto the towel Pansy abandoned. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, gazes cast toward the Black Lake, letting the sun warm your skin while birdsong fills the space between you. With Theo beside you, the tension in your chest begins to ease. You’re just about to sink back into the towel when another one of Veronica’s shrill calls of Mattheo’s name cuts through the peace, grating in your ears.

You let out a soft sigh, drawing Theo’s attention. He glances over at you, then follows your gaze to where Mattheo sits behind Veronica, still murmuring something in her ear as she leans back against him.

“Do you want to swim?” Theo asks, then immediately winces at how blunt it sounds. He wishes his brain didn’t short-circuit every time you were near—that he could string together a sentence without sounding like he’s forgotten how to speak. Around you, he feels like a third year all over again. There’s a flash of relief when your eyes finally shift to him.

You glance toward the lake, hesitation written all over your face. “It looks freezing,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual. You’re not about to admit you suck at swimming—it’s easier to pretend that it’s just too cold.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “It won’t be that bad.”

Still unsure, you give him a shrug, and Theo pushes himself up, holding out a hand for you to take. 

“That water’s gonna be freezing!” Blaise calls after you, and you shoot Theo a look that clearly says told you so.

Threading your fingers through Theo’s feels almost jarring—jolting in a way that catches you off guard. It’s a little unnerving, knowing all your friends are watching as you walk hand in hand, though it’s not like they haven’t already noticed how inseparable you and Theo have become. Still, there’s a flicker of satisfaction when, out of the corner of your eye, you catch Mattheo turning to watch the two of you walk toward the water. For once, his eyes aren’t on Veronica—they’re on you.

You stop a few feet from the edge, eyeing the water warily before taking a slow step back, a sweet smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at him.

“You know what, I’ll gladly watch you swim by yourself.”

Theo casts a look of disbelief your way, “You walked all the way down here with me just to turn me down?”

You shrug, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “I think you’ll survive on your own.”

“No, I really don’t think I will.” His voice is playful, but there’s a glint in his eye as he steps into the water, holding out a hand to you.

You wrinkle your nose and shake your head. “Get Enzo to come out there with you.” You turn, ready to call for Enzo, but you don’t get the chance.

Theo wraps an arm around your waist, the other slipping behind your knees as he effortlessly lifts you off the ground.

You let out a startled shriek, arms instinctively flying around his shoulders. “Theo!” you gasp, breathless with surprise and laughter.

If your friends hadn’t been paying attention before, they definitely were now. A few whistles and teasing cheers ring out from the group, but you can’t tell who they’re from. You’re too focused on Theo, clinging to him with a mix of panic and laughter.

“If you drop me…” You warn, tightening your grip around his shoulders as he wades deeper into the water.

“I’m not going to drop you.” He says with a low chuckle—and just as the words leave his mouth, the cool water brushes your back, pulling a startled squeak from your lips.

“I’m serious! I barely know how to swim. No one ever taught me, and I cried so much every time my parents dropped me off at swim lessons that they just gave up.” You confess quietly, eyes flicking nervously to the water lapping around Theo’s knees before finally meeting his gaze.

To your surprise, he doesn’t tease. Instead, he chuckles softly, shaking his head as he adjusts his grip, gently shifting you until you can wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms loop securely around his neck, and he gives you that soft, familiar smile. The one he saves only for you. It was quickly becoming one of your favorite things.

“I’ll just keep holding you then. How’s that sound?” You nod, eyes drifting over his sun-kissed skin and tousled waves. He looked beautiful like this, devastatingly so.

“As long as you don’t drop me, I’m okay with that.” You murmur softly, and Theo’s smile shifts—gentler now, quieter. His eyes flick down to your lips, so quickly you almost convince yourself you imagined it. 

Because there’s no way Theo Nott would be thinking about kissing you. 

That just wasn’t possible.

You watch him closely, heart ticking faster as his eyes slowly trace your face. Goosebumps rise along your skin when his hand glides down your side, over your hip, then settles firmly on your thigh.

“Theo.”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

He glances at you, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“Adjusting my grip,” he says casually. “Wouldn’t want to drop you.”

It’s a bullshit excuse. He didn’t need to adjust his grip—he was holding you just fine. And maybe it was wrong, but he wanted a reason to let his hand skim over your skin, to feel what it would be like to touch you the way he would if you were his.

You don’t seem to care though.

You hum in understanding, and without thinking, your fingers drift up to toy with the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Theo watches you closely, eyes tracing every detail of your face—committing it to memory, unsure when he’ll get to have you this close again.

“I was wondering—”

“Mattheo!” The shout cuts through the air, and Theo flinches at the sound of Veronica’s voice, wincing as a splash of cold water hits his back. Instinctively, he pulls you closer, turning his body to shield you from the spray.

“Fuck, Mattheo,” you grumble, shooting an irritated look his way. “That’s freezing.” It’s not that cold, but you’re annoyed. He’s your best friend, he knows all about your failed attempts at learning to swim and how much you really, really hate having water splashed on you.

“Sorry,” he says with a shrug, though he doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. His eyes flick briefly to Theo, then drop, as if he can see right through the murky water to where Theo’s hand is gripping your thigh.

“You’ve got Theo to keep you warm,” he says, nodding toward him. But his eyes stay locked on yours. There’s a sharp edge to his voice, one Theo doesn’t miss. It’s subtle, but it’s there, like the sight of you in Theo’s arms is bothering him more than he wants to admit.

Theo feels the subtle shift in your body—the way you tense slightly in his arms.

Veronica calls his name, and after a brief hesitation, Mattheo finally tears his gaze away from you and swims toward her. But your mood has already soured, and all you want now is to retreat to your towel and dry off.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You barely slept, spending most of the night replaying every possible scenario of how returning Mattheo’s jersey might go. Your mind wouldn’t settle, not after watching him and Veronica at the lake, circling each other in the water, sharing quiet conversations. Every so often, if you were lucky, you caught a glimpse of Mattheo pressing his lips to hers.

You were grateful for your sunglasses, hiding the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was jealousy or frustration—or a painful mix of both.

Whatever it was, it sucked.

By the time you got back to your dorm after a day full of classes, you were wound so tight you feared you might snap.

You dreaded going to the game. The thought of returning the jersey was uncomfortable, and the idea of seeing Mattheo with Veronica made it even harder to face.

What you hoped for most was a moment alone with him, to talk without Veronica hovering nearby. But after yesterday, you knew the odds of that were slim. Watching her draped all over Mattheo at the lake had been enough proof. If today was anything like that, you wouldn’t get a second alone with him.

You considered skipping the match entirely. However, you and Pansy had made plans to sit together, and you’d also promised Mattheo you’d return his jersey. As much as you wanted to avoid the situation, you knew you had to go.

You were so irritated as you snatched Mattheo’s jersey off the back of your chair that you hadn’t even noticed the red peonies and green jersey sitting on your bed at first. It wasn’t until you tossed your bag aside and went to fix your hair that the unexpected sight caught your eye.

Your eyes landed on the familiar green jersey, the back facing up so you could clearly see ‘Nott’ stitched in bold, unmistakable letters. A smile tugged at your lips, your earlier frustration fading as you reached for the flowers, their soft petals brushing against your fingers. Carefully, you lifted them, already picturing them in a vase on your desk. 

There’s a card tucked between the blooms, and you smile at Theo’s handwriting: Fiore—wear this for me tonight?

Suddenly, the idea of going to the match didn’t seem so miserable anymore.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Finally!” Veronica calls out the moment she spots you, her voice laced with impatience. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up in time.” She stands outside the boys’ locker room, arms crossed like she’s been waiting for ages.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I told Mattheo I would be here.”

“I know,” She says, her tone short, before sticking out her hand expectantly. “I can take that.”

You hesitate, wanting to wait and give it to Mattheo yourself, but you know she’ll be the one wearing the jersey tonight. It feels pointless to hold onto it any longer. With a reluctant sigh, you hand it over, and Veronica’s lips curl into a triumphant smile as she takes it from you.

“Thanks.” She chirps, instantly brighter now that she’s got what she wanted. You watch as she slips the jersey on, and a slight bitterness creeps into your chest at the sight of it on her. She finishes adjusting the jersey and looks up, sending you a smug smirk that makes your stomach twist.

It’s incredibly frustrating to watch her once-sweet attitude crack and crumble right in front of you—while Mattheo remains completely oblivious. You don’t understand it. Besides being his friend, which lately hasn’t meant much, there’s no reason for her to dislike you. Yet she does, and you can’t figure out why.

Sure, you were close with Mattheo, but if the jersey was any indication, she had no real reason to worry. 

You were nothing but a friend to Mattheo, even though you desperately wished that wasn’t the case.

She eyes the jersey you’re wearing, quirking an eyebrow as if she’s about to say something snide. You brace yourself, waiting for the comment, but then her face lights up as her attention shifts to something—or someone—behind you.

You turn just as she brushes past you, wrapping her arms around Mattheo’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. The sight makes your stomach roll, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to bear watching them. Her giggles fill the air, loud and lovesick, a blatant declaration that he’s hers now.

“Whose jersey are you wearing?” Your eyes snap over to Mattheo, who has one arm around Veronica’s waist as he looks at you curiously. Her arms are tightly wrapped around his neck, and she looks frustrated that his attention is on you. 

“Mine.” You glance over and see Theo approaching, a flicker of relief washing over you. A genuine smile spreads across your face, and before you think it through, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He looks momentarily surprised but quickly gathers himself, encircling your waist and holding you firmly.

You lean back slightly to meet his gaze, your voice softening. “Thank you for the flowers. Again.”

A warm, gentle smile blooms on his lips, the kind he reserves just for you. “Anytime, fiore.”

A moment lingers between you, where your eyes lock and soft smiles play on your lips. But the spell shatters at Veronica’s excited squeal of Mattheo’s name. You clear your throat, gently pulling away and offering Theo a fleeting smile, even though you sense his disappointment at the loss of your warmth.

Your gaze drifts toward Mattheo, who leans in to press a kiss against Veronica’s lips, a pang of longing twisting in your chest. You exhale slowly, then look back at Theo. “Are you nervous?”

“Not really,” he replies with a casual shrug, though you catch a flicker of something beneath his calm exterior. “But if I do get nervous, I’ll just search for the pretty girl wearing my name.”

Your lips part in surprise at Theo’s bold flirting, a playful spark igniting in your chest. You try to mask your smile, but it’s no use—Theo sees right through you, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he revels in your reaction.

“Good luck. I’ll wait for you after.” You lean in, nearly whispering as you press a kiss against Theo’s cheek, but in your nervousness, your lips brush against the corner of his mouth instead. The contact sends a spark of warmth through you, but before he can react, you pull away, leaving him to watch you walk off, the letters of his last name boldly displayed on your back.

He stands there for a second, staring after you, but as he turns to leave, he catches sight of Mattheo, who is watching you with an intensity that makes his heart sink.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You’re exhausted. Keeping track of both Mattheo and Theo is proving to be more tiring than you anticipated. You’re used to focusing solely on Mattheo during the game, but tonight, your attention keeps shifting to Theo.

“Are you even listening to her?” Pansy scoffs, jabbing you in the ribs.

The unexpected nudge jolts you from your thoughts, and you turn to her, puzzled. “What?”

“Veronica. Are you paying attention?” Pansy glances over, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head, “No. I didn’t even realize she was sitting nearby.”

“Listen to her. She’s been bragging about Mattheo.” That catches your attention. You follow Pansy’s finger as she points, and your gaze lands on Veronica a few rows ahead. As you focus, her voice cuts through the noise of the crowd, loud and unmistakable, carrying clearly despite the distance.

“Do you even know how long I waited to get him?” Veronica’s voice rises above the noise, smug and self-satisfied. You glance over just in time to see her gather her hair into a high ponytail, making sure the name on her back is fully visible. “Honestly, the effort was exhausting,” she adds with a dramatic sigh, as if she’s endured a great hardship.

The girls around her practically explode with excitement, bombarding her with questions—how did she do it? How long did it take? What’s he like? Their voices blend into a high-pitched buzz, and you roll your eyes, feeling the irritation build as you turn your attention back to the match, hoping to tune them out.

Pansy nudges you again, her voice low and insistent. “Keep listening.”

“No.” You grit out.

Pansy sighs, “Why not?”

You exhale sharply. “Because I really don’t want to hear her go on and on about him anymore.” The bitterness in your voice is hard to hide, but you don’t care. You’re too tired of hearing his name on her lips.

“You’ve barely listened!”

“It was enough for me.”

“There’s something off about the way she talks about him,” Pansy pushes, leaning in to try and catch your eye, but you continue looking forward and watching Theo. “I don’t like it.”

“I mean, I don’t either. But I’m not going to keep listening in.”

“Why?” Pansy cries out incredulously, gaining the attention of some people around you.

“Because I’m supposed to be getting over him, and I don’t think listening in as his girlfriend talks about him will do that.”

“But what if something’s off? What if she’s blackmailing him or something?” Pansy asks, before she gasps and turns to face you fully. “What if he’s dating her to make you jealous?”

“Do you really think Mattheo Riddle would allow someone to blackmail him? And secondly, I don’t think that’s the case.”

“You never know. I always thought he had feelings for you.”

“Pansy. This is what I’m talking about,” You snap, sending a warning look to your best friend. “Mattheo can take care of himself, you and I both know that. There’s no way I’ll ever get over him if I start making up theories about why he’s with his girlfriend. Veronica’s…. something else, we know that, but that doesn’t mean she’s not with him for a genuine reason.”

Pansy exhales in frustration, adjusting in her seat as she finally turns her attention to the match. “Alright, I get it. I’ll just share my theories with Blaise from now on.”

A smirk tugs at your lips as you imagine Blaise enduring the same conversation, likely rolling his eyes in exasperation, “Fine by me.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Thanks to Theo’s swift catch of the Snitch, Slytherin secured the win, and the stands erupted in cheers. You’d screamed so loudly in celebration that you’re certain he heard you, even from across the pitch. The thrill of the moment filled you with energy, and you felt a surge of pride as he glanced your way after the catch.

You were eager to congratulate him, but held back, letting the others swarm him first. Instead, you were leaned against the wall outside the locker room, waiting for a moment alone with him. As you stood there, it wasn’t long before your mind wandered. You found yourself watching him from afar—his chest still heaving from the intensity of the match, hair tousled and damp with sweat. There was something about the way he looked after a game that had your thoughts trailing off in a completely different direction.

It brought you back to yesterday—the way he looked, water glistening on his skin, fingers running through his damp waves, and eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. The memory sent a rush of heat straight through you.

Had Theo Nott always been this gorgeous?

When he turns and catches your eye, you fully expect him to give the usual ‘wait a minute’ gesture, like Mattheo always does. But instead, to your surprise, Theo pushes straight through the crowd. In an instant, he’s in front of you, pulling you up into his arms. You let out a shriek of his name through laughter, completely caught off guard by the sudden hug, his embrace warm and tight as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

“You did so good!” You cry out as he sets you down. When he grins at you, it’s almost enough to make you swoon; the sight of post-match Theo is something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. The blend of adrenaline and joy radiating from him leaves you momentarily breathless.

“It’s because you wore my jersey,” he shrugs, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I didn’t get to say it earlier, but you look really good in it.”

You nearly melt, “Does that mean I get to wear it at the next game?”

“Please do, love,” he says, his tone suddenly softer, the endearment dripping with warmth like honey. There’s a sincerity in his gaze that sends a flutter through your chest. “You make it look far better than I ever could.”

You don’t get the chance to respond as Enzo suddenly appears by his side, rambling on about something animatedly. With a quick tug, Enzo pulls Theo away, but not before he glances back, shouting over his shoulder about how he’ll see you later.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Y’good?” Theo looks up from the fire, his gaze shifting to Blaise, who’s now standing beside the couch. The flames had been the only company he’d had for hours. It was late—he couldn’t say exactly how late—just that the common room had emptied long ago, and he’d been sitting there long after everyone else had gone to bed after celebrating their win.

“Yeah,” Theo sighs, his eyes drifting back to the flickering flames. “I’m good.” His words are hollow, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. Blaise watches him for a moment, studying the tension in his posture, before quietly sitting down in the empty space beside him. Neither of them speaks, both of them watching as the flames dance.

Blaise leans back, glancing at Theo before breaking the silence. “You don’t look it,” he says, his voice calm but direct.

“Just thinking.” Theo just shrugs, his shoulders barely lifting, the gesture heavy with indifference. Blaise watches him for a moment, waiting, giving him the space to say something more—but the silence stretches.

“About her?” 

Theo’s reaction is answer enough. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair with a tired frustration. For a brief moment, he pauses, elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands.

He drops his hands slowly, lifting his head to glance over at Blaise, his eyes tired, “When am I not?”

Blaise smiles slightly at his words. He’s known for years that Theo liked you—it was impossible to miss. From the moment Mattheo introduced you, Blaise vividly remembers the way Theo looked at you, as if his breath had been knocked from his lungs.

He was completely undone by one glimpse of you.

And if that hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the little things Theo did for you over the years certainly were—grabbing your favorite sweets from Hogsmeade when you couldn’t make the trip, offering help before you even had to ask, his gaze always seeking you out no matter how crowded the room. It was undeniable, even if Theo never spoke it aloud.

“Listen, mate,” Blaise begins, casting a quick glance at Theo, gauging his expression before continuing. “Do you think this is a good idea?” 

“What?”

“Helping her get over Mattheo while you’re in love with her yourself.” Blaise’s words hang in the air, and Theo’s jaw tightens instinctively, a storm of emotions flickering across his face.

He wants to deny that he’s in love with you, but deep down, he knows it’s pointless. The truth is unquestionable; he’s been drawn to you for years, but these last few months have sent him falling even deeper.

How was he ever supposed to get over you when every moment only pulled him deeper? The way your fingers slipped so easily into his, like they belonged there, the soft curve of your lips as his thumb traced gentle circles over your skin. How sleeping over in your dorm had somehow become routine—he was sure Pansy was staying with Blaise on purpose to give him space with you. 

It’s why he hasn’t left this couch in hours, struggling with the weight of his feelings. The realization hits him hard: he’s completely fallen for you, and he’s trapped. Because in your eyes, he’s just a friend, and that thought feels like a punch to the gut.

“She asked me to, and I can’t say no to her,” Theo replies, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and resignation. “I’ve never been able to.”

“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you’re not careful.” Blaise warns, his tone serious. 

“We’ve long passed that point.” Theo sighs.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

The knock at your door isn’t much of a surprise—you figured that as soon as Pansy left to meet Blaise, Theo would come knocking. It had become part of your routine over the past month. In fact, he had become the person you saw the most.

Walk to the Great Hall? Sit by Theo. Evenings in the common room? Always with your friends, sat beside Theo. As soon as Pansy disappeared to the boys’ dorm, that was Theo’s cue to show up at your door.

He was so deeply ingrained into your life that it was almost hard to remember what things were like before him.

“I think this is a record—” You begin with a grin, flinging open the door—only for your smile to falter.

It’s not Theo.

Mattheo stands there instead, a split lip and a bruise blooming across his cheekbone in deep shades of purple and red. It looks painful, and you wince at the sight of him.

A disbelieving scoff escapes him. “You were waiting for him?”

One hand braces against the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder, like he’s expecting Theo to come around the corner. “Can you two do nothing without each other?”

“Do you need something, Mattheo?”

He turns back to you, the bitterness in his expression fading as he lifts his fingers to wipe at the blood on his lip. It smears more than it cleans, and you scrunch your nose slightly in distaste. A month ago, you would’ve pulled him into your dorm without hesitation—but now, you’re angry with him.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him to fuck off, that it’s no longer his business who you’re waiting for. Not when you’ve barely seen him, and every attempt to talk has been ignored. Ever since that day at the lake, he’s been even more distant than before. And if he so much as looks like he might breathe in your direction, Veronica is there, tugging him away. It’s mind-boggling. Up until now, you hadn’t let yourself believe it, but maybe this really is how your school year ends—with you and Mattheo no longer friends.

“I got into a fight—” You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a deadpan look. 

“—and I just couldn’t bring myself to go to the infirmary. Not when this has always been your job.”

There’s a part of you that bristles at him calling it your job to take care of him, but you know he’s right. After every fight, he’d show up at your door, and you’d patch him up as best you could. But things are different now, and it doesn’t feel right to take care of him when he’s all but disappeared from your life.

“It’s not my job anymore. Not when you have a girlfriend.” You move to shut the door, but Mattheo shoots his hand out, stopping it before it can close.

“Love, please.” Your stomach lurches at the way the nickname rolls off his tongue—directed at you this time. “I need your help.”

You hesitate, staring at him for a long moment, weighing just how stupid of an idea this might be. But Mattheo’s pull on you—his presence, his voice, the familiarity—is still too strong. With a sigh, you step aside and swing the door open before gesturing to your bed.

There’s not a whole lot you can do besides blot his lip with a clean cloth and apply some cream to the bruise on his cheek, but it’s always seemed to work for him. By the time you’ve dampened the cloth with warm water and gathered what you need, Mattheo is already settled on your bed, staring at the wall of polaroids.

It’s different now. And something bitter churns in Mattheo’s stomach as he takes in the changes to your photo wall. Some of the pictures of the two of you have been replaced, now filled with snapshots of you and Theo. One shows you curled into Theo’s side, grinning widely at the camera as you squish his cheeks together with your hand. Another captures you sandwiched between Theo and Enzo, all three of you wearing sunglasses and flipping off the camera.

But it’s the photo of you and Theo at the lake that makes his chest tighten. Your legs are wrapped around Theo as he holds you up in the water, he’s smiling at the camera, and you’re pressing a kiss against his cheek. You’re wearing that red bikini—the one that had knocked the air from his lungs the moment he saw you in it. He remembers how stunned he was, how he’d nearly forgotten Veronica was beside him until she slapped his arm and muttered something sharp.

“She needs a bigger size,” she’d said. “It’s too tight on her hips. I should give her one of my old ones.”

He hadn’t said a word, but the way his eyes stayed locked on you had said enough. He didn’t agree—he thought you were perfect. 

“What’d you get in a fight over?” Mattheo’s eye shift over to you, settling down onto the bed next to him and showing him the cloth, a warning you were going to touch him before bringing the damp, white cotton to his lip. Mattheo sucks in a breath and watches as you focus on cleaning the cut.

“Nothing important.” He mumbles, careful not to move too much for you.

“Clearly, it felt important to you.” You hold up the blotchy, red-stained cloth as proof.

He sighs, “It wasn’t.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring off to the side, jaw tight, and you decide to let it go. You know him—if he got worked up enough to start a fight, then it meant something to him.

The room falls quiet as you work, the silence stretching between you. Still, your mind spins, trying to piece together what could’ve pushed Mattheo far enough to throw punches.

“Why didn’t you go to her?” You ask softly.

Mattheo’s face stays blank, and for a moment, you wonder if he even heard you.

“It’s just—” he starts, then pauses. His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, and something shifts in the air. The way he’s looking at you now—it’s different. Intense. It sends your pulse into a quiet frenzy. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“It shouldn’t be the same,” You murmur, correcting him. “We’re just friends, but it’s different with you and her.”

“I know, I know.” He mumbles, drawing in a deep breath.

You set the cloth aside, watching him carefully as you reach for the cream. It’ll only take a couple dabs on his cheek andhe’ll be good to go—but still, you move slowly. Selfishly, you want to stretch the moment. He hasn’t been this close in weeks. You haven’t really heard his voice in what feels like forever.

Not when he’s talking to the boys. Not in passing in the corridors. That doesn’t count. Not like this.

“Do you like her for me?” He asks, and you inwardly sigh. 

“I haven’t given it much thought.” You reply, dabbing the cream gently onto the bruise as he watches you.

You keep your focus fixed on the task—too careful, too precise—because meeting his eyes feels too intimate. Too dangerous.

“The boys always said it would be you.” He says quietly.

Your hand stills for a moment, eyes flicking up to meet his, uncertain.

“About what?” You’re stalling, hoping to have more time to process.

“Who I’d end up with.”

“Oh,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

How are you supposed to respond to that? Tell him you’d hoped for the same? That you’d heard the boys say it, more times than you could count—and every time, you let yourself believe it a little more.

Hoped that maybe, if they said it enough, he’d start to believe it too.

“Did they ever tell you that? That they thought you’d end up with me?”

Your voice falters, your hand falling to your lap as you stare at him. You’re too close—far too close. You need him out. Away from you. He has a girlfriend.

But then he says your name, soft and low, and you freeze.

Your mind is screaming at you to move, to stand up, to tell him it’s time to go.

But you don’t get the chance—because there’s a knock at your door and just like that, the moment is gone.

Please, please, please consider reblogging and/or commenting. It keeps me motivated to continue writing and reblogging spreads my work! 🤍

[kyrccc]

Harps

kyra cooney-cross x reader

contains: harper being the absolute diva she is

a/n: i got bored so i wrote this! be warned because it's super short and not that thought through because i'm tired

----------

"alright, we're leaving! behave, harps. you too, kyra, y/n."

"when do we ever misbehave? we're angels!" kyra replied to mini.

clara rolled her eyes, "whatever. just be good. come on, babe," she said to mini.

once they were out the door, you and kyra turned to harper, who was sitting on the couch like she owned it, watching some kids tv show.

"so harps, whatcha want to do?" you said to her, sitting down on the couch.

"hm, i want to paint!"

so that's what you three did. you and kyra sat there with her, painting on paper at the table until harper demanded she painted on your's and kyra's face. kyra turned to you after harper exclaimed she was done with her face.

"so, how do i look?" you giggled, "amazing. harper should be a professional face painter," you said as you sat down, watching as harper gathered up paint to place on your face. you sat there for about ten minutes, eyes closed as harper painted a variety of red, blue, and orange on your face.

"oh, babe, you look beautiful!" kyra said, filming the moment. you peeked your eye open, grinning at her and the camera, before harper turned your face back to hers and said, "close your eyes. i'm not done."

"oh, sorry," you said laughing and following her orders quickly as kyra just simply bursted into laughter, ending the video.

----------

a few hours later, after watching movies, playing games harper made up with ridiculous rules that she would add halfway through, you and kyra, still with painted faces, sat on the couch behind harper, who was drawing on the coffee table, you two plotting something quietly.

suddenly, kyra whipped her head towards harper, grinning widely, "hey, harps? do you want to make a tiktok with us?

----------

you guys ended up making loads of videos. some with silly dances, others with nothing but you guys playing around. you even posted one, the funniest.

-

you started the video, and placed the phone down in view of harper, backing up to stand beside kyra where she stood behind harper.

"okay, harper, what do you want to say?" you asked. she took in a deep breath,

"GO TILLIESSSSS!!!!"

you and kyra lost it. collapsed of laughter.

you both fell to the floor. kyra laid back as if she couldn't hold herself up anymore. you fell forward on top of her. what was even better about it, was the fact your laughs were perfectly in sync. being together so much had made your laughs mend together.

so, while harper continued her shouting, you and kyra laid on floor behind her, your laughter never faltering.

harper spotted you two from the camera and stopped talking abruptly, turned around, and jumped on top of you two. you, miss painted face one, and kyra, miss painted face two, squealed. "harper!" you guys shouted in unison right before the video ended.

----------

you tagged mini in the caption, obviously to show her how much you 'behaved.'

after dinner, you and kyra sat on the floor, backs against the couch while harper sat on kyra's lap, tiredly watching bluey.

the front door opened, revealing mini and clara.

"saw your little video you guys posted," mini said. "did you like it?" kyra giggled out.

"oh, totally. you know, i'm loving your faces."

"harps did it for us," you said, running your hand through the tired girls blonde hair. her eyes fluttered closed, leaning into your hand.

"and she did amazing," mini looked down at harper, "you ready for bed time, harps?" she asked, squatting down to pick her out of kyra's lap. harper said nothing, her adorable face falling into the crook of her neck.

before she could leave the room, harper's little voice echoed quietly, "ky and y/n/n."

thats how you ended up in katrina's and clara's bed, you practically on top of kyra while harper was cuddled into her side. did you both tell them you weren't going to fall asleep in their bed? yes. did you end up falling asleep within three minutes? also yes. mini and clara walked into their room, sighing at the sight.

"we really are raising three kids," clara said.

"if they're going to steal our bed, then they're going on my story." katrina said, pulling her phone out and taking a picture of you three, captioning it:

"any advice for when your children steal your bed?"

----------

[momotonescreaming]

If Only

Rating: T | WC: 1.7k | Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard Post Season 8, getting back together, fluff & humour

[Read on AO3 or below the cut]

"After we broke up," Buck starts, not quite murmuring his words into Tommy's bare chest. "I wanted to contact you so badly. I kept opening our messages and just staring at it, I even caught you bubbling me a few times."

He huffs out a laugh at that, an exhale of air through his nose, and Buck can see it tickle Tommy's skin from where they're pressed so closely together. He adjusts his weight, drapes an arm on Tommy's pec, chin resting on his hand so he can look up at Tommy through his long, dark lashes.

They're bare skinned and warm, cotton sheets tangled up in their entwined legs. Sun streaming through the window into Tommy's bedroom, beams of it hitting Buck's back. They cleaned up hours ago — they just hadn't wanted to move. And since they have nowhere else to be — they haven't. Buck pressing himself to Tommy's side, cradled in his arms. One of Tommy's hands absently playing with his hair, coiling through his curls.

It's nice. It's easy to talk about things like this. Here, in the warmth they've created. The warmth neither of them want to leave.

"Bubbling?" Tommy asks, furrowing his brow, but he doesn't stop the smooth motions of his hand through Buck's hair.

"You know." Buck adds, gesturing vaguely with his free hand, brushing against Tommy's chest. "Bubbling. The chat bubble. The, uh, typing one."

"The three dots?" Tommy clarifies, to which Buck nods. "There's a word for that?"

"There's a word for everything these days old man." Buck teases, biting his lip as Tommy tugs on his hair ever so slightly in retaliation. He continues, Tommy’s hand still in his hair. "But, uh, y-yeah. Bubbling. Typing so the other person can see the bubble pop up."

"I wasn't doing it on purpose — typing and not sending anything to tease you." Tommy adds, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at Buck. He sighs, face falling into something more pensive. Almost sad. "I wanted to message you— I missed you — I just didn't feel like I had the right anymore."

Tommy shrugs, jostling Buck slightly with the movement. Buck moves with it, settling right back into place plastered to Tommy. His boyfriend looks guilty in that sort of queasy way he does when they talk about their break up, so if Buck can plaster himself to Tommy to help him understand that he's not going anywhere — then he's going to. Doesn't hurt that Tommy's incredibly comfortable. He's a great cuddler.

"I, uh, I wish you did." Buck admits, tilting his head as he speaks. "I almost texted you so many times, I would've replied immediately."

"Well it's nice to know that now," Tommy teases, laughing as Buck gently swats at his chest. The laugh trails off, and he sobers slightly. "Why didn't you?"

Tommy's not asking to be mean, to pull an answer out of him, Buck knows this. Tommy's curious. They're talking about things. Tommy had his answer — he lost the right to chase after Buck when he broke it off, even if he regretted it — but he wants to know Buck's.

So Buck takes a breath, focuses on the warmth of Tommy underneath him, on the soothing motions of Tommy playing with his curls, fingers dancing across his skin. He's not quite sure what his answer's going to be, the words are going to tumble out of his mouth as they usually do. He wants to be more intentional about this. Wear his emotions on his sleeves, but taking that extra second to breathe and think about it first. Tommy deserves it.

"The first time I, uh, w-went to give in and text you," Buck started, tilting his head and not quite blushing. "After you were bubbling me by the way — the others took my phone off me. Said it was for my own good. I think I was, uh, not quite looking for someone to agree that I should t-text or call you. But then they all said no, told me to keep away. And it kept happening so I started to wonder if maybe they were right, even if I was desperately wanting to talk to you again."

"And then Ravi bumped into me in the bar before either of us could do anything?"

Buck huffs out a short laugh, an exhale of air. "Yeah."

"Maybe we should thank him." Tommy teases. "Send him a fruit basket."

"Maybe we should." Buck agrees. "He was the only one who said I should talk to you, and he was right."

He sighs, dropping his eyes down so he's starting at Tommy's chest, finger drawing circles and patterns in his chest hair. He can still feel Tommy's gaze on him, but it doesn't burn.

"I don't know why I listened to the rest of them," Buck says sadly, focusing on the gentle scratch of his finger against Tommy's chest hair. "They were wrong. I wasn't better having not texted you. I couldn't move on at all."

"Neither could I, so at least we're even." Tommy teases. He huffs out a small laugh, and Buck can feel it underneath him. He looks up, eyes sad and wet, to see a gentle smile curling at the edge of Tommy's lips. He's trying to draw him out of his funk, to stop spiralling over the past — and it's starting to work. "I was the one who drove past a building you didn't even live in, remember?"

"That wasn't so bad, I got to give you a tour, remember?" Buck teases, letting the mood lighten. "Plus, you missed me. How can I fault you for that when I was just as bad, if not, uh, worse."

Tommy hums, an interested noise. Running his hands through Buck's hair, sweeping through, catching on the curls before sweeping around to the back of his neck. Cradling his jaw, thumb brushing in gentle motions right at the hinge. Buck leans into it, letting Tommy hold him.

He stays there as he speaks.

"Every time I wanted to text you, every time I thought about you — I-I baked." Buck flushes, focusing on the warmth of Tommy's hand — the comfort, the callouses on his fingers, the sheer size of them — as Buck lets his face be cradled. "It started small, just something to distract myself from thinking about you when I wasn't at work. And then it uh, escalated."

"Escalated?"

"Y-yeah. I baked every time I thought of you, and I thought of you a lot. Muffins and cookies and cakes and so many loaves I had to start giving them away. The cashiers at the supermarket started looking at me funny every time I came back for more flour. I made a baked alaska, and had to eat most of it myself because everyone got sick of being given more baked goods."

"So we're just as bad as each other, huh?" Tommy hums, before pressing his lips together, thinking. His eyes roam over Buck's face, searching for something. Apparently he finds whatever he was looking for, because he continues. "I know they were just trying to look out for you, but I wish you hadn't listened to them either. I would've eaten baked alaska with you."

"Oh I see how it is," Buck laughs, slumping down even further, body pressed to Tommy's. He's glad they can joke about this now, that they can look back with a sort of lightness — now that they're back together. It makes it seem not as dark. "You're just in it for my baked alaska."

"You caught me," Tommy replies wryly, hint of a smile catching at the corner of his mouth. "I heard how much you were baking and knew I couldn't get enough."

"That baking you didn't know I was doing?" Buck jokes, although there's a sort of twinge in his chest, plucking at his heart strings. He wishes he told Tommy about the baking earlier, about the longing, the desperation to talk to him again. Maybe they would've had this earlier. His face drops, just slightly. "I wish I told you earlier, back at the bar with Ravi. You told me how much you missed me, but I, uh, didn't say it back."

"You're saying it now. You said it last night." Tommy replies softly, thumb brushing gently against his cheek. It's calming, familiar, the soft scratch of Tommy's calloused thumb against his five o'clock shadow. "You showed me you missed me then, and you're showing it now. And that's what matters."

A pause. Tommy tilts his head, eyes sparking, lips pressing together as if he's holding back a laugh.

"But I wouldn't be opposed to some baked goods," Tommy teases, faux-serious. "If you wanted to make it up to me."

"So you are after my baking," Buck laughs, feeling Tommy chuckle underneath him.

"I can go into the next room, if that would make it easier?" Tommy asks, teases, brows gently furrowed. Buck hums back, a questioning noise. "Y'know, if missing me is a requirement?"

"Absolutely not," Buck laughs, looking down at Tommy's amused — smug — expression. "I can bake with you here just fine."

"I'm holding you to that," Tommy teases, raising an eyebrow. Buck knows he won't hold him to it when it comes down to it. The man's got a killer sweet tooth but he doesn't expect things out of Buck. If Buck doesn't want to bake, if it brings back too many memories of being alone and drowning in longing — then he'll drop it. It means a lot to Buck, the way Tommy knows him, respects him , doesn't hold his past against him. He's there for him in a way that feels so all encompassing, in a way that Buck thinks no one ever has.

He's head over heels in love with this man.

"In fact," Buck starts, letting the words trail off. He watches as Tommy looks at him intently, with that soft inquisitive way of his. "Maybe it's a requirement now. D-do you want to bake with me?"

"I'd like nothing more," Tommy smiles, using the hand at Buck's neck to gently pull him in for a kiss. He lets himself be pulled, eyes fluttering shut as their lips connect, kissing slow and soft.

[cass-1]

First post I’ve love to dedicate it to THE Simon ghost Riley, I’m obsessed.

Just to give a bit of context this is Simon x reader.

Poor baby reader seeks attention from having such a frustrating day, going to Simon Riley’s room in the barracks for company, like she always does.

Simon was never the one to be distracted from his duty, working in the Task Force, he never even considered anything close to a relationship nor a little one nightstand. That was until you joined the team. You were one hell of a soldier, he’d tell you. Always stubborn, blunt and god were you attractive, but he couldn’t admit that. But anyhoo, he always found his way to put you in your place whenever situations were getting too out of hand.

You enjoyed talking back to him, trying to add fuel to the fire, it wouldn’t hurt to say he enjoyed shutting you up. Nothing better than a good colleagues with benefits.

Today wasn’t any different when you barged into his quarters, that same ol’ frustrated look on your pretty face. He was waiting, staring at you with a unfazed look as he sat on his chair to his desk, he knew already. With a low chuckle he said, “c’mere lovie.” A scoff erupted from you as he called you over. Crossing your arms, you replied, “No.” Your refusal was quick, as if you anticipated his order. Ghost only shook his head, unbuttoning his shirt and giving you a smirk. He leaned back on his chair, his gaze narrowing. “I said, come here,” he repeated, the firm order leaving no room for negotiation. His voice held a hint of possession.

One thing led to another and now you were on his bed, arching your back as you took him on all fours, his once gloved hands now holding your arms together behind you back, slamming into you. It was aggressive, Simon wasn’t the one to be all soft and comforting, after all you came for a reason.

“Mmh.. u’re so good baby, takin’ me whole.”

“God, u’re such a good girl.”

“Look who’s a mess beneath me.”

“U’re melting at my touch.”

“Next u’re g’na rake mah babies.”

He continued moaning out rambled words, being so pussy-drunk until it was finished. Both of you reaching your high and taking each other in.

Both Simon and the reader stayed on their backs, faced to the ceiling as they caught their breath. Simon turned to look at you, a smirk painting his face.

“I don’t regret what I said.”

[the-lazyyy-artist]

Roommates Wanted! fem!reader x o. aiku x s. ryusei x i. sae introduction

summary: a front desk officer, a professor, an MMA instructor, and an editor walked into a room... what do you get?

tags and themes: roommates au, first meetings, slight crack, very ooc, soccer doesn't exist here

author's note: just a little peek of my take on the roommate au. Also, shoutout to @cheralith for inspiring me with her own fic series - apartment 345. Check that out, it's a fucking masterpiece!!

Check out the Masterlist!!

Divider from @uzmacchiato

For Rent

4-Bedroom Apartment, 1 Bath

Please Call: xxxx-xxxx-xx

Address: XXXXXX

You look at the posting on your phone as you stand at the apartment building in front of you. You have always wanted to rent out an apartment, anyway. And to have roommates? That’s something you’ve always wanted to experience. Living alone in a sad hotel room for 2 years has stunted your ability to see the sun and socialize. So this is a good option.

Upon entering, you were greeted by a small lobby. Well, it wasn’t much of a lobby anyway. There was a small desk manned by a teenage boy, around 17, you assumed. You smiled at him and asked him about the posting. “Ah, you’re here for it too?” He asked, smiling widely. “That makes two of you, then.”

“Two?” you asked, and he gestured to a gentleman sitting on the plush bench across the room. He waved at you, and you waved back, a little shy. “You can sign here first.” The boy handed you a logbook, and you signed your name and your purpose of visit. “My aunt will be here in a while. Have a seat.” And sit, you did. You gave a few inches of space between you and the shaggy-haired man, and you started to look around the interior of the small lobby. “Here for the posting?” He asked, his voice deep and smooth. “Yeah,” you replied, your eyes falling to meet his… his heterochromic ones. Wow, you thought. It was the first time you saw eyes like this up close. He must’ve noticed because a lazy grin graced his lips. “You work in a hotel… Y/N?”

“What?” you asked, confused as to how he guessed your name right. He then gestured to the name plate on the left side of your chest, with the hotel’s logo and your name engraved on it. You scoffed lightly and moved to remove it, something you usually do when you leave work. “Ah, yeah,” you laughed awkwardly. “You?”

“Middle school teacher,” He replied with an air of coolness in his demeanor. No wonder he felt like someone you could easily approach. “Wanna guess what subject?”

“Uh,” you bit your bottom lip as you read him. You pride yourself at being pretty good at this. “Science.” The man chuckled, eyes crinkling at the sides. “No, no. But kinda close. I teach Health and Sex Ed.” You raised your brows at him, and before you could ask, he spoke again. “It’s an interesting subject. And I want to be the one to teach young minds about their bodies and how they work before anyone gives them the wrong idea.”

You nodded, understanding. Pretty passionate, you thought. Just then, footsteps can be heard descending the stairs, and a lady, probably around her 50s, approached you and the man. “Oh, our applicants,” she chimed. “Come, you two. Let me give you a tour of the room.”

The room was on the fourth floor, and by the time you reached the top, your legs were jelly. Stiletto heels and stairs aren’t a good combination, and add the fact that you had a hard shift that day. The lady unlocked the room, and you and the man entered. It was bare for now, but what really made your heart feel at home was the amount of sunlight that streamed through the windows. Airflow was wonderful too. The man moved further into the room and found himself in the kitchen. You heard him hum as he looked around the cupboards, as if thinking about what items to put in them. “The four bedrooms are down the hall, all facing each other. You can check the rooms,” the lady said, prompting you to go further.

You and the man took turns checking the rooms, and you had already decided which one would be yours. “So?” The man asked. “Already decided?”

“What?”

“I’m clearly liking the place, Y/N.”

“You… want to rent this place with me?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Roommates.”

You looked at him for a moment and hummed. “Yeah, sure. That could work. All we have to do is look for the last two to rent the rooms.”

In the end, the apartment was officially yours and…

“What’s your name, by the way?” You asked the man as you walked out of the apartment building. “You already know mine, so I should at least know yours now that we’re going to be roommates.” The man smiled at you and showed you his ID instead.

Oliver Aiku.

You moved in immediately since your time is quite limited. Aiku moved that weekend. You also made sure to discuss the boundaries and rules that the apartment should have with Aiku, and he understood. You put him in charge of looking for roommates, as you sent him the design you made on a whim to attract applicants.

“Didn’t know you were a graphic designer too,” he joked, sitting at the dinner table with you. You sat across him, and you kicked his leg under the table. He let out an “ow” as you laughed. “I did my best, professor,” you replied. “You know how busy we get at the hotel.” You heard him laugh softly as he examined the design you made, zooming in on it on his phone. “No need to remind me, babe.”

You had it posted on your social media accounts and online forums, hoping someone would pick it up.

For a while, no calls came in. And it was just Aiku and you. You didn’t mind. Aiku was a warm presence in the apartment, always so mindful of you, especially during the days when you’d come home at 2 in the morning. He’d always save you a plate of dinner, waiting in the fridge for you to reheat and eat.

Eventually, that peace will be disrupted.

It was a cool Saturday morning, and you just left for your afternoon shift. Aiku had already finished grading his students’ essay papers last night, and he had all the free time that day, so he decided to visit the gym nearby. He read somewhere that this gym was pretty popular and offered one-on-one classes for MMA fighting and Judo. Upon arriving, he asked the front desk if the classes accept walk-ins. Lucky for him, it did, and it just happened that the MMA schedule for that hour was open.

Aiku approached the instructor and was amused by his appearance. Tanned skin, lean muscles, blonde hair with pink tips, styled up and spikey. Aiku wondered if the eyeliner on his eyes was just no-budge eyeliner that he applied every day or tattoos, because they still looked clean on his face.

“Yo,” the blonde called out. “You here for the class?” Aiku nodded, dropping his gym bag on the nearby bench. “Yeah. Figured I'd try this out for once.”

“So, a beginner? That should be easy. Name’s Shidou.”

“Aiku, man. Nice to meet ya.”

Shidou was professional, handling Aiku in every drill they did. Shidou was surprised Aiku was able to hold up after the drills, even when he decided to “take it up a notch”, which Aiku was okay with. “Damn, you’re the only one I had today that was able to keep up. Do you usually work out?” Shidou asked as he attempted to tackle Aiku. “Nah,” Aiku grunted. “I don’t have the time sometimes. I’d say it’s the genes.” Shidou barked a laugh as he finally took Aiku down.

As the two were cooling down, Aiku spoke up. “Hey, man. I know this is gonna be weird, but do you know anyone who’s looking for a place to rent?” Shidou frowned at him, confused. “Huh?”

Aiku chuckled as he breathed out. “My roommate and I are looking for two more people to rent out the empty rooms in our apartment. Would be nice to have more people in there.” Shidou groaned, cracking his neck. “Yeah? Where’s it located?” Aiku was quick to grab his phone and show the posting. “Hm, interesting,” Shidou murmured. “Can you send this to me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

That night, at around 10:30 PM, there was a knock on the door. Aiku was alone at the apartment, and he knew it wasn’t you. He knows you have a key of your own, so a visitor at this time was odd for him. He quickly dried his hands before he opened the door to see…

“Shidou?” He asked. “Hey, man.”

They clapped hands, and Shidou grinned at him, baring. “I’m here for the room.”

“You… You’ll rent out one of the rooms?” Aiku asked, a little dumbfounded. Shidou shrugged and replied, “Been looking for a place anyway. You came with an offer, and I’m here to check it out.”

“Alright.” Aiku stepped aside and let Shidou walk inside the apartment unit. He watched as Shidou’s magenta eyes scanned the living room, dining area, and kitchen. “Good place you got here,” he whistled low. Aiku laughed softly, nodding. “Well, the princess and I did all we could to make it homey.”

“Princess? You got a girl for a roommate?” Shidou asked, brow raised. Aiku walked towards him and slung an arm around the blonde’s shoulder. “Yeah. Kinda strict, but she does her best. She should be home in a few.”

Aiku led Shidou to the empty rooms for him to choose which room he’d want, and he chose the one beside yours. Aiku asked him again if he was sure, and Shidou said that he was deadass. So, Aiku quickly briefed him on the boundaries and rules you had laid out, and Shidou was cool with it. Just before Shidou could leave, the doorknob jiggled and the door opened. “I’m home,” you sighed, your head lowered as you kicked your stilettos off. “Fucking hard shift, again.” You dropped your keys on the bowl near the door, and when you raised your eyes to meet Aiku’s, you were instead met with electric pink eyes. You straightened and smiled at him, the way you do when you’re at work. “Oh, hi!” you chimed. “Friend of yours, Aiku?”

Aiku opened his mouth to reply, but Shidou cut him off. “I’m your new roommate. Shidou, by the way,” he said smugly, holding out his hand for you to shake. You reluctantly did, and he gripped your hand a little tighter. “Can’t wait to move in here next week. Thanks Aiku and…” His eyes narrowed, and he grinned. “Y/N.”

Your brows furrowed, and you looked down at your chest. There, your nameplate, still attached to your uniform. “Sure, sure.. See you, Shidou.”

Once Shidou left and the door was locked, you were quick to slap Aiku’s arm. He laughed it off as he rubbed his skin. “Aiku! He’s loud!” You whisper-yelled, and Aiku laughed even more. “Oh, come on. We need the noise. And he’s gonna pay rent and contribute, like you said in the agreement.” You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose and stared at Aiku like he adopted a puppy without asking. “What does he do, anyway?”

“A trainer at the gym. A damn good one, too. I met him there today because I took his class.”

“Okay, no more people from the gym. Please.”

Days now become louder with Shidou around. He greets everyone with a good morning way too loudly, sometimes waking you up way too early for work. Aiku had to scold Shidou a few times before Shidou learned when to be loud and not (just in days when you had to deal with your graveyard shifts at the hotel). As time went on, you learned how to appreciate Shidou’s personality as it added a few more colors to the comfortable home you and Aiku started to build first. He was a nice addition to the apartment.

The next month, there was another knock on the door. “You gonna get that?” Shidou said as he drank his protein shake. Aiku, busy with the meal prep for the day, shrugged. “You sure it’s not yours?” He asked Shidou. The blonde quickly shook his head. “Come on, when did I bring someone here? Or invite someone over?” Aiku laughed. “Alright, you gremlin.”

Aiku dried his hands before he opened the door. Standing outside was the most polished man they had seen so far. Suit pressed, neat and plain necktie, and a briefcase in his hand. His eyes were ocean blue, cold and still. His hair, auburn and styled neatly… kind of. “Uh, can I help you?” Aiku asked. He leaned on the doorframe as he watched the man fish for his phone in his pocket. “I’m here for this,” he spoke, his voice calm and cool. He showed Aiku the posting for the room, and Aiku was taken aback. “Really?”

The man nodded and sighed. “Look, I’m just interested in this posting and what the room looks like. It also sounded promising.”

Aiku stepped aside and let the man in, closing the door behind. Shidou grinned and approached him. “Shidou Ryusei,” he said. “Sae.”

“No last name?” Shidou teased, to which Sae sighed. “I have my reasons for not sharing my last name, Shidou.” The blonde raised his hands as he feigned surrender. “Alright, no need to be cold.”

Aiku gave Shidou the look, and he just shrugged. “I’m Oliver Aiku, by the way. Just call me Aiku.” Sae nodded and looked around. Aiku was glad he was able to convince Shidou to clean up, otherwise, the unexpected guest would turn his heels and out the door. Sae ran his hand on the couch that you and Aiku bought second-hand, his eyes scanning the living room. He hummed, as if he was satisfied with it. They watched Sae slowly navigate the dining area as Shidou walked to Aiku, just to whisper, “I bet pretty boy will have a lot of demands.” Aiku nudged his chest as Shidou huffed in pain. Just when Sae found himself in the kitchen area, eyeing the meal Aiku was preparing, a bedroom door opened. “Morning,” you grumbled, rubbing your eyes. Sae focused on you for a moment, a small smile appearing on his face. He was a little relieved that the third person was a girl.

“Y/N,” Aiku called out, “We have a visitor.”

You were met by this polished man, way too polished. You knew immediately he was here for the last spare room, so you fixed yourself quickly, the way that you always do. “Hi,” you chimed, your service industry voice floating. You saw the man’s brows shoot up as yours shot up in return. “Are you here for the room?” Sae nodded, and you were quick to lead him to the said room, the boys watching you be you. “She always does this,” Shidou murmured, “always so polite.”

“Well, that’s her. It’s actually cute. Just let her work her magic,” Aiku said.

When you and Sae stepped out of the room, the boys had a feeling that their little group of four was finally complete. You discussed the boundaries and rules with Sae, and Sae agreed to all. “I’ll move in next week,” he said calmly before he stepped out of the apartment. “Great!” you chimed, your voice reaching a pitch the others never heard. “We’ll see you soon… uhm… Sorry, I didn’t catch your name the whole time.”

“It’s okay. It’s Sae. Itoshi Sae.”

As soon as the door closed, the three of you looked at each other. “So?” You asked the boys. Shidou shrugged and grinned. “He looks like he’s out of place, Y/N. Gotta be honest with you.” You broke your posture and sighed, knowing Shidou was correct. “But he’s so neat. I like him.” Aiku pouted and leaned on you. “But babe, we’re also neat.”

“Yeah, when I ask you guys to clean up.”

“Well, I guess we’re already complete. You think Sae’s gonna work well with us here? He looks like a real quiet guy,” Aiku said.

“You mean judgmental. I don’t like the way his eyes scanned over me like I’m a freak.”

You laughed and patted Shidou’s arm. “Well, you’re our freak.”

“You mean that, sweetheart?”

“Shut up,” you laughed.

“Did you catch his last name? Itoshi… Wait a damn minute.”

On that same day, you three discovered that your fourth roommate was rich enough to buy you, your careers, and the whole damn apartment building if he wanted to.

[factual-fantasy]

I know in your FAQ you don’t take drawing requests, but I was wondering if you ever considered the idea of, seeing as you as well are gripped the TFP hyperfixation, of design a Skyfire/Jetfire and have interactions with Starscream? Hasbro mistreats our star so much, I just want him to be happy.

When I was first really getting into my AU, I heavily considered adding Jetfire to my AU to give Starscream a friend. Not necessarily because I felt bad for him or like he deserved a friend..? But just because I wanted him to be happy.

I even made this post where I dabbled in redesigns for Starscream, his brothers and tinkering with his reunion with Jetfire.

But! Trying to insert Jetfire into TFP left me with 3 huge seemingly unsolvable problems. Which are talked about in depth in the post I linked.

People provided solutions for some of the problems, like using other continuities for Jetfire's backstory. But no solution could solve all 3 problems. The biggest problem being: If Jetfire was brought into my AU, I would want him and Starscream to stay together.

There are 5 options for what path Jetfire would take if I brought him to TFP, 3 of which keep Jetfire and Starscream together, but none of which work for my AU. I went over 3 in the post I linked, but I'll go over all 5 again here-

Option 1: Jetfire stays with the Decepticons. Which wont work because his whole story arc is being an ex-con who doesn't agree with what the cons are doing.

Option 2: Starscream has a redemption arc and joins the Autobots with Jetfire. This is a problem because I would want Thundercracker and Skywarp to go with them. And tbh.. I don't think any of the screamers can be redeemed. Starscream especially. He never struck me as Autobot potential.

Option 3: The timeline is the same as G1. Jetfire splits from the cons and joins the Autobots, leaving the triplets behind. This is obviously sad and I don't want that. 🫸

Option 4: The 4 of them split from the cons as a group and live as rogues in the Harbinger. I don't like this option tho because I like the idea of Starscream and his brothers staying with the cons and being total thorns in Megatrons side. And in my AU, Starscream is more likely to stay with the cons for the energon and safety they provide for him and his brothers.

Option 5: Adopting an alternate backstory, Jetfire splits from the cons before/during the war, leaving Starscream behind. I don't like this one because obviously, I want him and Screamer to stay together-

I told myself and my followers that if I found a satisfying solution to all three problems, then I would absolutely add Jetfire to my AU in a heart beat. But for now he's been put on the back burner 😔💔

[anotherspookyarchivist]

I have sinned some more. Here's another Stan in a Can snippet. For story context please look at this post, which includes the first two parts. Warning for those unaware, but this is a dark story; The funny name is misleading. "Communication". (CW: death, implied suicidal ideation, dehumanisation, emotional manipulation)

78467. 78468. 78469.

Lee was feeling something. An approximate of something. He tried to squish the feeling, because he didn’t want to risk Stanford’s mood before they’d even started.

Trepidation. That’s the word. It didn’t like the idea of complete detachment. Appeasing Stanford was important, but there was a part of him that knew that complete detachment would leave it with nothing.

It couldn’t see. It couldn’t touch. It couldn’t do anything. It’s trapped in this emptiness that is vast and unyielding.

Oh. That’s… interesting? Stanley stopped the mental count, disrupted by an actual memory. It liked the memories from the outside, it was hard to remember what reality looked like once – and Ford’s descriptions just weren’t enough for him; But the occasional memory – when he remembers seeing the outside world? Those memories have become his most cherished possession.

Thinking about its state reminded it of something that happened before Lee’s undeath. A different sort of darkness. A different sort of blindness. He’d felt so much back then, hadn’t he?

Rope burns on his arms, as he tried to shuffle out of them. Feelings of panic? Fear? Anxiety? Probably quite the mixture of it because it had been afraid to die. What a silly thought, he had been naive. Naive and in a lot of pain. Moreover as he had aggravated his injuries while trying his best to get out of that trunk. He had felt the pain for weeks after, its teeth were ruined; bruises everywhere on its vessel as it’d tried its best to find a new hiding spot.

If Stanley could smile, he would have. If he tried hard enough he could maybe remember what that felt like. To possess and be in control of a vessel and to feel its damage. The darkness of the trunk was still more than what he could see now, but maybe he could ‘play’ as if it were the same. That in just a few numbers he’d be finally try and move and feel a sting of something.

Then he discarded the thought.

Too risky.

He let go of the memory for now. The count was already quite high, and Stanford promised he’d return. So it’s better to not fall into any sort of emotion. Emotions were a low number thing. It was risky to dwell on them after 7484… or was it 6135?

Especially not now, where it was already struggling to keep itself in check. This must be the closest to happiness it’s felt in a while, and that was already dangerous. There was no need to add more.

It continued to count, and at 91362 it happened. Ford returned.

“Hello Stanley”, his brother always sounded so happy when he visited it. But Lee knew that he had to stay calm.

Hello Ford

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had.”

Let me guess, the portal?

“Yes, the portal. Again.” Oh, Stanford sounded… annoyed? Or maybe frustrated. It was hard to grasp. But the other continued quickly, before Stanley could get a word in. “It’s already been syphoning most of my time but today, had proven itself to be worse than usual.”

That sounds bad.

“I apologise for my delay.”

Don’t worry about it.

“Though, in all fairness, I should be blaming McGucket.” If that was the case, then Stanley would blame them too. He’d never met this McGucket person, but since Ford knows them, they have to exist… but it didn’t want to miss its chance, so it quickly asked for elaboration.

What happened?

“Oh, I know you’re curious Stanley. I’ll tell you about, if you’d like – and if you promise not to tell anyone else.” One nice thing about wherever it was placed in – Lee could hear Ford so well. All the nuances of the other were somehow transmitted to it. It wasn’t like he was hearing it, and yet it was. There was no other voice than Stanford’s, no noises or interruptions. And yet, it could hear his brother’s sighs, and laughter, as well as the other’s anger during moments where it had messed up. Ford was such a good scientist; To be able to create something so impressive (and empty. It’s empty so empty and it hates being left so alo-). Focus. It wasn’t worth thinking about this. Not during their conversation.

He could hear Ford laughing at his own joke. Ford being happy was good. It meant that it hadn’t messed up, yet.

I won’t tell, I promise.

“We’ve attempted another parallel expedition” is what Ford started with. The portal, Stan had to admit, was something it didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t mind Ford telling him about it. It didn’t matter if it understood or not.

“We’ve been increasing the amount of excursions for a while. It’s mostly to fulfil those frustrating quotas as presented by the government.” the other paused for a moment, and Stanley tried to imagine what Ford looked like right now. Eyes twitching? Hands shaking? Those were things that a person could do….

Oh, it had nearly missed his brother’s next words. He really should be listening. He was being rude and ungrateful. Ford was talking. It liked it when Ford was talking, so he’d better be attentive.

“Oh Lee, you wouldn’t believe how demanding they’ve become. I’ve been tempted to use McGucket’s Memory Gun and to… erase some of our work from their memories, though that would also erase any potential of future funding.” Ford sounded unhappy about it.

“Sadly, the upkeep of the Institute demands that we work with the government, even if we don’t like it.” and there was it again. A huff. Oh, this one the thing in the void recognised all too well. It’s had enough experience by now to keep itself in check.

“But it’s not like you can judge me, Lee. I know what you did to survive.”

I wouldn’t have judged you either way, you know.

“I know you don’t like to hear it, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t consider asking me for help. You sold yourself for scraps. Debasing yourself over and over, instead of asking for my help; Not even when we met up again did you think about telling me. You drove off. Stanley, you’re impossible.”

It didn’t respond.

“This is exactly why we’re in this position now, you know? If you’d been honest with me, I could have helped you earlier.”

I know. I’m… I’m sorry.

“But at least I get to keep you safe now. There’s nothing that could hurt you.”

Yes. Thank you. Thank you. And I’m sorry.

“I forgive you. You hadn’t known any better, and now you do. You’ve been doing so well, Lee. I know you’re trying your best.”

I do. I am.

There’s only silence. It was familiar.

1. 2. – wait Ford was probably still there. For some reason the other wasn’t talking? But Stanley didn’t worry. Worry would only lead to Ford leaving for real.

Ford? So, what happened with the portal?

“You’re right. I was supposed to tell you about today’s mishap.”

It waited.

“There was an incident during today’s parallel expedition. McGucket and his team were visiting dimension 4546B, while I was observing their trip from the lab; The dimension had previously shown up on our scanners – and we’ve already categorised it as ‘dangerous’… but we had not been aware of any additional dangers.”

So wha-

“One person from the expedition team came into contact with their parallel self.”

Oh.

“We hadn’t even known that a simple touch could cause such destruction. The dimension was immediately falling apart – and I had to ensure that the expedition team would return safely nonetheless.”

The guy?

“Sadly, the team-member didn’t make it. Seemingly disintegrated before the rest of the team, which was a whole other issue.” It was sure that it could hear Stanford thinking loudly.

“It was both fascinating, as well as horrifying. A danger that we’ve been completely unaware of.”, there was amusement in his brother’s voice.

“Poor Fiddleford. He’s still really bad at handling these intense moments. I do wonder if he’ll be willing to continue leading these excursions.”

Maybe Fiddleford would also need to learn how to ignore emotions?

“The whole dimension collapsed. It doesn’t exist anymore. So much potential information lost in a blink of an eye. The government asking for reports that we don’t have. That’s why I’ve been gone for so long, Stanley.”

Don’t worry. The number wasn’t that high. I’m glad you’re here.

“Moreover, it was suggested that we increase security and change our protocol for interdimensional travel – again. For safety purposes. Just to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”

That sounds like more work.

“I agreed”

oh. it knew what would come next. That’s why Ford had been so happy to talk about his day.

“I really thought that this would be done by now – but work really keeps piling up. But I know you. You don’t want me to overwork myself, and you don’t mind waiting for a bit longer for that communication model, do you, Lee?”

…

“I knew you wouldn’t mind. Thank you, Stanley. And you know that I’m just so happy to have you here with me, have you support me throughout all of this. As always, my closest confidant.”

…

“You’ve settled in so well, really. I promise you, you’ll get that communication device as soon as I can make the time. I know this is important to you.”

…

“You just have to trust me.”

I do. I have to.

...It wanted to trust his brother so badly. He wanted to be able to have more at his disposal than this mimicry of a real conversation. The illusion often shattering at inopportune times. Leaving Stanley with this empty feeling, because anything else was not allowed.

“I’ll see you again soon, right Stanley. Stay safe.” a chuckle, and then nothing.

Goodbye Ford.

It waited for a bit. And then for a bit longer. And when nothing else changed and it remained in the void, he began once again to count. He wanted to trust his brother… but he just started the count. The number was low. Stanford wouldn’t return before he’s reached a higher number. It allowed itself to feel. Just for now. No one would have to know. Just until the number was higher.

And it let itself feel; It tried to grasp the first emotion it could find within its being, and so he let himself feel fear.

[sleepy-with-the-stars]

I think it's finally time to share something I've been really excited about for a couple days now!!

I've started a Bah archival project!! But with a bit of a twist!

It's on simply plural!!

Now, to explain how all of this works :p

I created a simply plural account, specifically for the sake of archiving as many packs as I can ( @ simply-sleepy-bah ). you may be wondering, why simply plural? well, firstly because I love the markddown support :p, but more importantly, because the simply plural account won't have the risk of deactivation! another reason behind the account is that I want a way to give back t this wondrful community even when I am dealing with a lot irl, and archiving packs in general takes a lot less time and effort for us then having to collect all the info in making one ourselves.

Now, How does the set up work? well, we create profiles for each pack, picking a faceclaim used in the pack as the avatar, and putting some core info in the description, along with credits, a link to the original post, and pretty web graphics :p

for example:

then, we add them to groups in order to make it easier for anyone looking for something more specific! we have groups for: species, roles, age, alter type, source, original creators, and finally, warnings!

Warnings include anything I can think of that could be considered triggering, as well as certain things added to packs that may make people uncomfortable or may be something someone is specifically looking for (ex: NSFW, MUD's, Paras, Etc)

Any listed roles will include descriptions (generally copy and pasted from pluralpedia when applicable), though we often make a few profiles before going through and adding descs to all of them so they may not have them right away.

We then have the filled out custom fields sections which include

"general info" "personal info" "system info" "other info" "alternate faceclaims" "web graphics" "other images" and "aesthetics" // these will be made up to include any and all info on the original packs.

to finish off the post, feel free to ask any questions you may have as well as going and adding the account! thank you so much to all the blogs who allowed me to include their packs when getting started while I was seeing if I thought this was something doable for me, including @bah-theater , @sketchygardenbah , @jellyfish-bah , @wishfulbah , @enadream-bah and @snowflake-bah !!

any BAH blogs seeing this who would like their posts included in the archive feel free to comment and I'll try my best to get to yours! I'll be trying to check the friend reqs on the account as much as possible to let you all in, have a nice day guys! I hope you're as excited aboout this all as I am!

[yokedtablet]

heavy (in your arms)

ellabs oneshot:

Post-canon, Abby and Lev return to the farm with Ellie. They find a tenuous peace, and a makeshift trust that's always at risk of breaking. Abby finds Ellie's guitar upstairs, which she never plays anymore, and starts to learn. She's not very good. Ellie hates this, or so she says.

Based on this post.

947 words

Abby’s fingers cramp the frets. She strums with a little too much force, and the guitar makes a rattling, muted sound. Its hollowness creaks in her lap as she resets, tries to find her place in the song again.

She found the guitar upstairs, in a room with Ellie’s other stuff. A stack of journals she didn’t open, despite her curiosity. Sketches of animals. A painting of Dina, which makes her regret stepping into the room in the first place. 

But the guitar has a moth on the neck that matches Ellie’s tattoo, so she picks it up. She strums the strings, open. It’s out of tune, probably a little bit warped by heat and moisture. There are a few song books that teach her cursory chords. She hasn’t even attempted any fingerpicking yet.

In the living room, Abby hears the screen door swing open. Footsteps stomp through the kitchen, pause, and then approach more slowly. 

Ellie props herself against the doorframe. She’s dressed in her brown jacket and looks tired from the hunt. “Are you trying to make my ears fall off?”

She hates Abby’s playing—or so she says. The first time she saw her with the moth-neck guitar in her hands, she looked at her like she’d violated some long-held pact. Touched something that didn’t belong to her. And Abby thought this would probably lose her the hard-won progress she’d made. Just a couple steps forward, so that they could exist in the same room together without someone flinching. 

But then came the teasing. “You’re not supposed to strangle the damn thing.” “The sheep could hear you all the way from the barn. Told me to tell you it sounds awful.” Mostly, things to the effect of, “That sounds like hot garbage.” It was the most Ellie had spoken to her since they got back to the farm. 

Despite the complaint, Ellie flops down onto the couch, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. When Abby stops playing, she gives her an insistent nod. 

Abby laughs inwardly. “You want me to keep going?”

“No,” she says. “It’s whatever.” Petulant and infuriating, as always.

She’s almost as bad as Lev, who’s become a little bit of a menace with his newfound stability. Because he doesn’t need Abby’s help anymore, and he would do just fine hunting on his own if she let him. He’s started to add some of Ellie’s more colorful language to his repertoire, too. “That sucked balls,” she’d once heard him say when Ellie missed a shot with her bow, giggling.

“Any requests?” Abby asks.

“Ummm…” Ellie rolls her head against the couch cushions. Catching the fading light from the window, her face is dark and freckled from the sun, her hair cut unevenly above her chin. She keeps her left hand tucked into her jacket. “Anything but whatever that was.” 

“Fine.” 

Abby starts to play something else. She pauses between each chord, interrupting her strumming as she carefully places each of her fingers against the strings. Her hands are calloused enough—from chopping firewood, from her regular exercise routine, but her fingertips are still tender. The longer she plays, the more the strings bite. She would never admit this to Ellie, of course.

When she’s finished, she awaits a familiar insult. 

I could do better with two fingers. Except Ellie doesn’t play anymore, because Abby took that away from her.

But there’s no reply. Abby lifts her attention from the fretboard, and Ellie’s asleep. Her head lolls peacefully to one side, eyes shut, brow furrowed, like she’s still pissed off. Her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths. 

It’s the first time Abby’s seen her like this in the daylight. They sleep in separate rooms, Ellie with her door shut tight. But sometimes Abby wakes in the middle of the night to find Ellie curled into her side, fingers knotted into her t-shirt, breathing softly against her neck. She never hears her come in, and they never talk about it in the morning.

Abby sets the guitar down slowly, careful not to make a noise when it connects with the floor. 

It’s easy to imagine carrying her, taking all of Ellie’s weight in her arms. She could carry her upstairs and take her to her own bed. She would unlace her converse—she can’t believe Ellie still wears those things—and tug them off. 

But Ellie would probably wake up as soon as she curled an arm under her neck. Her eyes darting wide, instinctively bracing herself against Abby’s chest. Taste of blood in her mouth. She would struggle, and say the words she'd been saying to Abby in one way or another since they got here. 

Don't fucking touch me. 

Abby hasn’t earned that yet. Ellie chooses when to approach and to retreat. Abby can wait. She can wait until she’s ready. They have time. 

Instead, Abby unfolds a blanket from the back of the couch. She stretches it out to her full wingspan, letting it fall to her knees. Slowly, so slowly, she drapes it over Ellie’s sleeping form. 

Ellie jerks in her sleep, and Abby freezes. She waits. But then she makes a grumbling sound and relaxes again, and Abby continues. 

The blanket envelops her fully. Careful not to actually touch her, Abby tucks the blanket in around her neck and shoulders. It gets cold down here at night.

Which reminds her, she should close the window.

She cringes when it makes a grating sound against the woodwork—old house and all. But when she looks back, Ellie is still sleeping.

Flecks of white paint fall and stick to her forearms. She flicks off the light.

-

(read this on ao3)

[criminalyapping]

take a break

marvel masterlist main masterlist

pairing: robert 'bob' reynolds x f!reader (platonic? it's not explicitly romantic so you can read it either way!)

a/n: hi hi so surprise but i am a mental health professional and absolutely adored thunderbolts for the commentary!! i think bob is a wonderfully complex character and i've been obsessed with lewis pullman since top gun m so ofc this is spilling out of me. love u bye

warnings: some talk of mental health issues but not graphic!

You feel for Bob. Sincerely and truly, you kind of pity him. Not that you would ever express that. While he was able to create a supportive found family in the Thunderbolts, Valentina kept a tight leash on him. The other Thunderbolts might feel bad, but they go along with it. And you understand! Bob (moreso his alter egos) is extremely powerful, extremely volatile, and not well controlled yet.

All this to say, Bob is kind of trapped inside.

Not really house arrest, but not quite freedom either. Having struggled with your own mental health challenges, you know how difficult it can be; the feelings of isolation, the monotony. Hopefully you're not projecting, but you can see Bob's despondent behavior when you look closely.

When the Thunderbolts formed, Bucky and Yelena made it their mission to add as many layers of insulation between them and Valentina as possible. To them, that meant having their own personal assistant who was not on Valentina's payroll to help manage.

You don't live with them in the Watchtower, but you're there bright and early each morning and typically don't leave until the moon is high in the sky. Sometimes you stay, just to avoid the subway ride home.

"Hi, Bob," you greet as the man pads gently out of his room one morning. The rest of the team is off somewhere doing something you're not privy to. To be fair, you mostly run schedules and make sure their dry cleaning is picked up.

"Good morning," he greets with a small smile.

"What are you up to today?" you ask him. The smile slides off his face, leaving a grimace in its wake.

"Uh," he starts, "nothing really. Maybe I'll work on, I don't know," he pauses, "getting my car registered?" he proposes.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know, that seems kind of pointless," he mumbles.

"I would do that for you anyway, Bob," you chuckle.

The small smile returns to his face, "Yeah, I know."

Silence falls over the room as you turn away from the screen of your laptop, already having searched 'paperwork for ny car registration'

"Do you want to come on some errands with me?" you ask.

"You, um, you think that's a good idea?" he questions nervously.

"Why not?" you smile, "I think you deserve some time in the sun."

"Do you- I mean, should you ask someone first?" he rambles.

"Bob, we're just going to run around for the day. Nothing will happen, promise!" you assure.

"Okay, yeah, that sounds good." he agrees. "I'll go get dressed, then, I guess."

"Take your time, I'll be right here," you grin.

Bob walks back down the hallway towards his room.

Time to come up with some imaginary errands for the two of you to run.

By the time he comes back, you've determined that the two of you will go to the post office to mail back a return (a shirt that Alexei thought wasn't soft enough), go to the bank to get something out of Bucky's safe deposit box (you're not allowed to know what it is), stop for lunch somewhere, pick up some flowers for the living room, and stop at the hardware store to copy a key to the supply closet.

"Ready to go?" you ask with a smile, standing up and leaving your laptop on the coffee table.

"Yeah," Bob agrees.

"Okay, Bob, our first stop is the post office on 16th, are you ready for a subway ride?" you grin excitedly.

"Let's go," he says with a more genuine smile, pressing the down button on the elevator.

Throughout the day you've planned for him, you see the smile brighten on his face, the tenstion release from his shoulders, and some genuine laughs fall from his mouth.

At lunch, a quiet cafe where you sit outside and enjoy the balmy weather, you and Bob chat about anything and everything. You realize that you know Bob, the Thunderbolt, but not Bob the man. The man who had you ask the waiter to fix his sandwhich when it came incorrect, the man who has reread his favorite book so many times he could act it out, and who is continually messing with the shaggy ends of his hair as it falls over his eyes.

You also realize that he knows more about you than you thought he could. He asks about your sister, how you liked the finale of your favorite show that just aired, and if you were still working on putting together the bookshelf you bought months ago but weren't able to finish.

You giggle as you tell him that you had to call your friends' ex-boyfriend to come over with his drill to mount it into the wall.

As you walk out of the hardware store in the afternoon, Bob looks nervous for a moment.

"Do you think, maybe, that I could get a haircut?" he asks sheepishly.

"You're in luck!" you grin, "this was our last stop of the day. Let me find a place nearby that takes walk-ins." you agree wholeheartedly, pulling out your phone.

A few minutes, a phone call, and a 15 minute walk later, you're seated at a chair as Bob gets his haircut.

You're lost in your emails when he stands in front of you, released from the chair and with his hair slightly shorter.

"Wow, Bob, it looks great!" you compliment, reaching up to run your fingers through the shortened strands.

Bob scrunches up his face in embarrasment, but allows you to keep at it.

"So soft!" you marvel.

"You, uh, you like it?" he asks sheepishly.

"I love it, Bob, it looks great on you." you reply earnestly. "Is there anything else you want to do?" you ask.

"No, no that's okay. We can do back now." he murmurs.

"Okay," you whisper, putting your phone back in your pocket.

As you get closer and closer to the Watchtower, you see the spark in his eyes become dimmer. He looks up at the daunting building from a few blocks away and then down at his shuffling feet. You take this in with resignation.

"You know, Bob, I have a designated errand day every Tuesday. You're more than welcome to come along any time you want." you offer.

"Oh, no, I- I wouldn't want to get in your way." he denies.

"Bob," you scold, moving to stand in front of him, forcing him to stop walking. "I enjoyed having you with me today." you say seriously. "This job can get boring, but I loved talking with you, getting to know you," you reveal, one hand coming up to rest on the outside of his arm. "Next Tuesday, I'll wait for you. Please come, it would make me really happy." you promise.

Bob finally looks up from his feet and into your eyes, a small but genuine grin falling over his face.

"Okay," he acquiesces, "I'll be there."

You and Bob continue walking towards the looming building. You were able to see the light in Bob's eyes brighten today, and if you're able to help him, even just by dragging him along to errands around the city, you're going to make sure he's there with you every Tuesday.

A couple of Tuesday's later, you and Bob are at the aquarium. A very serious and necessary errand, of course, when Bob gets a phone call from a worried Yelena. Bob walks a few paces away from you to take it.

"Yeah, I'm just at the aquarium," he says into the phone.

"No, I'm not by myself, it's errand Tuesday,"

"I'm gone all day every Tuesday, we go on errands."

"Okay, well, I don't know what she needs to do at the aquarium but she's very good at her job and I didn't ask questions because I wanted to see the sharks."

"Yes, every Tuesday, Yelena."

"Okay, I'll see you later," he sighs and hangs up the phone. You return to staring at the oceanscape in front of you to pretend like you weren't eavedropping.

"Yelena wants a stuffed stingray." he gripes.

"Did they not notice you've been gone the last couple of times?" you ask him.

"I guess not," he mumbles.

"That's okay," you console, "now maybe they can come!" you attempt.

Bob thinks for a moment, looking at the smile on your face, a matching one on his. They seem to be getting more common for him.

"No, I think I like it like this." he mutters.

Sometimes healing starts with a haircut.