#so in his canon timeline I don't think people are looking at him and going “hmmm that's pretty gay” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darlingofvalyria · 8 months

Text

❝I am going to make him bow to me, brother. Mark my words.❞

[ Jace does not yearn for you. Does not wish for you. Does not want you. But oh, lies are bitter and brittle under a tongue that yearns to taste. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,753 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), might be small aegon ii x reader but it's one sided on aeg's behalf, sorry.

contains— manipulative reader, targarcest, mild nsfw, angsty - CANON DIVERGENCE - use of bastard, mentions of alcohol and slight phys. abuse (otto's a dick) - sort of non canon compliant, timeline is loosey goosey; in the books, rhae & dae visit kings landing frequently even after moving to dragonstone, so im going by that - nsfw: male masturbation, strong allusions to sex but no actual woohoo, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas. unedited.

a/n— for my boy jace, the prettiest dark haired prince there is. simp!jace you will always be loved by me. comments, reblogs & like at will! + dividers by @danowh0re + accompanied song: SWEAT— HAYZ.

Aegon, under the guise of weighty cups and half-mast eyes, slides beside you, following your gaze as you appraised the entrance of the Strong bastards into the courtyard.

"Are you sure about this, sister?"

"Does wine taste like heaven under grandsire's scolding, brother?"

Aegon snorts. As your twin, the difference between the two of you are more stark than people might think. Though you share the childish, almost babe like features that usually got women to bow down to Aegon— with your doe eyes, the soft cheeks, and the curled pout — where people think Aegon is a horrible mess of a git, your shared grandsire the forefront of this slander, you are quite the opposite. Beloved, dutiful, and innocent in the eyes of many.

It didn't matter that you wore green as prettily as your mother, or that your twin is a mess of wine and women— you were different. You were kind, pretty, and enticing.

A precious flower among green thorns, the smallfolk whispered.

People had even commiserated how, despite the typical Valyrian looks of silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, your Hightower lineage softened your edges. Your looks.

Your personality.

Snort.

"You know Aemond would rather see you insult the little bastard in half, than whatever it is that you are thinking of doing."

You hum as you don't remove your gaze from the dark haired prince, making jokes with his younger brother, Lucerys. From the corner of the courtyard, you and your twin could see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston with more vigour than he usually did, especially at the time of day. Occasionally, he spared the younger Strong bastard a glance that spoke of trying to unearth his insides from his body, no doubt imagining the very same as he swung his blade.

Aegon and you shared a look, stifling laughter, before you focused back on your prey. Jacaerys Velaryon. A name he uses like a shield despite having not a single drop of the sea in his blood. All you had to do was look at the dark hair, the skin and the nose of the First of Men before him.

How your half-sister Rhaenyra can say he was a Velaryon with a straight face is beyond you.

Your gaze might be searing as Jace looks up at the balcony from where you had been idly staring at him for the better half of the time, and you give him a wry sort of smile. A soft sort of smile. An acknowledgement. Just as he makes a nod of hesitant acknowledgement— unlike your brothers, you had not join in on the hostility and mean-spirited comments — you had already turned fully to Aegon as if you are enraptured by conversation.

"It's a contingency plan, my darling Aeg," you say softly as you brush the back of your hand to his face. You are aware of Jace's gaze now focused on you and your twin and you make it good for him. You make a performance. You follow the steps you've practiced so eagerly.

And eager for your soft touch, Aegon's eyes flutter in response. Ever since you were young, and seeing how harsh everyone is of Aegon and his failures, you decided you would be the kindness to him.

Though you do like him, another contingency plan for him wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, you can bet on a lot of things, but your grandsire's award-winning thirst for power and your mother's malady to anxieties are good tidings to see them planting Aegon on the throne and usurping everything from your dearest, oldest sister.

Aeg didn't need to know that, of course.

What he can know and what he can help with, is making sure Jacaerys was looking as you smiled softly at your brother, your gold and silver spun hair bathed in morning light, and in one of your favourite dresses— a white silver dress lined with black lace and green embroidery of dragons — you were angelic personified. The Maiden come to gather and soothe your dearest brother.

You capture Aegon's face in your hands, ever soft, ever sweet, as you smile at him. He's so deprived of physical touch that doesn't harm him that he sighs against your palms. You do feel a little bad, but you need this plan to work.

"I am going to make him bow to me, brother," you whisper, giving him a soft kiss to his temple. He shudders, hands placing them on your waist, enunciating the kind curves you sport. "Mark my words, that boy king will stifle under my hand and foot. Mother's fears will not come to fruition. All will be well."

"I am older than you," he says softly, half smiling.

A gaze sears at the side of your face, as strong as the concussive heat radiating off a dragon's maw as your thumb brushes across your twin's cheek.

There is that, you think amusedly. No one can deny the little heir is his mother's child. Bastard he maybe.

"And I am better," you whisper, snickering.

"That you are." But his gaze is past you, back at the courtyard, at the reason for the heat in your skin. A spark of jealousy is quick in his mulish blue eyes but you only laugh. Light but loud, echoing.

"Come," you say with finality, taking a step back and offering your hand as you make the conscious choice of not daring even a peripheral glance, and heading back inside the keep. "We shall see them at dinner. The king's orders."

Your brother makes a sound crossbred from a huff and a groan, and you are already making plans to ensure his wine is controlled for the night, lest he makes a fool of himself in front of the King— or gods forbid, your grandsire — and mayhaps ensure the seating arrangement once again with your mother.

But everthing else is background noise; your schemes and your plots, your facades and faces, because a faux Velaryon has made it known that he cannot keep his gaze away from you.

Everything else is moot.

Jacaerys Velaryon, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, soon to be Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, does not understand himself.

Perhaps you are just eye-catching. Your hair is more gold than silver, but it shifts like a mirage against sunlight. You yourself seem to change under shadows and light, as if you're casting a new spell again and again. Your eyes, your lips, the slivers of presented skin (have you really shown this much skin, all this time?), and your hips.

They sway, like a panther's.

Like a dragon's.

Jace has always known you to be pretty; Helaena has always been his favourite aunt with the fact that she's quiet and doesn't antagonise him like your brothers. Because Helaena simply cared little for him not because he was Rhaenyra's son, or that he didn't look like his father, or because he was a prince of the realm set to become heir once his mother was crowned.

Helaena simply just didn't care about him as a human not as hisn ame or his blood, her thoughts lingering more in her bugs and the fat babes she had with her brother, humming nonsensical under her breath. Not insults.

You were different. You looked. Jace knew you looked but he had never caught you before. It's a dance, he later realises come dawn he is awoken and there is a weight on top of him in rings of gold and silver, breathing softly— alive and so very warm, and from that moment, his — but for now he doesn't know.

Doesn't understand.

Your gaze is weighty, leaving searing imprints like a dragon marking it's favourite horde. But it's so hard to catch.

It started at the training grounds. As if his Uncle Aemond's wasn't enough, there was yours. He knew but could only see once, and even that felt like it was deliberate, a mere nod. As if you controlled how he worked around your sphere, and by gods, were you beautiful. Then you had turned to your twin brother as if he was nothing to you— really, he was, in the scheme of things, you were the secondborn daughter of the Queen, no matter how pretty your visage or blood is, you are a woman and a third child (right after the firstborn daughter and son), and in the other end, Jacaerys was the first son and heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, soon to be Queen. In fact, you should be nothing to him.

He was to become King, and you to be offered to a lord. To be someone's wife, to relinquish your surname and become someone's mother. Rear your new lord husband countless of babes and live your life having fulfilled your sole duty.

It is a fact that tasted brittle and bitter in his tongue, like soot and ash, and he doesn't understand it. You had crossed his mind, idle as it maybe, from time to time, but nothing concrete. You are pretty, you are kind, mischievous at times, playful, and you purposefully don't keep him long in your orbit.

You were just another aunt. Aegon's Twin Flame.

Misbegotten to not even marry your brother.

It was at dinner that night, amongst clinking goblets and fat foods spilling the edges of the table, his grandsire having arrived, even Aegon, rumpled hair and sunken eyes but dressed and suspiciously sober— and you, your mother's favourite, her most affectionate daughter, late.

"Where is she?" Jacaerys heard the Lord Hand asked, but the Queen had no reply, as confused.

And then you arrive, not ten more minutes later, and Jace's entire body had locked.

Though he did not know why or what, he knew you were up to something. You arrived in a new dress from this afternoon— close to it's style, nothing like the Queen's or Helaena's, conservative high necks and pious ever green— no, you came as a surprise with a flutter of a silken hand and an embarrassed laugh, tipping to your father a kiss on the side of his good face.

Even as you sat, it took a good, long while before the chatter would arose again (from your gracious laugh at your father's compliment no less), before everyone's eyes— even Criston Cole's, ever loyal rat — would lift from your visage.

You were ethereal, simply put, in a dress that is not of pious ever green or high collar trim; but in a flutter of what Jacaerys remembers as his mother's gown when she was pregnant with Aegon, and the days got too hot. When the babe inside her, made of pure dragon, had made her a furnace burning from the inside out.

It was the same lightweight material draped over your skins, a thin material bunched up several times so it is not too sheer. Not too inappropriate. Jace doesn't know what the fabric is, doesn't care to, but it looks like flowing water against your body. It moulds to your movements. Your shape is obvious, so are the expose arms, collarbones, your chest dipping low, too low sometimes when you lean over and laugh, eyes alight— Jace's eyes cannot stay away, they are glued to your necklace, to the top of your smooth breasts — and the dress is held together in links of golden dragons, your hair made up in braids, in pearls and small emeralds, with curled strays framing your cheeks and smile, your exposed neck.

It was meant to garner looks, compliments.

But it was the colour that Jacaerys knew it was meant for him.

At the centre of your chest— your bosom that dips, two mounds, so soft looking and the urge to reach over and press his fingers down, see how soft and pliant you really are, hear the kind of noises you make, in pain or pleasure, his thoughts make him hiss, tightening his hold on his wine, pinching nails to skin to ground himself — it starts off a darken green, shifting, blending to a winter green, a bluer green, a seafoam that he is more than familiar with, before escaping the edges in deep water blue.

The colour of his father's house had never looked so good, so charming, so sinful before.

He tears his eyes away from you because it is improper to be staring so, to be looking at you and feel like he is feasting when he is rooted in his chair and still so hungry, especially with the plans of betrothal with Baela, his mother had already asked him if she is ever in his thoughts.

Baela who sits beside him, ramrod straight and keen-eyed, respectable Targaryen lady, a confidant and a good friend. She would make a good queen in the future, he had thought so before. Respectable and fearsome, the best parts of his stepfather and the late Lady Laena.

He shakes his head, swallowing down his slice of veal before he kicks Luke's leg under the table.

His brother yelps, a mournful irritated sound for his eyes had ogled far longer (just like he, but would never admit) on you than was proper, reminding him, and yet when you look up at the sound, your eyes— have they ever been so violet? — lands on him. Again.

When your gazes meet, he is enraptured, but he clears his throat and nods. "You look good, aunt." And because he cannot step, because his thoughts are cloudy and you are looking at him as if you know he can't stop looking at you, as if you can read each filthy thought he tries to stifle, as if you like it, he continues, "The sea green is a nice colour on you."

He can feel eyes on him, even the Lord Hand's. Even Aegon, goblet pressed against his lips, hiding a smirk. He burns, but he doesn't burn as bright when your smile stretches, your lids lower, and he burns so bright he fears he might be on fire.

The flames are licking him and he does not mind, so long as you keep your gaze.

"Thank you, nephew," you hum. "That is so very sweet of you to say."

And Jacaerys blushes, coughing once when he notices his lady mother giving him a look. Knowing. Curious but not probing, not yet. What he doesn't notice is the Queen's perceptive frown as she gazes at her daughter, the Lord Hand's raised eyebrow, or Aegon trying so very hard to stifle his laughter, turning to Helaena as if he is saying something to her.

But what Jacaerys does see is Aemond's intense glare, sharpened and rekindled and suspicious, and Daemon... The Rogue Prince is eyeing you differently. No longer just another Targaryen bleeding Hightower green, no longer just another offspring of the Hightower cunt.

No, Jace can almost see inside his stepfather's brain and see the Valyrian looks. The body of a woman freshly sloughed off the body of a child.

You are pretty and young and Daemon Targaryen is looking at you.

It shocks Jace how much he despises it.

It is for my mother, his thought persists even as he looks at you again and his insides whirl. I am upset for my mother.

Daemon Targaryen can see plainly what you are doing.

You've always hated that about men with good insight, who do not care for what is between your legs, only for your actions. For what it might do for what he cares about.

And Daemon cares for Rhaenyra, for Viserys, for the Targaryen legacy, pure and untainted.

(As if the blood of the First Men is okay to bastardise his bloodline but gods forbid the oldest and greatest of the Great Houses).

And he is now looking at you as if he has noticed the steps and webs you have spun around for his stepson, the direct legacy, and he is amused.

The dinner comes to a conclusion to a small dancing, and your twin, dutiful to you and your orders you had told him as you cleaned and prepared him for dinner; stood up, brushed himself off, and politely asked Baela for a dance— the latter looking so surprised he was fully sober, much less asking for her hand — that she found no excuse, and reluctantly accepted as they pivoted to the centre.

As Daemon continues to look at you, to unravel you as if you are an enemy in a battle map, you stand up quickly and turn to Aemond, smile wide and fake.

Jacaerys won't ask you to dance. He had drawn looks with his compliment, suspicion. Grandsire was right, they are planning to marry him off to Baela to strengthen their cause. Jace will not entertain anything anymore publicly.

Duty bound, honour bound.

But, but, but.

you are not a fool, you know men and their pissing contests. You are a daydream hiding a nightmare.

For the past few minutes, he had noticed Daemon's inquisitive, amused appraisal of you, and his brown eyes (pretty for a bastard's; Ser Harwin's lashes must have been long) had burned a different fire and it gives you an idea, an exhale of relief.

Jealousy can salvage anything.

You just need to push him.

And Aemond is beautiful, a true Valyrian King in visage, the Warrior come alive. You look so much softer when you are beside him.

"Sister?" Aemond looks up at you, curious, confused since the beginning of the night. There is a plot he isn't privy to, and he has been spearing glances at you, at Aegon, at his grandsire just in case he knew anything.

You were unmarried while Aegon had married Helaena. Your time is coming, and he loathes the idea of a betrothal to the Strong Bastard. He had made his complaints known when the missive came from your sister, asking sweet Helaena's hand for your son thinking your mother would have surely betrothed you to your twin.

Neither side knowing you had almost sent back your name, offering your hand.

"It has been a while since you had asked me to dance, little brother," you say, hands behind your back, framing yourself soft and playful. There are so many gazes on you, you play with it well.

"I was ten and one then, mandia sister, a boy."

"Too long," you tease. "Kessa ao daor lilagon lēda aōha mandia, valonqar? Will you not dance with your sister, little brother?"

He hums, acquiescing easily, and standing up. You peel a laughter that attracts a chuckle from the king. This is how you dance around the palm of Viserys I. Men like it when you play a part. Not to cost trouble, not to step over the line.

You aren't the elder sister, the firstborn child. You are means to further a line, not to have any important position. Rhaenyra is the exception only from the womb that bore her. You, like Helaena, are likened to fall in line and act like you like it. Like being a fat, old lord's wife has always been your dream. Bear his babes and suffer the trauma of hanging your life in the balance to produce them into the world.

It makes you burn with rage most days.

"What are you doing, mandia sister?" Aemond whispers against your cheek after having brought you close, dancing through the steps swiftly, keenly. It truly is a shame that Aemond doesn't dance oft.

"Won't you just believe and put your faith in the sister that you adore?" you snipe playfully. It's easy to use Aemond's hair to hide the glance you drop Jacaerys and see the seething glare he burns through your baby brother's head. Lust, yearn, jealousy— they dance and cook in his gaze. You giggle despite yourself.

"Grandsire will not allow you to marry that bastard," Aemond hums, unable to hide his irritation. You roll your eyes. Clever little brothers.

"As much love as I can grasp from my heart for our grandsire, valonqar, I am a dragon. I will take what I want. A tower is nothing to dragonfire. Grandsire oft forgets I am a princess of the realm and he is only a lord." You step back and bow as the song ends, as your father tires and wishes to go to bed. He only stays this long, or even leaves his chambers, when Rhaenyra decides to deign Kings Landing with her presence.

Always more for the heir. More effort, more love, more care.

And what is left for the other daughters of Viserys I?

He remembers Helaena's existence less, and if you do not make it a point to visit him everyday— to entertain him, read to him, laugh at being mistaken for Rhaenyra — you are sure you will be nothing more than a faint dream to him.

Your anger licked dark and green. Inside, it rages.

You watch as Jacaerys Velaryon says something to his mother, a rushed farewell, an excuse— a press of your fingers against your lips as you catch his breeches are tight, that his jaw is clenched — you step closer to Aemond once more, Aegon now drifting away from Baela and back into your orbit.

"Don't worry, little brother, I do not actually desire the Strong bastard. I want his crown."

Aegon giggles breathlessly, eyeing as Aemond's eye widen a fraction before he composes himself. "And what do you need now, sister, to accomplish such a beguilingly easy task?" Aegon snorts softly. There is only a faint scent of alcohol on him. You take it as win. "He's like a green boy from a quick flash of your chest. What more your tits in full display?" He leans close, mean and adorable. "You do not want a husband who is too quick for your own pleasure."

You swat his arm, pinching the soft flesh of his stomach before Aemond fully throttles him.

"Watch your tongue," Aemond hisses, fists clenching.

"It is okay. I take no offense, he is just being silly to rile you up," you placate him, pulling your twin closer to you just as Helaena approaches, shuffling close to your other side, burying her head against your collarbone. You hum, letting her quietly choose which physical affection she can take from you.

The four Green children, missing one. Scales of the dragon they may have, green fire burning from their maws. The four Green children, miss one. Sons and daughters of Viserys I. Nothing more than wombs and seeds for his legacy.

You finally turn to Daemon's probing stare and you keep it. "Keep his family away from him," you whisper to your siblings. You do not care if he understands. At this point, even your grandsire may have an idea for your plots.

And for the crown, for his lineage, no ambition is too small.

If he can send your mother to an old, grieving man after he had butchered his first wife, what ease it is to send a granddaughter willing to dance a scandal?

"I need him alone tonight."

You do not come to him immediately, more than knowing what he is doing. Maegor's Holdfast is a fun little place, with its secrets and tunnels. You had already studied the path to his apartments beforehand, and you are there, against the hidden way, hearing him fuck his fist to the vision of you, your name dripping and spitting from his pretty red lips.

You catching him after the high, chest up and down breathing hard. There is a self-loath, a disgust. You can just read his thoughts. When you enter, he is alarmed, a sword in his hand, guarded replaced to shock at the sight of you.

"Aunt," he whispers, appalled. Lustful. Righteous.

You tilt your head, unsmiling. You guard your thoughts as you approach, hands behind your back, voice soft. "Do you always reach to completion with my name in your tongue, nephew, or is today an exception?"

Jacaerys Velaryon flinches, sword hand dipping. "I—"

You are close, a hair's breadth away. Amusingly, he is struggling with himself. His honour in one hand, his desire in another. He wants to leap away from you and pull you close.

His choice is still open.

You answer for him.

"Would you like to know whose name falls from my lips when I reach completion?" you whisper against his lips. So close but still so far. Your fists are clenched behind your back, nails drawing blood. You cannot fail now. The Rogue Prince might be wandering now, ready to yank you or kill you.

You are a viper in a vipper's nest, and Daemon Targaryen is too late to realise you only want one true victim.

Jacaerys is drawn, the shock of your words melting to make way for the flutter of his eyes and the full shudder of his body as you lick a strip across his bottom lip, staining him.

Break yourself for me, Strong Boy, you think as he opens his eyes and stares at your lips. Break your oaths, your promises.

"Whose?" he asks, voice hoarse.

The surrender is at the hands he has brought first to your hips before he rose it slowly up and up, until his warm palms cupped your jaw, your face, swallowed in his hold. It is a delight to know his hands are bigger than your face, that he is told to tower over you. A boy king grown.

"Yours."

He groans but does not let you go. "I am betrothed."

You still. Such a Good, Strong Boy, resisting until the very fucking end. "I have not heard of such announcements, nephew."

"Mother will announce soon."

"Is that what you want then?" You grip his hands and stride forward until your are chest to chest. Until he can feel every outline of your body against his, until you can feel the hard line of his manhood against your stomach. Until he feels his own body breaking his oath.

"Please, Jace," you whisper, you beg. Your eyes begin to water. "I want you to take me... Only you. I have longed for you for so long. Your mother— my sister betrothed you to me first." He leans back, surprise flitting. "Yes, my love. But my mother had refused. I— I thought you would see it nevertheless. The affection in my gaze, the smile I give only to you. That I am offering my heart, my soul, my body to you. Only to you, Jacaerys."

Your tears are running down now, your voice so soft and so desperate. Where lust had clouded him, it is now tinged with a flattered adoration.

Men are so simple. Boys far simpler.

"I thought you knew," you say at last in a voice as broken as your heart. You take his hands away and step back. He grasps but you turn away, a sob wracks from your chest as fake as when you were a child, trying not to get in trouble with your mother so she can fire the septa that you hated. She had sneered at Aegon's drunken folly and was disgusted by Aemond's fresh wound.

You wanted her gone.

"Aunt, I—"

"It is alright," you cut him off. You turn back slightly, your smile watery, your gaze to the floor. "Aegon did not choose me either, unlovable as I am. Men only want me for my body and nothing more. I-I'll leave you be. Good night—"

You never finish your spiel because he had yanked you, hard, against him, his lips moving against yours— clumsily, not enough practice but aggressive in its desire — pressing you against him as if he is trying to swallow you whole.

Jacaerys is not bowing, not yet. But that night with his seed warm and full inside your womb, his body encased against your own, tightening whenever you made a movement, as if in fear any step you take away from him would slip you so freely from his fingers— his mouth, his lips, bruised by your own making, pressing featherlight soft against the side of your head, your hair — it is not too soon to think the boy king will bend the knee to you and only you.

And maybe the babe you bear him, but there is no need to rush. These steps are delicate but sure.

After all, he has only just cemented the thought that he will whisk you both to Dragonstone at first light, a traditional Old Valyrian wedding.

He will bow soon enough.

For now, you will enjoy your glowing win.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys smut #targaryen reader #jacaerys fanfiction #jacaerys fanfic #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#manipulative reader #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #jacaerys angst #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷

1K notes · View notes

sauntervaguelydown · 7 months

Text

Love & Pratchett

The thing about Terry Pratchett is that he wrote about people falling in love plenty, but he never wrote about what I'd call typical romance. When love is sincere and profound it is also very... understated. Practical. Sybil & Vimes--his most famous couple--are like this. The demonstration of devotion is in small things, like wearing the horrible uncomfortable socks your wife made for you because she made them for you. There's a sense of the inevitable about them coming together.

In many cases you wouldn't know it was romance except that the recognizable formula of "boy and girl" picks it out. Look at Newt & Anathema in Good Omens--that's classic Pratchett. They barely exchange a romantic word and in fact it's almost out of Anathema's hands whether she's going to hook up with this absolute soyboy (affectionate). She's not really that nice to him. I always get the impression that the core of their connection is that they're bonded by this experience that no one else can understand. Bonding through shared experience (and even trauma) is a common theme in these subplots.

There's definitely a few showier romance plots, but they're always very tongue in cheek--for example, the literal Romeo & Juliet in Unseen Academicals where Juliet is a very good hearted but basically stupid girl and the POV character is her exasperated mom-friend. There's a lot of gags in the early Discworld novels about male and female characters who Have to fall in love because that's the way narrative works. It's not that they're doomed to be unhappy or even fake or anything, they're just not that deep. Mostly, monogamy is a mundane affair and not really the business of onlookers anyway. Admittedly, the female pov characters have a tendency to wish that things could be a bit more... dramatic. Look at Angua, she's always vaguely frustrated that her boyfriend doesn't react to their relationship with a bit more angst, but ultimately she's practical too. She just wants her partner to be a bit less practical for a moment.

I just reread Nation. Nation isn't a Discworld novel, but I think in a lot of ways it's the most condensed Terry Pratchett you'll ever find in one place. Two characters who are both clever to start with, and wise by the ending, have fallen in love with each other. It's never directly stated. No one confesses to anyone. They get teased about it a little by adults around them. They rescue each other, perform feats of unasked-for heroism on each other's behalf. And at the end, although they want to stay together, they choose their responsibility to their families--and to the future of the world--over staying together. There's one kiss on the cheek as a farewell. But you know that they're still thinking of each other, because at the end of the timeline despite living worlds apart their entire lives, they ask to be buried together.

This is, in my estimation, is the most romantic thing in the Terry Pratchett catalogue. If I can be forgiven for pretending to know the mind of a stranger, I think this is what he found the most romantic. It really is just a profound friendship, between two people who maybe don't always understand each other but always respect each other. Sex really is just a bonus thing, it's nice and certain characters (Angua, Carrot come to mind) pretty clearly have a good time with it, but it's sort of taken for granted. Even kissing isn't all that important. You can't really tell who's in love with who in a Pratchett novel just by looking for physical demonstrations of affection.

Anyway, over the years of Good Omens discourse, this has been the main thing that informs my reading of Aziraphale & Crowley. I'm not widely read in Gaiman material, so I can't speak to that, but from a Pratchett-canon lens, Aziraphale and Crowley fit the vibes of a romantic relationship pretty well. The shared experience, the sense that only they really can understand each other because no one else has seen what they've seen. The heroic gesture of Crowley in the burning shop--the respect that they have for each other, despite the occasional bitching--the "ah. so it's like that." observation of people around them. And most of all, the way they come back together at the end of the novel in a poetic but understated moment, because coming back together of your own free will and going forward together is possibly the most romantic thing that a couple can do in a Pratchett novel.

#discworld #meta

453 notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 1 month

Text

But You Without Me Ain't Nice

prompt: ( requested ) deciding to surprise your boyfriend for Christmas after studying abroad, only to discover him in the arms of another. when you return to Oxford, so does his desire.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 5.7k+

note: it's not EXPLICIT cheating 'cause i wanted them to get back together.

warnings: small bouts of jaded feminism, cursing, hurt and comfort, AU timeline 'cause of implied altered canon, small angst, drama, emotions are hard, long distance relationships are hard, boys are dumb, "cheating" but not explicit - you'll see, more so betrayal, so that makes this relationship angst?

Cassandra's squeal of excitement was shrill enough to pierce an eardrum when you shuffled into her dormitory, shaking the snow from your hair and coat before she hugged you tightly. "I'm so excited you're here!" She beamed, "It's been so fucking lonely without you! God, you just had to leave, huh?"

You chuckled, "Oh, shove it. Edinburgh has one of the best programs in Europe, Cass, you know this!"

"I know, I know, you're better than us little folk at Oxford," she mocked with a groan, letting go of you as your eyes rolled in humor. "But still - it's so boring without you, I miss my roomie. There's literally nobody around for me to cause havoc with," she pouted dramatically.

"Well, I'm here for the holidays," you assured, "so you get me for the next couple weeks, you lucky ducky."

"Oh, please, you and I both know Felix isn't gonna let you outta his sight when he sees you. You planning on goin' home at all?"

"No, no, my sister has a flat just down the way," you explained. "She's in London until after the New Year - gave me her key when she picked me up from the airport," you showed her the metal device with a grin.

"Gonna take Felix back to the flat?"

"If he wants," you nodded.

"Oh, yeah, whatever, a flat completely to yourselves for the entire winter holiday? He's gonna lose his mind," your friend tutted. "When are you seeing him?"

"Uh, he said he was going to some party tonight?"

"Well, that's normal," she muttered almost bitterly. "C'mon, get changed, we'll meet him there."

"What do you mean, 'normal'?"

"What? Oh," her head shook as if realizing what she had just said. "No, it's - it's nothing, just," she winced slightly, "Felix is at every party."

"Really?" You asked softly. "We talk all the time on the phone, when does he even have time?"

"No offense, but it's not like he's a model student. He's constantly partying, I hear about it all the time from girls in class - "

"What do they say?"

"He's just popular - you know, he's Felix. And he's a regular at the pubs, too."

You had a weird feeling in your gut and chest, just nodding at Cassandra. "Well, at least he's enjoying himself," you offered meekly.

"Mhm, got that right," she snickered. "He's a legend 'round the university, even people in other colleges and programs know about him. Guess that's one way t'make an impression."

"Yeah, that's Felix for yah," you sighed. "Can I borrow an outfit?"

"What's wrong with that?" She paused, looking you up and down, then wincing, "Yeah, okay, I have options for you."

"Oh, don't sound so judgmental!" You laughed, "I just didn't pack party clothes, I didn't think we'd be going to any."

"You're so lucky to have me," she grinned at you, shoving through a rack of options in her wardrobe. "You wanna look classy slutty, spicy slutty, or just plain slutty-slutty?"

You hummed and chose the 'classy' option, being an open back black mini dress that clung to your figure and hiked up your thighs with every step. It felt exciting to be with Cassandra again, meeting your first year of secondary school and becoming the closest of friends; enduring family turmoil and social drama arm-in-arm. You listened to preppy pop music as you got ready; taking turns in the bathroom to finish your hair and make-up before slipping the dress on and latching the borrowed heels around your ankles.

When you gave her a look at your final outfit, she approved - claiming Felix would probably have a heart attack when he saw you.

"Wait!" You laughed, snatching a festive Santa Claus hat from the care package her parents sent; nestling it on your head. "Eh? Eh? Right? It's good!"

"Girl - "

"C'mon, it's festive!"

"You're lucky you're just so damn cute - it works," she grinned, tossing you your coat before shrugging into hers. "Hold on - you know the rules!" She halted you from opening the dorm door, holding up the bottle of tequila. "Shots before we leave!"

"Jesus, I've missed you," you laughed, taking the solo cup she held out; watching her pour enough for at least 2-3 shots.

"It'll keep us warm in the snow," she explained. "They not partying down at Edinburgh?"

"Not like here," you snickered, downing the drinks with a screwed up expression. "And they're all really preppy - like I thought Oxford had snobs, but Christ Almighty. My roommate down there literally had a panic attack when I bought a bottle of wine."

"Why?"

"She's American, said they're not allowed until they're 21."

"Wow... That's gotta suck for them," she downed her own shots. "Okay! You ready? Wait, are you wearing panties?"

"Yeah - "

"You can't in that dress."

"I'm not taking my panties off, Cass, let's just go!" You laughed, snatching her hand and leading her out of the dorm. "So, c'mon, tell me about the guy you're seeing," you requested, looping your arms together, trudging onto the snowy sidewalk.

"Oh, you mean Jason? Yeah, no, that's over. I just realized that being here is literally the only time in my life I'll have all these easy opportunities and there was no use in wasting my time dating just one person. And it eliminates the threat of cheating. Like... I don't hold my liquor all that well anymore and there's so many good looking people here! Why be in a relationship and run that risk, you know?"

You blinked at her, unsure what to say.

"Oh," she froze, "no, no, I didn't mean - no, look, dating in college is really cool when you know you're with the right person. And since you and Felix have been together for two years already, I think it's pretty safe to say he's the right one - right?"

"I think so... But I can't lie, I've been feeling kinda guilty, thinking Felix would prefer the opportunity to sow his wild oats instead of committing to us. You know? Like you said - "

"No, don't do that, you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm being stressed and upset," she hugged your arm tightly, continuing down the sidewalk. "Felix doesn't want t'be single, he would've bucked up the nerve to break up already. And you guys talk so often, he would've said something, right?"

You mused, "Not necessarily, Felix is used to having all he wants."

She shrugged off your words, "You're overthinking 'cause you're nervous to surprise him. But you're the best Christmas present, seriously. Made my day all the better."

You just smiled and skipped over the patch of ice in your way, nearly slipping, but Cassandra kept a tight hold on you - laughing loudly, your amused shrieks echoing around the brownstone buildings. When you arrived at the flat hosting the party, you climbed 2 flights of stairs without incident and let yourselves in; being greeted by strobe lights, thick clouds of smoke, and an abundance of drunken Oxford students.

It was packed - a welcomed sight after your past semester abroad, attending dinner parties with tart wines and classical music. You only had one more semester left before coming back to Oxford full time, and things just weren't the same being away; you missed the excitement, the parties, the friends you made. Granted, you had friends at Edinburgh, you often thought you could make friends anywhere, but you knew a lot of faces here. It was a comfort. And despite knowing you were here only a couple weeks until the next semester began again, it was still nice being back.

You were greeted by several people, being hugged happily and your cheeks kissed sloppily. They asked all about your program in Scotland, insisting you do rounds of shots with them, updating you on the juiciest gossip you missed.

They told you everything... Except what you should've known.

"Have you guys seen Felix?" You asked, glancing around the packed party. You noticed the uncomfortable looks exchanged, questioning, "What? What is it?"

"Uh, you know what?" Oliver Quick sighed, a new addition to the friend group that you didn't know - actually meeting for the first time tonight. "Yeah, yeah, saw him over there - on the sofa," he pointed somewhere behind you.

"Thanks, mate," you patted his shoulder, turning to push through the partygoers.

When you were gone, Farleigh turned to Oliver, "What the fuck was that? You know Felix is drunk off his tits and India's rubbing real close."

"So? Shouldn't she know someone's making moves on her man?" Oliver asked. "Not exactly fair - "

"It's not entirely fair to set Felix up like that," Farleigh sneered. "He misses her, so he drinks, flirts with girls. But he's not acting on it, you just want to get him in trouble, you fuckin' twat!"

Oliver shrugged, looking over in time to spy you approaching the couch. "He'll only get in trouble if he's acting on his impulses, being unfaithful," Ollie sneered.

When you made it through the crowd, you found Felix sitting on the couch, but what made you stop in your tracks was the little lady sat on his lap - a girl you recognized vaguely. Felix downed the shot being handed to him, grinning that stupid grin you adore, broad hands splayed on the girl's thigh as she curled into her chest with skinny arms wrapped around his neck. Her sticky lips whispered something in his ear, giving a small nibble that made your boyfriend laugh - always the ticklish type.

The alcohol you had already downed burned an angry hole in your gut, heart heavy with betrayal, feeling outrage at their audacity the longer you watched. You looked beside you and snatched the drink from a drunk guy, taking two dramatic strides up to them and without thought, launched the entire cup at the couple.

"You bitch!" India gasped, rocketing to her feet. Felix was about to yell himself, but when he looked up and registered your angry eyes glaring at him, he gaped in shock. "Seriously, what the fuck is your issue, slut?" India sneered, stamping her foot.

"Oh, fuck off, sweetheart," you snapped, "not like it's my boyfriend you're sitting on! Really wouldn't throw stones if I was you!"

Felix stood and pushed India to the side, "Baby - "

"Oh, spare me your fucking excuses, Felix! For Christ's sake! This is what you've been doing while I'm gone!? Huh!?"

"No - "

"Bullshit! Cass told me you're constantly partying, so is this what you do? Huh? Hang up the phone with me, come to these shitty parties, get shit faced, and take girls home before calling me in the morning? You even wait until they're gone before dialing my number?"

"Darling, I swear - nothing was happening, nothing was going to happen! I don't - "

"Well, not with us soaking wet!" India raged. "You're just a jealous hag, I mean, you're dating someone like Felix but I've never even seen you! Maybe if you were a better girlfriend, he wouldn't be looking elsewhere!"

"Jesus Christ, India! Fuck off - NOW!" Felix bellowed, shocking the girl. "You don't know a Goddamn thing you're saying, and you know you're too desperate - "

"Oh! So, you're moving in on 'desperate' girls 'cause they're easy, right?" You snapped. "She might be desperate, but you are fucking pathetic, Felix! I know you get everything you want, I know you don't know real consequences, but I don't have to add to that!"

"Let's just talk outside," he tried, looking more and more like a kicked puppy.

"I'm not going anywhere with you again. This isn't working, Felix, there's no way I can trust you - not when I've just seen - this!"

"Baby, it isn't - look, this isn't what it looks like! Okay? I know it looks bad, but I don't touch them - "

"There's more!? Of course, there's more - 'cause why have just one, right?"

He winced, "I just - listen, I only flirt, baby, I swear, but I-I know that's not much better. You bein' gone, I-I have this pent up energy - "

"Oh, the poor rich boy! Unsupervised without his girlfriend, so you think it's okay to flirt with other girls? Have them sit on your lap? Touch them? Flirt all night?"

"I know it sounds bad - "

"No, you know what?" You chuckled ruefully. "You two have fun, I'm out. I'm so fucking done with you, Felix, this relationship - it obviously isn't viable. So, have your skank, but make sure you get to a clinic. You obviously couldn't choose someone decent to cheat on me with, make sure she doesn't give you any STDs."

"What did you say, bitch!?" India tried to surge up to you, but Cassandra stepped in and shoved both her shoulders; sending her sprawling to the dirty, sticky floor.

"Watch yourself," she barked, dropping another drink on her and making India squeal. She glared at Felix and approached you, hushing, "You okay?"

"No."

"Let's get outta here," she nodded, wrapping you in her arms and leading the way out - not like she had to, students parted way like the Red Sea to let you two pass.

"Wait!" Felix rushed, grabbing his jacket and following you both out. Despite the heels, mini dresses, and alcohol, you and Cass were sober enough to scurry down the stairs and outside by the time he caught up. "Baby! Wait! Please, c'mon, let me explain!"

"You've done enough! I've seen enough!" You yelled back, Cass not stopping you two from making your escape. "Just fuck off back to your whores, Felix!"

"No, no," he rushed in front of you two, forcing you to stop. "Let me talk to you, please, you think it's worse than it is, I mean - "

"Awh, you think just touching other bitches isn't that bad?" Cass sneered. "Silly slut," she scoffed, rolling her pretty eyes.

"Cass, do you mind? This is between us," He sighed.

"Oh-ho, I very much mind," she rolled her eyes. "Grovel if you want, but I'm not leaving you two alone."

"I don't want to talk, Felix! For fuck's sake, I saw all I needed to. I'm literally killing myself slowly in Scotland, trying to secure my own future 'cause not all of us can be born into money - "

"Baby, that's not fair - "

" - And you're here, living your best life, being fucking deceitful, aren't you? Your girlfriend on the side and a full buffet of sluts to choose from - and nobody would know 'cause I wasn't in the fucking country! You know what?" You chuckled, "Thank you, actually. Thank you for proving what I feared the most and cutting us free. Better to know now than later when I'm far more invested. Enjoy your pick of the fucking litter, Felix, 'cause I'm removing myself from this equation, you're now free to do whatever you want - don't have to be such a gentleman anymore and just flirt with them."

"You're right, okay? You're right, I wasn't thinking, I was trying to - I don't even know! Have 'the college experience', I think, and I got carried away. I'm so sorry - "

"You're only sorry 'cause you got caught," Cass snapped.

"Ohk for fuck's sake - Cass, I love you and all, but do you mind if this stays between my girl and I?"

"Oh, so you inviting all that female attention was 'keeping it between you'?" She cocked her head, rolling her eyes. "C'mon, babe, let's go. You don't need to hear his pathetic whinging anymore."

"Think you're right," you sniffled from the cold. "Bye, Felix."

"Please - let's just talk about this!"

"No more talking!" You barked. "You don't need to defend yourself, I saw her with you - I don't need your excuses! This is over, Felix, just - for God's sake, fuck off, already!"

He froze, never hearing such aggressive words from you before. In the years you were friends and the two you've dated, you hadn't so much as raised your voice at him - even when upset. To hear such profanity at this level shocked him. He's heard you yell, but usually at other people; he's heard you curse, but typically from excitement. He felt overwhelmed watching Cassandra walk you away under her arm, the tears surfacing and his confusion blinding; wondering how the hell he had managed to fuck everything up THIS bad.

When you got back to her dorm, you were a wreck and Cassandra wasn't sure how to start comforting you. She watched you slide to the floor in tears and squatted to take your shoes off, set the bottle of tequila beside you, and then got comfortable on the ground, too. She stretched her arm around your shoulders, sighing sadly, and just held you when you sobbed uselessly into her neck.

No amount of crying would change the past. No amount of frustration or self-pity would help. No amount of regret would turn back time and prevent you from leaving your very attractive boyfriend to the mercy of Oxford sluts.

After an hour of just crying, Cassandra perked up and asked, "You wanna stay the night here or go to your sister's?"

"Felix knows where your dorm is," you sniffled, mascara down your cheeks and chin. "Maybe we should go?"

"You want me to come, too?"

"I don't want to be alone..."

"Lemme pack real fast," she agreed, leaving you on the floor to drink until you felt numb while she raced around to prepare a duffel bag. When she was finished, she hoisted you from the ground and took her car keys, shouldering your own duffel, and leading you out of the dorms. On your way to student parking, neither of you were surprised to find Felix sprinting in your direction.

"Baby! Wait, wait, wait! Please!" He begged, barely slowing down and literally skidding to a halt, nearly slipping on ice. "Just - please, let me talk to you. I-I can't let you leave thinking I fucked those girls - "

"Oh, just go fuck yourself, Felix!" You laughed.

"Is she drunk?" He asked Cass in mild shock.

"Do you know a better way to deal with a break up?" She rolled her eyes.

"We're not broken up - "

"I heard otherwise," she sneered. "You're not used to losing, Felix, but the rest of us, on Earth, know when a relationship is over."

"I made a mistake!" He pleaded loudly.

"Just one?" You snapped.

"No, you know what? I've made a few, but I swear, nothing fucking happened! Not with any of them!"

"Oh," you mocked, snickering to Cassandra.

"Just give me a chance - "

"I did," you interrupted sadly. "I gave you all the chances, Felix, and you still chose to betray me. So, you know what? I just need time to digest your bullshit betrayal, and in order to do that, I literally can't be around you."

"How will you know how sorry I am?"

"I know, I can see it - just like I saw that bitch on your lap," you scoffed. "Can we go now?"

"C'mon, babe," Cass agreed.

"Go? Go where?" He rushed, looking panicked.

"Away from you!" You laughed, holding onto your friends arm tightly as you wobbled in her borrowed shoes.

"At least let me help you - "

"Don't need help from a slut!" You shouted to the sky, not stopping.

Felix Catton was left standing in the snow, his heart walking away from him in heels too high.

And when you got to your sister's flat, Cassandra raided the fridge and brought you ice cream and pretzels - for something both sweet and salty. For the rest of the night, you cried while stuffing your face, but whatever it was worth, at the very least, you had your best friend there to wipe your tears.

Well, after a gut wrenching Christmas break, you went back to Scotland to finish an anticlimactic semester at one of the world's most prestigious universities. Without Felix to call, you dedicated more time to studying, which paid off, because by the end, you received the highest marks in your college and earned multiple letters of recommendations from well-respected professors.

But now that the year abroad was over, you were set to return to Oxford for the next three weeks to report back to your program chairs and give them an update. Suddenly, it was like the entire semester of avoiding your feelings about Felix caught up to you the moment you boarded the plane. You had stuffed your emotions deep down, ignored his morning and evening phone calls (yes, he still called everyday), and tried your hand at dating other people - but it wasn't the same. You hated that you missed him so much, but you figured you had more self-respect than to belittle yourself for a man.

A beautiful, kind, generous man... Who made a mistake... Who demonstrated remorse... Who understands what he did was wrong and hurtful... And your Daddy did raise you to 'forgive and forget'. But still, you had a difficult time forgiving Felix in full, and therefore, couldn't forget what he did.

The betrayal was still so fresh and you couldn't stomach the idea of even speaking to him. So, you decided to avoid him by any means.

When you returned to England, it was drearier than normal. Your sister wasn't able to pick you up this time, figuring you would just hail a cab when someone laid on their horn in a long, continuous, obnoxious beep. When you looked over, Cassandra was waving at you rapidly through her window.

With an easy grin, you rushed over to her car and tossed the few bags you had into the backseat before getting in the passenger seat. "What're you doing here?" You gasped, leaning in to hug your friend.

She returned your affection enthusiastically, then was pushing you off, "Bitch, I'm double parked in the red - we gotta go!" You laughed when she rushed off, heading back to Oxford as she explained, "But you said on the phone your sister wasn't getting you, so I took the liberty of reading between the lines."

"No, I didn't mean it like that - "

"I know you didn't," she grinned, "but I just wanted to get you to campus all the faster, I've missed you!"

"We have three weeks together before the start of summer," you reminded. "Ready for exams?"

"Hardly," she scoffed. "Enough of that! Tell me all about Scotland!"

You spent the rest of the car ride without a single thought spent on Felix - all too appreciative for friends. Until you got back to the dorms, that is. You'd been there all of an hour before there was a knock at the door and when Cassandra opened it, she glanced up and down the hall in confusion, not seeing anyone - but a bouquet of flowers caught her attention.

"Well, this is cute," she mused, picking up the flowers from the floor and closing the door. "Someone left flowers? Ew, bet they're from Jason - he's been begging me to get back together."

You didn't bother reminding her they were the same Felix always sent you. You just nodded and said they must've indeed been for her since nobody knew when you were coming back. Yet something in your stomach churned, knowing this was no coincidence, you knew they were from Felix, and the idea made you oddly... Warm.

You didn't want to be touched by the small gesture, but it was sweet. Reminded you of the good times between you and Fi. You felt your guts twist, realizing how much you missed him. None the less, you never said a word.

The following day was as normal as it could've been. People were looking both happy to see you and exhausted from prep work before final exams. You understood, having completed yours; all that was left was to write up a report to your dean and other department heads and present it. You spent your days in the library while everyone was in class, and while there, you were surprised to see Felix hunched over a set of books.

You didn't approach him, just chose a separate table and got comfortable. You were in the zone for a solid hour before a shadow loomed over you, making you jump when a hand met your shoulder. "Sorry, sorry," Felix rushed, hands held in defense. "Just thought I'd give you this - you seemed really focused."

You blinked when he set a blueberry muffin down. The gesture made you smile, "You remembered?"

For every study session, you had a blueberry muffin to munch on.

"'Course I do," he nodded rapidly. "Remember everything about you, love. And these were always your favorite, right?"

"Yeah," you breathed. "Uh, thanks, Fi, this was nice of you."

"Seemed really focused, wanted to make sure you ate," he half-smiled. "I didn't mean to interrupt, uh, j-just wanted t'say good luck on your presentation."

Your heart clenched when he walked away back to his table, not once looking up at you as he worked. He really only meant to give you the muffin, which surprised you - Felix was terribly persistent, and for some reason, you actually felt sad that he wasn't vying for your attention or forgiveness.

This felt like a reality check, reminding you that you were truly broken up. So, you just sniffled and focused again, nibbling on the muffin as you revised your report. You hated the tension, the distance, the disturbing idea that while gone, he had been with countless other girls. You especially hated that you began regretting leaving for a year, feeling as if you created this situation by leaving room for Felix to seek attention elsewhere.

You knew it wasn't the truth - this wasn't your fault. You weren't the one who decided to implode your relationship, to be unfaithful in the least bit; and seeking higher educational opportunity wasn't grounds for anyone to cheat. It felt entirely unfair; you were in the same position as Felix, alone in another country, missing your friends and family, and yet, YOU never sought attention - emotional or physical - in any way from anyone else.

You at least had a sense of loyalty. But at the same time, you tried to validate that this was "the best years of your lives" and Felix was a young, hot, rich boy. Why wouldn't he bask in the attention of others? He always had and it felt wrong to crucify him for being a lad with hormones.

You began to wonder, did you overreact? Of course you didn't!

But you missed him immensely.

For the three weeks left in the semester, Felix would leave flowers at your dorm room, brought you little treats, never impeded on your space, and just made himself known without being overwhelming. You thought it was endearing without giving him too much credit after his betrayal. For three weeks, he was sweet, kind, soft spoken, and from what you understood, turned reclusive - refusing any party invitation, even backing out of pub meetings.

He wasn't hanging with friends, drinking, distracted with girls. According to local gossip, if you could put stock into the words, this new behavior started right after Christmas; after your very public break-up.

You were mildly intrigued by his change of attitude, but didn't confront it. You felt distance was necessary for healing, yet there was no denying your love that still festered - and maybe, the idea that Felix was truly remorseful and loved you, too.

It all came to a cultivation on the day of your presentation. To say you were nervous was an understatement - pacing the entire night before, going over what you were going to say, making final revisions; driving Cassandra up the wall, but she was still supportive.

That morning, she left early for her own ventures, but made sure to help you pick out an outfit. It was something smart, it complimented your figure in a professional manner and made you feel powerful and like a "real" adult.

You packed your bag and walked to your college's lecture hall, getting there about 20 minutes early to set up your materials and run through your notes one last time. When your dean and other professors entered to settle in their seats at the front, you heard the upper backdoor open. When you looked up, you were shocked - like, actually shocked - to see Felix sitting up there with Cassandra, Farleigh, your parents and sister.

You tried not to dwell on their presence, but suddenly, knowing Felix was there to support you, you didn't feel so nervous anymore. Something about his viewing of your final project made you a little more confident, quelling your nausea as you cleared your throat and started your oral presentation that had a guided visual and 20-page report.

When you finished, you were grinning. Your deans applauded you, and from the back, so did your friends and family; in fact, Felix was on his feet, clapping with vigor. You handed over the flash-drive that housed your visuals and then your bound essay report, shaking the professors hands, and letting them leave.

When you turned, your family had descended the auditorium stairs and your friends were trailing after.

"Oh, you brilliant girl!" Your father gushed, wrapping you in a huge hug. "My perfect, most special girl! That was amazing!"

"Thanks, Daddy," you giggled. "What're you guys doing here?"

"Oh, Felix called," your mother informed, petting hair off your shoulder in a calming motion. "Glad he did, we're so proud of you."

"I didn't even know peers could sit in," you admitted.

"Apparently, they're not, but you know, Felix has a way with rules," your father sighed, shaking his head in amusement. "Thank God you got your mother's intelligence, fear you'd be shit outta luck if you had mine, eh?"

This triggered a round of other compliments from your loved ones; sister and Cassandra both beaming at you in pride, everyone offering their compliments on specific sections of your presentation to prove they really, truly had been listening. You felt bashful, waving them off out of embarrassment, and then you agreed to attend dinner for a celebration - your mother informing you that the summer would be spent in a French villa and details were to be discussed at the meal. But first, you noticed Felix still sitting high up in the lecture hall and promised you meet everyone at the dorm later.

When the hall cleared, you sighed and slowly made your way up to where Felix lingered; his form fidgeting nervously the closer you got. You dropped to the seat beside him with a deep sigh, ready to confront everything, when he offered a decently large bouquet of familiar flowers. "Congrats, love," he whispered. "Was really well-done, even if I didn't know half of what you were sayin'."

You accepted the flowers, petting the petals gingerly, then asking in a low whisper, "Felix?"

"Yeah, love?"

"Why'd you do it?"

"I know how important this was for you, I asked them all to come so we could support you, knowin' you were nervous - "

"No," you interrupted, turning in your seat to face him. "Why'd you have to go and ruin us? Why wasn't I enough?"

He swallowed thickly, "It wasn't you that wasn't enough."

"Huh?"

"Think I felt insecure," he admitted. "You were at Edinburgh, bettering yourself and I think I got scared that you'd love it there so much, you know, that... You'd leave. Leave Oxford, leave England, leave... Me. So, I just... I don't have any excuse, honestly, love. I know I fucked up, but I think my fear was being projected in the worst way..."

You nodded, "Do you regret it?"

"Every fuckin' day."

"Any plans for tonight?"

"What?" He blinked in shock.

"You wanna come to dinner with us? I mean, you went through the trouble of gettin' everyone here - and I know you must've bribed someone to let them watch."

His cheeks reddened, chuckling nervously, "It wasn't... I didn't... All right, yeah, I had to pay off the custodian - he unlocked the door for us."

"Mhm," you smirked. "So? Dinner?"

"Are you sure?"

You nodded, "You made a mistake... A huge one, but a mistake none the less. We've had time apart, and I've learned, I don't want to be without you. My life is far more interesting with you in it and I feel less alone. So, if you want, I'd like for you to come to dinner with us, maybe work on our friendship again. See where things go?"

"As long as you're okay with it."

"I'm the one inviting you, yes, I'm okay with it," you chuckled at his nerves, standing, and offering your hand. "C'mon, Mum says we're spending the summer in France - maybe we can convince her to invite you, too."

"Doubt Cassandra would let that happen," Felix mused, shouldering his bag and taking your hand - instantly lacing your fingers together.

"Oh, on the contrary, she might like it; it'd give her something to do."

"What's that? Makin' me her personal punching bag?"

"Exactly," you grinned, squeezing his hand.

"Hey," he paused you before you could exit the auditorium, looking sadder than when his dog died; bottom lip gently trembling. "I just... I need you t'know, I'm really fuckin' sorry, love. I was an absolute idiot, I fucked this up - broke your trust. I regret nothing more, I was such a fuckin' arsehole, and I don't want to be without you, either. I realized I'm not myself without you, that me without you doesn't feel right - "

"Hey," you halted his rambling, "I can't tell you it's okay, Fi, because it's not, but your atonement is appreciated. We've been friends for so long, I don't think I want to walk away entirely - so, let's just go slow and figure our shit out." He nodded in agreement, letting you lead the way, smirking when you cheekily told him, "Mh, bit of advice though? You could try to get in good graces by payin' for dinner tonight."

"Done and done," he eased, releasing your hand to hang his arm around your shoulders, and just like old times, you raised your hand to lace with his, other wrapping around his waist. The smile didn't fall from Felix's face all night, and by the end of the night, had arranged to stay with your family that summer - Oliver Quick and what could've been a summer at Saltburn far from his mind.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

167 notes · View notes

akiizayoi4869 · 3 months

Text

Getting really tired of all the Aang hate/criticism (honestly I can't even call it criticism because it's just that stupid) that I've been seeing on my dash lately. Mainly by people who for some reason, don't think that Aang is an airbending prodigy/master because we are only "told and not shown that he is one". Like....guys. The literal airbending tattoos on his body prove that he is a master:

The only way for an airbender to get his or her tattoos is by becoming a master, as was stated in the show. Not to mention that Aang was also the youngest airbender to have received his. Also, saying that we don't see him practicing his airbending is so dumb. Seriously, why would they show us that, when he literally did that 100 years prior to the show starting, hence the tattoos? Throughout the show we see Aang doing amazing things with his airbending that proves he is indeed a prodigy. Denying this just proves that you didn't watch the show at all, but rather you saw a version that you made up in your head.

And if you really want to go there with the whole "we aren't really shown how or why Aang got his prodigy status" you wanna know who else fits that bill? Toph and Azula. With Toph, we're given the flashback of her learning from the badger moles when she was lost in the cave.

But outside of this moment? Nothing. We aren't shown her training to hone her skills or anything like that. When we meet Toph in book 2, we are told that she is an earthbending prodigy and the perfect person to teach Aang earthbending. The only reasons we are given for this is that she "waits and listens for the right moment to strike", something that Bumi told Aang was key to mastering earthbending, and because she's blind but can still earthbend and kick ass like it's nobody's business. Same thing with Azula. When we first meet her, we see her bending lightning.

This is quite obviously a powerful technique. But are we given a reason as to when and how she learned and eventually mastered it? No. Azula's firebending is blue, and as we know, she is the only firebender who's fire is this color.

We aren't given an explanation as to why this is in the show, however. Nobody in universe really comments on it, Zuko and Iroh don't bring it up either. Which, considering the fact that in her childhood, her firebending was the same color as every other firebender's, you'd think that would be a conversation at some point.

And yet it isn't. In fact, the only explanation for this, as far as I know? Comes from the art book. Mike and Bryan wanted Azula's firebending to look different from Zuko's in their final fight, which is why they decided to make her firebending blue. Much like with Toph, we aren't shown Azula training throughout the years to perfect her bending, or throughout the present timeline. So this whole stupid argument against Aang does not hold up at all. Stop hating on his character just because you prefer a different ship to the canon pairings, I'm begging you.

#atla #Aang #Aang meta #aang defense squad #azula #toph

258 notes · View notes

emeritusemeritus · 3 months

Text

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. SMUT. The smut has arrived! P in V, oral (both). Angst, sadness, grief. Tags will be updated with each chapter. Not Beta-read or spell checked.

Honeymoon time 💕

Your wedding to George was a jubilant celebration with your family and friends, a chance to bask in the love you were so thankful to receive from everyone around you. You'd honoured Fred in many ways that day, including photos of him, an empty chair with his name on and many other little ways to make it seem like he was there. You'd noticed George had worn his chain under his suit shirt and the sight of it made butterflies flutter inside you.

It was a small and quaint wedding that had admittedly been rushed in planning, only two weeks after you'd announced your engagement, but it was perfect. No one had doubted your intentions and the day had gone completely to plan, except for the regular hiccups that seem to occur when a group of people are brought together. Muriel had been characteristically foul as usual and had clashed with your great aunt Ariadne though she'd avoided the more triggering topics which was one consolation.

You danced with your friends and your now blended family late into the night, with George eventually stealing you back from dancing with Bill for one final dance.

"Have you had a good day Mrs Weasley?" He asks, holding you close as you sway with surprising grace even with the healthy amount of alcohol you'd both consumed.

"The best, Mr Weasley," you beam up at him, his handsomeness once again hitting you as you look upon his smiling face.

"Couldn't have asked for better. I don't think you've ever looked more beautiful."

The night you'd spent together had not been repeated since, nor had you really spoken about it. There was a lingering tension between you, growing increasingly stronger throughout the day as you thought of your wedding night and honeymoon, the anticipation almost consuming you.

Ginny and Fleur had whisked you away from George not long after your final dance to get you ready to leave for your honeymoon, which you'd be departing for very soon. It was tradition in the Weasley family to immediately begin your honeymoon the night of the wedding and you had readily accepted the chance to exit out of the wedding a little earlier into the night, giving you and George some time alone.

You'd chosen to honeymoon in the U.K. to keep costs down, after all this whole situation was based upon George reclaiming the shop as sole owner and any unnecessary spending would only increase the amount of time you'd be married. Bill and Fleur had graciously offered for you to stay in Shell Cottage with them but George had instead chosen to surprise you with your destination. He'd tactfully evaded every single one of your questions, relishing in his power of knowledge but had thankfully given you a few clues as to what you should pack. Clothes for all weather, from hot to bitter cold, a couple of 'nice' outfits and a bathing suit. So, nothing to really go off.

Percy had arranged a ministry car for you to borrow for the week, his gift for you both and you'd decided to travel like muggles for the week, taking your time and only using magic when necessary. George was driving to your destination, the luggage and travel necessities having been packed up earlier that day by the Weasley boys and Harry.

The crowd cheered as you both walked towards the car that was waiting for you, your family and friends gathered around with jubilant faces as you walked hand in hand towards the car. You both paused to thank and embrace Mr and Mrs Weasley before climbing into the car, George opening the door for you before getting in on his side. You waved at the gathering of people in front of you as George pulled away and as you pulled away from the Burrow, you peered through the back window, squirming around the freshly painted 'just married' sign to see your loved ones fading further away as they carried on the party.

"Are you okay?" George asks gently as he drives out of Ottery St Catchpole, the rolling Devonshire fields passing you by as the sun begins to set.

"I'm... incredible, I don't think there are words for how I'm feeling," you say with a wide smile, giggling a little at your inability to get your words out. He chuckles and reaches for your hand, pulling it onto the gear stick to join his.

"I know what you mean, I feel like I'm floating," he says, flashing you a smile before turning his attention back to the road. You take the opportunity of his attention being elsewhere to really look at him, the plains of his face looking unbelievably handsome to you. He looked stunning in his suit, the colour and cut of the material only serving as a compliment to his gorgeous red hair and sharp features.

"Checking me out Mrs Weasley?" He says with a smirk, eyes still fixed on the road. You fight to hide the creeping blush that appears on your cheeks, realising that he'd caught you staring. You bite your lip and turn away, choosing to look out of the window at the rolling hills instead. "You can you know, I'm yours now."

You turn to look at him and the smile he has plastered on his face fills you with warmth and nervous excitement.

"You look so handsome, I feel like I can't take my eyes off you," you admit, a little bashfully.

He gives a deep chuckle and squeezes your hand that is still held by his own.

"You have no idea how hard it is to drive right now, all I want to do is stare at you," he admits, though he sounds completely unashamed of his words. You blush and look away again, this time out of pure bliss, wanting to remember everything about this moment.

"Get some sleep Angel, it's quite a drive," he says softly a few minutes later, turning down the radio that was playing music in the background.

"I'm okay," you lightly protest, despite feeling relaxed by the drive. "I wish I'd taken this dress off though, not the best travelling outfit."

"And take that joy away from me? How dare you," he jokes, sounding a little outraged. Your stomach instantly fills with nerves and butterflies at his words; he intended to take your dress off.

You fell asleep a short while later, just as the last slither of sunlight had disappeared into the horizon, the long stretch of road ahead now only lit by car lights and the faint cats eyes on the ground. The mixture of the low humming from the radio, the gentle rocking of the car and the presence of George was enough to lull you into a much needed sleep as you cuddled into a pillow you'd thought to pack, wishing that you were wearing something much less restrictive but that couldn't be helped.

When you woke again, it was still pitch black and George was still driving, the car lights ahead of you the only clue to where you were.

"Hi Angel," George says, noticing you staring as he briefly looks over at you with a smile.

"Mmm, hi Georgie," you mumble back, still fighting off the last embers of sleep. "Where are we?"

"Nice try," he says, not falling at the last hurdle and you give a little huff, hoping that one would have worked. "About an hour away."

"Is there time to stop for a coffee somewhere?" You ask, sitting straighten in your seat as you abandon the pillow into your lap.

"I don't know anywhere that would be open," he says, flicking his eyes to the dashboard clock, prompting you to do so and realising that it was now past midnight, much to your surprise.

"McDonald's will be," you say with a little shrug, trying to see any hints from signposts as to where you were of where the next services would be.

"McDonald's?" He asks, completely oblivious and you can't help but laugh, never having thought about how the notion of 24 hour fast food had not yet entered the wizarding world, making George completely oblivious.

"It's a 24 hour restaurant, usually around road services, it's fast food," you explain. He immediately gets it and let's out a little 'ahhh' of understanding, telling you that there was a services coming up and you could check if there was one there. There was.

Introducing George Weasley to drive-through ordering was nothing short of hilarious and you'd briefly lamented the fact that his first McDonald's experience wouldn't be inside an actual McDonald's building but you were not about to enter a fast food joint at a service station in a wedding dress. You'd both ordered a coffee, yourself a medium coke and then you had excitedly introduced him to not only a Big Mac but also chicken nuggets, both of which were a complete revelation to him and you had to hold back serious giggles at his reactions. Half an hour later and you were on your way, coffees in hand and belly's a little fuller as you prepared for the last part of your journey.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take over? I don't mind driving to give you a break," you offered as you watch him put on his seatbelt.

"You don't know where we're going," he says with a devilish smirk but you feign innocence.

"Then just tell me and I'll get us there," you say innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

"Nice try baby," he says with an even more sinister smirk, his eyes roaming your face briefly before he turns on the car and begins to pull away after one last sip of coffee.

You were transfixed as George turned right up a long winding path entirely shielded by trees, the long road leading you deeper under the canopy of trees until you were completely surrounded by woodland. You could make out a small, warm light at the end of the long road and became transfixed on the approaching light, trying to focus your eyes hard on that point, trying to make sense of it. The car swerved a little to avoid a large twig in the road which brought your destination into clear view.

You gasped at the beauty of the scene in front of you, looking excitedly at George who looked more than pleased at your reaction.

"George," you say breathlessly as he parks up in the little clearing beside the place you'd be staying.

It was a rustic log cabin, completely shielded away from everything by a large canopy of trees, a beautiful escape completely hidden away from the outside world. The cabin was almost entirely made of wood with wooden shutters and a wrap around deck.

"George it's beautiful," you say, completely gobsmacked as you look at the gorgeous lodge in front of you, seeing it illuminated by the multiple lanterns that offered a stark contrast against the pitch black night.

"Only the best for my bride," he teases, opening up his car door, prompting you to do the same.

"Want to explore whilst I unload the car?" He asks with a grin, holding the keys to the cabin out in front of you, the little wooden keyring clinking against the two old fashioned keys. You nod enthusiastically and reach out to grab them, pulling George in and without much thought, you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. Instantly, you realised what you'd done and took a step back, blushing a little as you avoided his gaze. His hand had instinctively wrapped around your back and he gave your back a little rub as you parted, showing no ill will as you turned and walked excitedly towards the cabin.

Opening the door, you were immediately met with an illuminated room thanks to the warm lighting from multiple lamps and light fixtures. The cabin was warm, as if there was a log fire already burning and the smell was heavenly, clean and fresh but with an indisputable scent of wood and pine, a natural consequence of it's idyllic surroundings. You walked through a little entrance hall that houses a utility room before stepping into an open living room, dining room and kitchen, all of which were warm and inviting with natural wood features throughout and neutral colours, highlighting the windows which you knew would almost certainly have beautiful views in the morning. There were two brown leather sofas that looked absolutely lush and a single armchair underneath a window that looked perfect for reading, a tall lamp beside it and a little table for drinks. There was a television and a cabinet in the corner and beside that was a beautiful log burner that was indeed lit, radiating heat throughout the home. You couldn't see much through the side door that was half glass but the outside light did illuminate the decking a little, highlighting a rather impressive sunken hot tub that was covered, eliciting a little excited squeal from you.

You walked down a small corridor that led off from the main atrium through a beautifully carved wooden door with an old metal latch which led you to the bathroom on the left and two bedrooms. You crept into the bathroom to take a peak and saw a big bathtub to the left and a built in shower to the right, as if every need was catered for. One bedroom has two single beds partitioned with a beautiful shelving unit and the other bedroom was almost certainly the master.

There was a huge four poster bed against the back wall bookended by two beside tables with lamps that looked entirely too inviting. The bedding was sheer white and completely crease free, only adding to its appeal. There was a smaller television in here too, along with a dressing table and a large, ornate wardrobe that looked older than the cabin itself.

"What do you think Mrs Weasley?" George asks from behind you as you pause to run your hand over the ornately carved bed frame. You turn to see him leaning against the doorframe with a smirk, still wearing his wedding suit but now with his tie removed and a few buttons open near his collar.

"I think it's absolutely beautiful Mr Weasley," you reply, turning to him with a look of pure elation.

"Just like my wife then," he says with a look in his eyes that makes your pulse race. He steps towards you with clear conviction and it's all you can do not to melt into a puddle, the look in his eye so dangerously arousing that you're almost frozen to the spot. It was the first time he'd called you his wife and the reaction that it pulled from your body was almost unbelievable, the sound of it almost heavenly in your mind.

As soon as he reaches you, there's a brief pause as if he's searching your face for any hint of resistance, not that he'd find any. When he sees the look in your eye, knowing that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, he steps even closer and wraps his hand around the back of your neck before leaning down and kissing you with a burning passion.

Your hands slip up to his chest, feeling the material of his lapels under your fingers and pull slightly, needing to feel him as close to you as possible as you pull his jacket off. His fingers tangle in your hair as the kiss deepens, tongues working together to fuel the burning desire between you both.

With his right hand cradling your head and his left clutching as your waist, he begins leading you to the side of the bed, silently asking if it was okay to go further.

"Make love to me George," you say against his lips, hardly wanting to pull away for even a second. You hear him groan against your lips before his hand slips from your hair and down to your butt, cradling you and taking your weight. In a move that would otherwise impress you if you'd seen it in person, he sweeps you off your feet whilst climbing onto the bed and lays you down softly before climbing over you, kicking off his shoes in the process.

"I've waited all day to rip this dress off of you," he mumbles against your skin as he begins kissing down your neck, onto your bare shoulders where your dress straps began, the soft layers of the gown suddenly feeling much too restrictive as your skin burnt up with desire. He kisses down your chest as your hands tangle in his slightly grown out hair. There's a single moment where your eyes meet, just as he hovers over your panting cleavage and it takes your breath away how absolutely sexy he looks, the desire and admiration in his eyes mirroring your own. His long fingers drag against your rib cage as they dance over to your covered breasts before he reaches in to pull down the cup of dress, exposing your right breast to him, your dusky pink nipple already hard and waiting for him. He groans, watching your breast spring free and immediately bends down to run his tongue over the pebbled nipple, eliciting a deep, breathy moan from you before his lips wrap about the little bud and begin sucking. You moan out again, throwing your head back into the pillows at the overwhelming sensation and suddenly you feel the whole atmosphere change. There's no trepidation anymore, no resistance or questioning but rather just a primal urge between both of you.

You can tell that George is feeling for the opening your dress so you divert his fingers to the small, concealed zipper on the side and help him drag it down, much too slowly for your liking. He pulls away the dress after you slip your arms out and you watch carefully as his mouth slips open to a little 'o' shape as he pulls the dress from your body, exposing you completely to his gaze. You couldn't wear a bra with your dress thanks to the unique straps but you had thought you buy a tiny white lace thong that you'd had embroidered with a little 'W' on the left side of the crotch, knowing it would either make him laugh or make him growl. Luckily for you, it was most certainly the latter as he groaned as he spotted it, momentarily fixated on your naked breasts that were exposed completely for his view, his eyes travelling down your body with acute precision before he eventually noticed your little customisation. He groans and leans down to press a kiss directly to where the 'W' was situated, just above your mound and you can't help but squirm as the sensation of having him so close to where you needed him. He notices, of course he does, and his eyes flick up to yours with a look of pure mischief as he begins kissing the inside of your thigh and across your bikini line, teasing you. You groan and can't help but roll your hips as he flutters kisses everywhere apart from where you need them.

"My beautiful wife needs something?" He teases, acting completely oblivious when you knew he was very aware.

"Please George," you beg, "need you."

Like a switch had been flicked in George's mind, his long fingers begin tracing your pussy through the very thin and nearly transparent lace, groaning once again when he feels the wetness seeping through the lace. You feel his fingers hook into the side of your thong, catching your labia with a little stroke before he pulls them away from your burning pussy, exposing you completely to his view. He wastes no time and leans down, licking a long stripe across your pussy, catching your swollen clit with the til of his tongue in the most perfect way that has you gasping and moaning.

"Fuck you taste good, so sweet," he whines into your pussy, resting his forehead against your mound for a moment before he slips down again, this time licking you with vigour. "So wet baby."

His tongue is everywhere, delicately stroking and teasing whilst also hitting every spot you need him in perfectly. It's a perfect juxtaposition between his igniting a fire inside of you, making you burn with desire and pure torment whilst also extinguishing the flames with his tongue. As soon as his finger traces your inner lips as it moves down, gently pressing into your waiting hole before he slips one of his long, deft fingers inside of you, you're gone. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, hips rising of their own accord as you grope your breasts, completely consumed by your pleasure. He slips a second finger into you as you cry out, fucking yourself on his fingers as he circles your clit with his tongue, putting pressure on the left side just as he's discovered drives you crazy.

"George, George!" You chant as you feel the beginning of your orgasm rising in you very quickly, consuming you and burning you from the inside out. Your pussy is drenched and you can feel more arousal gushing from you as your climax crests, George's own moans ringing out in your mind as he pushes you over the edge. It's like you're falling, the crescendo of light and burning arousal overtaking your whole body and mind, the only capable thought in your mind is of George. He licks you slowly as you come down, careful to avoid your sensitive clit as he laps up your cum, fingers still slowly fucking you bath and forth with gentle strokes, extending your pleasure.

You gasp to catch your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as your heart pounds, the effects of your orgasm still lingering as you feel a tingle across your whole body. It takes all of ten seconds for you to focus your attention back to George who has pulled his fingers out of you and began kissing your inner thigh again, soothing you as you return to him.

You sit up and reach for him, pulling him on top of you as you kiss him feverishly, moaning as you taste yourself on his lips. He notices and groans deeply against your lips, almost growling as you lick at his lips, desperate for a taste. You claw at his shirt, desperate to even out your nudity and feel his skin against yours and as if he can sense the sheer desperation, reaches down and completely rips the front of his shirt, the flying and falling buttons only an afterthought as you fight to get the shredded shirt away from his body. Your hands slip to his smooth shoulders and down his back as you kiss him desperately, pulling his tongue into your mouth so you can suck on it, relishing in his deep groans and little whines. Your hands rest on his collarbones as you slowly pull away from him, pushing him slightly until he realises was you want. You overpower him with just enough force that he rolls onto his back as you immediately latch to his chest, kissing and biting as you make your way down to your destination.

His suit trousers are completely tented, the sheer size an excitement of him almost intimidating to you as you fight to open the fastenings of his trousers. You don't wait even a moment after they are open to slide them down his hips, along with his black boxer briefs until he was completely bare, except from his sentimental chain and your wedding rings. You crawl back up the bed after throwing aside his bottoms and flick your eyes up to see his own desperate look as you come face to face with his rather impressive member. His lips are parted and he looks completely desperate as he watches you carefully, silently pleading for you to take his aching length in your mouth. You grant him reprieve almost instantly, licking straight from the crest of his balls to the engorged tip of his cock, tracing the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, following the gentle curve. He cries out at the contact and it makes you want to do everything in your power to hear it over and over again.

You gave into him completely, taking his tip in your mouth and licking all around, earning another heavenly noise from him before you sucked in your cheeks and bobbed up and down his length, taking him deeper and deeper with each fall; never stopping your tongue from running along the length of him. You were addicted to him, the taste, the weight of his length against your tongue, the feel of his smooth skin against your lips. You fought to go further with each bob, sucking him down like the most delicious treat from Honeydukes, giving everything you could.

George was moaning mess before you, desperately searching for any part of your body he could reach as he fought to stop his hips from rising each time you'd pull off, like he never wanted to leave your hot, wet mouth. Sweet names, curses and a load more expletives fell from his mouth as you pleasured him until he reached out, leaning forward to pull you closer to him.

You were dripping, more aroused than ever and so desperate for him to fill you that it was all you could think about. He pauses, looking at the little strip of lace that was still misplaced, concealing nothing of yourself and ripped the thin strings on the sides, tearing it away from your body, both of you complete bare to the other's gaze.

It was so intimate and intense that it stole the breath from your lungs, just how adoringly he was gazing at you. His hand grabbed around your neck, holding your face and threading into your hair as he kissed you completely without abandon, your chests pressed together as your leg slipped between his, desperately seeking friction.

"Ride me baby," he mumbles against your lips and as if acting directly on command, you comply. You lift your hips and straddle him, his narrow hips allowing your thighs to rest against his comfortably as your centres align, the heat and sensitivity joining together to make you both gasp.

He reaches down and holds his perfect cock at the bottom, ready for you to climb onto and you can hardly contain your cries as you slowly sink down, feeling him stretching you out. He pulls his hand away, moaning at the sensation as his hand rests on your bum, the large hand and long fingers wrapping around your bum and thigh.

It's sinful how well he stretches you out, filling you completely without any pain or discomfort, like you'd been moulded perfectly for his cock alone.

When your hips rise again and you sink back down, this time much more confidently, your head flips back at the sensation. George grunts and tightens his grip on you as you slowly begin to ride him, hips undulating and breasts bouncing as you fall into a perfect rhythm. Your hair fans out across your back and you've never felt sexier in that moment, feeling adored under his gaze and praised by not only his words but also his moans and growls.

You're both so worked up, so perfectly in sync that you can hardly contain yourself, not even caring to try and hold off the impending climax that threatens you, creeping up slowly until it's impossible to resist. You can feel your walls clenching around him, your arousal peaking as it leaks out around his cock and you're rewarded with the most incredible moans that spill from his lips at the sensation.

"George, Georgie I'm gonna," you stagger, completely breathless as you keep riding him, finding the perfect spot and movement so that he hits every single pleasure point inside you.

"Cum Angel, fuck, cum around my cock," he pants, groaning and tightening his grip on your hips as he fucks up into you. "Godric you're tight, perfect little pussy squeezing my cock so good. Cum for me Angel."

You chant his name as the heat of your second orgasm consumes you, never once stopping as you bounce on his cock. He takes over fucking up into you as you ride out your climax, filling you completely as he shoves his entire length into you before pulling almost completely out and repeating the motion. You're in complete bliss, overwhelmingly so, and can hardly stop tears of overstimulation brimming at your eyes, blurring your vision only slightly. George lets out a roar as he cums, fucking up into you with a brutal pace that is sinful at best. His hands pull you close to him, bruises forming under his grip but it's perfect.

His thrust stop slowly as he comes down from his high, riding out the last of his pleasure as he pulls you down to rest on him, softening cock slipping out at the angle. You breathe deeply as you feel the evidence of his pleasure slipping out of you slowly, trickling down until it dripped onto your inner thighs.

He cranes his neck to reach out to kiss you again, though this time it's like a warm down, gentle and sensitive.

"Welcome to the family," he wheezes after a few moments of comfortable silence and you let out a loud belly laugh at the absurdity of his words, tapping his chest as you slink down to rest beside him, his arm still keeping you pressed to him. He's covered you both with the duvet and you can't resist slipping into a very comfortable sleep, too comfortable and worn out from the day to fight it.

Taglist Requests

@ferntv

@aigowen

@that-lame-ghoul9000

@jules-with-stars

@sleepiemocha

@seppys-return-to-madness

@wtvbabes

@the-mrs-malik-styles

@cedslover

@nisapoosworld

@dashhhhkaaa

@ghostlytv

@fiathefirst

@costheticbabe

@cliffburtonscig

@lildrunkjkk

@levylovegood

@jewelsrules

@jphxnix

@asuperconfusedgirl

@staceys-moms-thighs

@nighttimewrites

@egghasnoleg

@mel119g

@angelrioter

@minatozsana

@quinny921

@blahhh819

@comicgollum20

@moonieseyelash

@marisimps

@xslashers

@70s-chic

@shadyunknowncreation

@rockabieesstuff

@moon-2424

@chx-la

@malenk

@jimmywoosimp

@soulessfictionaddict

@twistedlaces1909

@brookiecookiez0

@nightowlgirl

@football1921

@in-the-middle-of-the-sadness

@rk-ceres

@kisses4fred

@apolloleprince

@slashersimpshadow

@slytherinambitious

@screamingoverfiction

@rhunew

@tomhockstetter7-111

@hagridshaircare

@ellouisa17

@fonderaura

@clemlament

@jennapancake

@murderisfunlol

@ohantonia

@storytime-20

@guavacookie23

@satansdarlin

@smartoneamia

@littlelillysjs

@victorylr

@nanamisfootrest

@nulixity

@03michi01

@hjpbiggestdrider

@wzardweasley

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #george weasley masterlist #George Weasley x you #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley smut #George Weasley fluff #no good deeds

165 notes · View notes

therabbitthatpostthings · 4 months

Text

Timeline isn’t gonna match up or make sense so don’t think about it. This was for an OC I didn't care enough to fully flesh out. Kinda sorta post-canon (all Hashira alive). Little OOC so don't think about that either. Might do a part 2 with background. She/Her pronouns (I'm sorry. I'm lazy)

Tomioka Giyuu isn’t what you would call, active. In fact, the thought of him having a life outside the Demon Corps never crossed the Hashira’s minds (mostly because they didn’t think he had one IN the corps either).

—

He was early. Extremely early, actually. Tomioka was not the latest Hashira by any means but, up so early was, off, to say the least. Shinobu noted this when saying her ‘hellos’ to present Hashira. Tomioka, of course, stood off to the side, not making an effort to interact with anyone aside from a simple “Good Morning.” Even for the ever stoic Tomioka this behavior was weird.

“I guess he remembered us after all.” Shinazugawa hissed coming to the group. It was true that the last three meetings Tomioka had missed (granted they’ve all missed meetings due to work but never three in a row) and the thought of Tomioka slacking off and getting off scotch free added on to Shinazugawa’s ever-growing list of reasons to hate Tomioka.

“It must have been a hard mission.” Kanaroji chimed in.

This didn’t sway Shinobu or Shinazugawa. Shinobu knew it couldn’t have been missions for the last three months, Tomioka hadn’t stopped by the Butterfly Mansion once, not even to get ointment for aches and pains. Strong as they are, the Hashira are not invincible. In fact Tomioka hadn’t been badly injured since last spring. Shinobu knew all this. Even outside of missions Tomioka had just been missing overall. It’s like the silence was even quieter without him there. She peered over to Rengoku and Himajima who looked notably tired well- as tired as they possibly could -as they both lightly chatted with amongst themselves. Tomioka would say something back to them and then go back to staring blankly at the porch.

“He’s finally starting to slack off.” Obanai hissed from up high, the group now noticing he’s been here. “I hope he doesn’t think getting here early will absolve him.”

“Obanai you don’t mean Tomioka got here before you?” Shinobu teased

With a fluster shifting of his eyes, Obanai chose to glare at Giyuu rather than return her gaze. “I saw him coming from inside. Maybe Master snapped on him.”

Though they all doubted Master Ubuyashiki would ever raise his voice, the thought did fill Shinazugawa with momentary joy.

With the final Hashira, Muchiro, walking into the garden it was only a matter of time before the Master appeared. With the opening of the door, everyone’s head snapped up and voices hushed. Shinobu snuck a glance at Tomioka who seemed slightly off. He stood a little too straight and struggled to not ball his fist. Obanai’s theory suddenly seemed more plausible.

—

With the meeting concluded you could practically hear the sigh escape Giyuu’s lips as he walked to the porch. He could feel all the eyes on him as he stepped up there only to be stopped by Hinaki.

“I have to ask that you wait here.” She said calmly.

“But me and Hiro-“

“OI! Have some respect Tomioka!” Shinazugawa yelled. He approached the porch. “Who do you think you are to go around ordering people?!”

He caught Giyuu’s glare from on high. His unchanging eyes shifting back to Hinaki only angered Shinagawa more. “He’s looking down on me,” Shinazugawa thought this an act of war.

Glaring back at him, he said “It’s one thing for you to skip meetings but to disrespect the Master’s family.”

“I’m not disrespecting her, I had a question.” Giyuu replied plainly. He was feeling slightly annoyed and very fearful now. This was not how today was supposed to go. He turned back to Hinaki, “Please, we must be on our way-“

“You bastard.” Shinazugawa was already reaching to pull Giyuu off the porch (not wanting to beat him on the porch, that would be disrespectful). Giyuu was ready to draw his sword when the sound of footsteps alerted them all. Out from the door burst Kiriya and another small child. They maneuvered around Giyuu and Hanaki before Kiriya had tripped taking the small boy with him. Before they could launch themselves off the porch Giyuu caught one under each arm and held onto Hinaki’s collar to keep her from falling over.

He set the children down gently, “Forgive me please, Ubuyashiki-san.”

“No, thank you Tomioka-San.” Hinaki replied, graceful as ever. Lady Ubuyashiki was quick behind them to collect her son. Giyuu apologized once again.

“Hiroshi,” Giyuu turned back to the small boy. He stood slightly behind Kiriya with his head low in shame. Giyuu knelt down, “You should apologize to Lady Ubuyashiki and Hinaki.”

Big blue eyes filled with embarrassment the boy complied. Lady Ubuyashiki smiled kindly, “Please be careful next time you return.”

“He can come back?” Kiriya asked

“As long as Tomioka is okay with it.” She smiled kindly

“Of course.” Giyuu replied as the three kids waved off. “Come on, we’re going home.” The boy followed behind Giyuu quietly. He had a small round face and wild black hair sticking out in all directions. Following along, Hiroshi started to sniffle and finally stopped on the bottom step, tugging on Giyuu’s haori.

“What’s wrong?” Giyuu asked

“I’m sorry Papa.” He cried softly as Giyuu picked him up in his arms trying to soothe the boy.

“It’s okay Hiroshi, I know it was an accident but there’s two of you and only one Hinaki. She could have been hurt. Please be more careful.”

The boy nodded sniffling into his fathers shoulder.

The remaining Hashira stared in astonishment at the action. By the time he got his son to calm down Giyuu had finally noticed that he never left the garden and out the front of the home as intended. Still holding Hiroshi, Giyuu bowed his goodbye and left the garden. Before the rest of Hashira could finish processing what just happened Rengoku and Himajime also left quietly behind him.

—

The next meeting came about a month and a half later. This time Giyuu entered at his normal time with Muichiro coming afterwards. He actively stood apart hoping they all would have forgotten (they didn’t), and suffered silently as the many eyes bore into his head.

It wasn’t just Giyuu, Shinobu was also shooting her glance to Himejima and Rengoku. Himejima was holding up well (surprisingly) but Rengoku was going to pop. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Tengen spent the last week and a half trying to break whatever secret Tomioka had about the same child out of him. An unstoppable force and an immovable object and all that.

Giyuu was silently praying for this meeting to end soon and end this mental game all the Hashira were taking part in. He had already prepared an exit tragedy to get out with the least amount of questions. He looked at Rengoku and Himejima. The game plan was set and they just need to be ready to go.

You could feel the tension ease when Master Ubuyashiki called the meeting to a close. They all stood quietly, paitiently waiting for him to go inside before all hell broke loose. And just as the door closed Lady Ubuyashiki called out, “Tomioka-San. A word please.”

Rengoku was screaming on the inside as Giyuu looked over to him briefly. Tengen hardly waited for Giyuu to take a single step, “How come you two got to know but we didn’t?”

“A secret child Tomioka?” Shinobu called out “You must not like us if we didn’t get to know.”

“It’s not that…” Giyuu finally broke his silence. He reached for the door when it suddenly swung open and the little pitter of footsteps was heard. Giyuu jumped back and was quick to catch the small figure barreling towards him, “Hiroshi!? What are you doing here?”

“Mama hurt her feet.” Hiroshi replied like it was obvious. All heads snapped to the door and out stepped a woman on a pink kimono.

“(Y/N)?” He looked surprised.

“Ah, Giyuu!” She peered up walking over to him

“What happened?” He stepped closer to hold onto her waist.

“Just some sores and aches. Lady Ubuyashiki has been so kind.” She turned to both of them “It’s been in honor in your presence.”

“The pleasure is ours, Lady Tomioka.”

And that’s what broke the string holding all together. The family wordlessly walked off the porch and headed to leave..

Shinobu called out “T-Tomioka?!”

“Yes?” Said (Y/N) and Hiroshi as all three turned to face them.

“Oh! Rengoku-San, Himajime-San! So good to see you both.” (Y/N) smiled

Himejima finally exhaled as both men walked over to greet (Y/N). Both of them gave Giyuu an apologetic look. Hiroshi looked over their shoulders to the remaining Hashira still in a daze. Looking at them side by side there was no denying it. Hiroshi is identical to Giyuu, just smaller and with the cutest round face that Mitsuri just had to gush over.

“You are so cute! Like a mini Tomioka!” She squealed.

“Your hair looks like mochi!” Hiroshi stayed proudly. “Mama, can we get mochi!”

(Y/N) smiled, “That sounds like our que. It was an honor to meet you all.”

The family walked out the garden, with Rengoku and Himejima sneaking out with them.

“What the fuck just happened?” Shinazugawa broke the silence.

—

The next meeting was well over two months and the pillars were determined to not let Giyuu go without answers. Especially since he’d recently had to heal up at the Butterfly Mansion while Shinobu was out. Before he could even think of leaving they had him cornered, Obanai watching over Rengoku and Himejima.

“When were you gonna tell us you were married?!” Uzui shouted

“No one asked and I’d rather have a small wedding…” Giyuu answered plainly.

“What about your ring then?”

Giyuu pulled down his collar to show a silver ring on a chain tucked into his undershirt.

“How did you two find out then?” Obanai hissed.

“Tomioka requested I accompany him on a mission so he could be home earlier,” Himejima stated.

“I had an urgent matter with the Master and happened to meet them all as they were leaving.” Rengoku said.

“Wait so Master knows too?” Mitsuri asked

“Yes, they were at the wedding.” Giyuu replied.

“You are unbelievable.” Shinazugawa muttered. “How were you able to get married?”

Giyuu didn’t seem to have an answer. It’s something he thought to himself many times but when (Y/N) smiled at him he always forgot about it. Before he could try to answer, he heard (Y/N) calling out to him. The Hashira were surprised to (Y/N) walk up in a demon slayer uniform and golden checkered haori. She smiled and bowed to the Hashira, “Hello, I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, I'm done here.” Giyuu replied.

“Wait, Tomioka!” Shinobu called as they turned to leave.

“Yes?” They both answered to Shinobu’s annoyance. They did it again.

(Y/N) nudged Giyuu forward as she assumed they meant him. Uzui cut in, “We only wanted to officially meet you, Lady Tomioka.”

“Oh!” (Y/N) smiled “I’m honored to meet you all, I am Tomioka (Y/N), (Y/N) is fine.”

“It's so good to meet you! How long have you and Giyuu been together?” Mitsuri asked, the only genuine person in all this.

“I’ve known him since I joined the Corps, we met while I was on my way to a job, it was in separate areas but we met up on the way back.” (Y/N) answered recalling their younger years.

“We’ve been married for five years.” Giyuu answered. The Hashira took note that their son looked about that age. It took all of Uzui’s strength for him to not comment on it.

“How sweet!” Mitsuri cheered “I had no idea you had such a happy family Tomioka!”

“We try not to talk about it,” (Y/N) smiled. A lot more open than Giyuu but (Y/N) also enjoyed their privacy. “Up until now, only Master Ubuyashiki knew. Hiroshi and Kiriya became good friends.”

The Hashira had a million other questions but they tethered on inappropriate or just plain mean. Out of respect for Lady Tomioka, they held themselves together. The strangeness of the situation wasn’t lost on either of them. They were happy though. The couple said their goodbyes and turned to leave. The Hashira saw the tension lift off Giyuu’s shoulders as he smiled with his wife.

“Why must we question Tomioka,” Himejima spoke once they left. “Lord Uzui is married with three wives.”

“Yeah but that was before he joined the corps,” Sanemi said “We didn’t know him then, we know Tomioka- barley. He’s a fucking buzzkill and he has a sweet woman that not only married him but slept with him at least once!?”

With those “graceful” last words they parted for the evening.

#shitpost #shitposting #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #tomioka giyu x reader #tomioka giyuu #writing fanfics at 3 am #cringe-#no beta we die like men #Giyuu Secret Family AU

180 notes · View notes

alexxncl · 11 days

Text

‼️NIGHTBRINGER LESSON 34 SPOILERS‼️

masterlist | all lessons | lesson 33 | lesson 35

i might be getting ahead of myself here, but are we lilith ?? like is that what's happening rn ??? he's not saying mc's name, and raphael doesn't day their name in the next scene...if so then that's actually really fucking sad 💀

it makes sense though, belphie not wanting mc to go into his head bc he's still clinging to the past and doesn't want to lose them forever like he lost his little sister forever, especially since human life is so finite compared to that of a demon or an angel or a reaper

also it's obvious by his choice of words that despite him looking older, belphie is very, very young in his mindscape, just like mammon was. i feel like this also shows how close mams and belphie are even if it's not shown much on screen in the game, or at least how much belphie takes after mammon's, if not all of his older brothers traits, for better or worse

well nvm...i still think my theory is valid though. belphie wants to go back to his old life and end up not losing lilith, but still have mc with him

i wonder how similar mammon and belphie's bond in the celestial realm is to their bond in the devildom. is belphie still as reluctant to ask for help and advice openly? is the banter still the same? are there less insults? how does the age gap here cause them to treat each other differently if at all? or the lack of angelic status?

oh i'm gonna cry

big brother mammon will always have my heart and i need more of him

we know belphie's love of stars and constellations and the night sky in general started when he was in the celestial realm, and seeing it manifest in mammon in his mindscape makes my heart happy, even if mammon isn't the reason he became interested in astronomy (was it michael? lucifer? idk i don't remember)

i also think it's very interesting how belphie's brain is actively working against him "wanting to hide from mc". he literally said "i don't want you to see the inside of my mind" and is hiding away from them. i think, in reality and in his mindscape, he's running from the fact that he has to face his feelings about the idea of mc leaving to go to the "human realm" and the possibility of losing them forever like he lost lilith

this was (obviously) not beel speaking, but his inner thoughts in the shape and voice of beel. circling back to belphie having the best and worst traits of his brothers, his insecurity and need for reassurance rivals levi's, and we don't get to see it as blatantly because he masks it way better than levi does

ok so we're here in the timeline...interesting. how much time passed between luci and dia's first meeting and the celestial war? how much time had passed between the celestial war and mc's initial arrival to the devildom? how much had belphie aged?

angels and demons age different than humans do, and belphie doesn't feel any older than like...10 or 11 at the most, but beel seems older than that. maybe its his mind warping things to make himself seem and feel younger, but maybe he really was that young. was lilith even born at this point? how old was belphie during the time of the war ?????

also i'm mad we didn't get to see michael bc i wanna know what he looks like but oh well 🧍🏾

oh baby :((((

i'm not the biggest belphie fan AT ALL, at least canon belphie, but i think it's necessary to acknowledge how his trauma severely affects the way he acts. he went from blaming himself, to blaming an entire race of people for his sister's death. he feels like he should've been the one to die, even if it meant leaving his twin without him

now, if he got a proper redemption arc after lesson 16, THEN we could talk. i think the devs fumbled his character in that regard, but my hcs about his redemption will have to suffice for now

he didn't want mc to see this dark part of himself because he hates that he still has this mindset, that he's trapped in a cycle of "what ifs" and wishing it were him instead of her, constantly ruminating and letting his anger and grief fester without ever dealing with it properly and letting himself heal. he not only thinks he doesn't deserve to heal, but that he doesn't deserve to live long enough to see himself heal, that he doesnt deserve to live at all

WHY ARE YOU BEING DIFFICULT????

i mean i knew this would happen since its only lesson 34 and there's still 6 more to go...but damn

i love and hate the fact that he's so smart. like, they could easily just ask barbatos to send them back to the human realm if it was that serious. he's clearly taken a liking to them. lucifer knows something's up, and he won't forge a pact with them until he gets to the bottom of whatever's going on

initially, i thought it was a spell to bring them back since he'd been the one facilitating the trips into the brothers' mindscapes this whole time, but this is wayyy more interesting

i feel like the barbatoses communicate across timelines, or that their lives intermingle with each others' somehow, so whatever they feel for one person in a specific timeline is felt for ever version of them in every timeline. we know barbatos, at the very least, knows that kayden is an important person in the grand scheme of things, whether it be because of the way diavolo feels about them or because they play a large part in the obey me version of a canon event

if it's more than base level importance, we can assume that there's a level of trust and love that barbatos feels for mc that stretches across time (callback to the login screen's dialogue)

maybe he gave us the piece of the grimoire for a reason outside of belphie's mindscape escapades. what if this is how we gain lucifer's trust? if a demon as powerful as barbatos can give mc a piece of his grimoire, then he should be able to make a pact with them, seeing as they're trustworthy enough to be in cahoots with THE time demon

anyways barbatos is nightbringer and you can't tell me otherwise. unless you think it's michael. then i might hear you out...i'm stuck between thinking either of them is the titular character simply because of the simultaneous lack and abundabce of emphasis on michael's importance

80 notes · View notes

tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang · 2 months

Note

Any Wakasa headcanons? The fact it’s canon he’s needy in a relationship is so cuteee! But, what do you think he does when he’s feeling extra needy?

Ok this is what I got for Wakasa!

He doesn't eat much because he forgets to eat

Will call Benkei over to get rid of a bug if he finds one in his room

Spent a long time practising driving his bike when he first got it, it's why he's one of the best drivers now

Is very aware of problems girls can face in the gym and so always looks out for his female customers, making sure no one harasses them.

Tried to teach Senju to drive, it did not go well

Doesn't realise how bad he is at singing, thinks the guys are just messing around when they tell him.

When he's not chewing on his stick he's chewing on gum.

Is a very patient teacher at the gym, taking people through specific movements over and over again until they get it.

Likes fishing because of how quiet it is, finds it very relaxing. He usually throws the fish back too (he's not a big eater anyway)

Is extremely clingy while sleeping, in a relationship he'll hold onto his partner all night and try to convince them to lie in with him in the morning.

Regularly checked up on Shinichiro during the first timeline, visiting him often to check up on him.

Him and Benkei Basically adopted Senju, treating her like a younger sister. Because of this one of their agreements with kmg was that they leave Senju alone and don't make her join too.

If he's not getting enough attention from his partner then he'll gentle tilt their chin towards him, getting them to look at him

Has a hidden talent for hula hooping

Everytime he passes out drunk he says he'll never do it again but then he always ends up doing it again.

Will hold his partners hand a lot

It actually took a long time for his friends to figure out what he's scared of. They tried testing him with lots of different things and actually gave up before a house centipede just so happened to crawl by, scaring Wakasa.

Didn't choose the white leopard nickname but always loved it

Likes camping as well as fishing

Is very fond of surprise kisses with his partner, likes to catch them off guard.

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev #wakasa imaushi #imaushi wakasa #tokyo revengers spoilers

125 notes · View notes

ughgoaway · 3 months

Text

don't you think of me?

plot; snapshots of your breakup, with one letter underlining it all.

word count; 6.9k-ish

content warnings; swearing, dramatic overreactions, distressing dreams, depression, blood, general sad vibes, drinking and no happy ending (oops <3)

a/n; guys... angst is SO HARD. idk how people write it sooooo well. this fic is inspired by the songs "Sad Beautiful Tragic" and "I Almost Do" and the storyline is based completely on those songs! but there are a few other Taylor song references in the fic too. anyway, this kind of jumps around a lot, perspectives and timelines. so if it's completely incomprehensible, I am so sorry!! lemme know if it's so awful I need to have a re-write lol. I really hope the flashbacks are clear, and that this timeline makes any sense whatsoever <3

(p.s this is basically dedicated to 🍪 anon and bff anon, ty for riding so hard for this fic lol)

(this is non-canon)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The cold wind hurts Matty's face as he battles against it. Each gust feels like needles prickling his cheeks. But still, he pushes through, not really feeling much of anything these days anyway. The paper in his pocket scratches his hands as he burrows them in deeper, but he just grips it harder. The scratches made him feel more human anyway. They convinced his hazy head that maybe life was still happening around him.

The red post box in front of him is almost taunting. He stands frozen, gripping the letter he’s worked so hard on tightly. He has the passing thought of just letting it go, watching it blow away in the breeze, and never having to think about it again.

He never has to think about you again.

But he knows that's unrealistic. How can he never think of you again when you're all he thinks about? Every waking thought he has is about you. He still thinks about how your breathing changed when you slept next to him. The way your lips curved into the smirk he loved whenever you teased him. The flush that covered your cheeks when he did it back.

Every morning, he still gets out 2 mugs. He still grabs your favourite wine at the shops and doesn't say yes to plans without thinking if he should check with you first. The last time he saw you was still burned into the back of his mind, and he was not sure it could ever leave.

And to be honest, he doesn't know if he wants it to. If healing means forgetting you, forgetting everything you built, then maybe it is better to live in the pain. Each time he begins to heal, he picks up the scab over and over again. The sting reminded him of you, so he picked and picked. Blood poured from him relentlessly, but that was all he could do. Bleeding for you was all he had of you anymore.

He shoved the letter in and walked away briskly. He fought every bone in his body telling him to go back. To smash the post box and filter through every letter until he found his. He imagined a world in which he hadn't sent it, where instead he turned around and marched back to his house.

Or maybe there's a world where he marched to your house instead. Maybe he finally got over himself and told you everything in person. He begged and pleaded for you to forgive him, to look him in the eyes and tell him you've been hurting just as much as him.

Matty isn't sure that world exists, though.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

3 days later, when it arrives, you stare at it endlessly. You move it from place to place in your apartment and try to visualise opening it there. But soon enough, that just becomes you avoiding that room like the plague, and you start to treat parts of your flat like they are infested with a deadly virus. But they're not, really. They're just filled with a small envelope with your name on it and a return address you know all too well.

You decide you aren't going to read it 2 days later. You hold it over a candle and watch the amber flames lick the bottom of the envelope. But before you can set it ablaze, some instinct takes over, and suddenly, it's the most important object you've ever owned. You pull it from the flames and put it out with your fingers, not caring if the fire sizzles your skin. You cry and beg for it to be okay, tears streaming from your cheeks as you frantically pull it open, “No no no. fuck, please.”

But the letter inside was unscathed, just the corner of the envelope was covered in a thin layer of ash. As soon as you see that handwriting, though, you feel the unspeakable urge to burn it again, to set it on fire and watch it burn.

You don’t.

You lay it on the table and go to bed. You decide tomorrow will be the day you do something with it, even though you promised yourself that every day since you got it. But you're sure tomorrow will really be the day. It has to be.

You return to the warm solace of the bed you've grown to know too well over the past few weeks, and the duvet welcomes you in like an old friend.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

It's a few days after he sent the letter and the day after you received it when he sees you for the first time, and he can't quite believe it. There you were, standing in the coffee shop you always went to together.

He wondered if the baristas had noticed you both started to come in without the other. Maybe they started gossiping about it, “Did those customers break up? I never see them together any more” and he could almost see someone else saying “I hope not. They were cute.”

Even though he knew no one would ever actually say that, and that the baristas hadn't noticed anything.

Some force that he couldn't explain pulled him towards you, and before he knew it, he was reaching for your arm. “Hi” he breathed out heavily, staring at you like he wasn't sure you were real. He wasn't convinced that you were anything but a figment of his imagination. Has his delusions about you already gotten to the point where he's having visions? He thought it would take a few more months for that.

“Matty?” You say gently, tracing your eyes over the man in front of you. Hearing your soft voice after months without you felt like heaven on earth for Matty, relaxation washing over him just at the soft dulcet tones of you.

Matty smiled softly at you, and you immediately returned it. He can see the cogs turning in your head on how to greet him. Was a hug too much? Is a wave too little? Is a handshake too formal? Overthinking was one thing you were so good. Matty was sure you could win an award for it. So he decided to take the decision into his own hands and wrapped out up in a hug, burrowing his face in your hair and smelling that familiar floral aura he'd fallen in love with.

Your whole body tensed when he first touched you. The once familiar feeling now was slightly cold and awkward. But Matty felt you relax and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face the the feeling of your head in his neck, the place you always used to lay. He swore he could feel you breathe him in, but soon convinced himself it was wishful thinking.

Reluctantly, you pull away, looking up at Matty with glassy eyes. The barista next to you clears his throat, bringing you both back to earth and out of whatever haze you were in. “your tea is ready” he says awkwardly, eyeing you and Matty with a sly smile on his lips.

“Right! Sorry, yes. Thank you” You grab your cup and turn back to Matty nervously. He can see the anxiety radiating off you, just like it always had. He never thought it would be directed at him, but he tries not to overthink it too much.

“Do you-” You clear your throat, shaking your head as you try to process that you're seeing him again. Seeing your Matty. “Do you want to sit with me? Catch up?”

Matty can see your hands shaking around your cup and the nervousness swimming in your eyes. “Of course,” he says easily. He could never deny an opportunity to spend time with you. Especially not when he hadn't seen you in so long. And certainly not when you still take up his every waking thought.

The conversation flows like you had never left, easily chatting and catching up like you always had. You tell Matty about the cat you adopted and how she loves to sit on top of the fridge to scare you. He tells you about his mum and her latest drama. Her kitchen cupboards were the wrong colour of grey, and it was the topic of conversation for much longer than he thought possible.

The first bout of silence comes when you ask about Annie, and Matty can tell it took every ounce of strength to force the words out of your mouth. You felt like someone had taken one of your vital organs when you left her, and you can still see her face in your mind whenever you close your eyes.

“she's good. Misses you, though. Especially because she doesn't see you at school anymore since you got a new job” he says with a solemn smile. Matty tries to hold eye contact, but he gives up a few seconds into it, instead staring at his coffee as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Thankfully, soon enough, the once stilted silence becomes easy chatter and laughter all over again, Matty welcomed the warm conversation with open arms, missing your presence more than he ever thought possible.

But Matty's mouth soon got ahead of him, “so when was the last time I saw you?” he asked thoughtlessly. His brain was on autopilot, and the words poured out of him before he could stop it. The very topic you'd both been dancing around was now laid out in front of you, and it couldn't be ignored.

Matty saw something in your demeanour change, your once soft smile morphing into a faux-happy grimace, “Don't you remember? You screaming at me in the kitchen? And then storming out after saying what you did? Maybe you remember smashing a plate on the floor?” Matty pauses at your words, not quite believing you're deciding to re-hash all of this in the middle of a coffee shop, especially with a massive and slightly creepy grin on your face, but he answers anyway.

“Of course, I remember. And there's not enough words to say how sorry I am but-” he stutters as he tries to explain himself more, but you cut him off, gently placing a hand on his arm.

“Are you sure you remember? When you left me? Abandoned me? Left me sobbing and alone? What about the 30 phone calls you ignored?” You kept talking, and Matty couldn't get a word in, your voice increasing in volume with each desperate question.

“Look I’m so sorry-” Matty desperately looked around him to see if people were staring at your raised voice, but the cafe was empty. The once bustling coffee shop is now like a ghost town, with no evidence of another human ever being in there.

He flicks his head back to yours, only to be in his kitchen, forced back to that night. He stares at you in your pyjamas, tears streaming down your face. He flicks his eyes down to see him dressed in the same liquor-stained clothes, and he can taste the red wine on his tongue.

“Why” you whispered over and over again, gradually getting louder, eventually shouting at Matty as he stood there motionless.

Matty wakes up in a cold sweat, panting wildly as his brain fights to figure out what the fuck is happening. He scrambles to his phone and realises; it's still the same day. It was just another fucking dream. He knows nightmare would be the better word, but he can't bring himself to describe anything with you in it as a nightmare.

With a heavy sigh, he flops back to his pillow, gripping his phone desperately and trying to fight the urge to call you. It almost doesn't work, and he clicks on your contact and lets his thumb hover over the call button. He sees the unanswered calls and the pleading messages. He can feel the desperation through the screen.

He thinks your new boyfriend must've blocked his number because that's easier than thinking that you just hate him. Each time he reaches out, there’s no reply, and he feels a part of himself die.

He hadn't tried for a few months now, but he still had that urge to type out his every thought, to send it and call you until you answered. But he doesn't.

It doesn't occur to Matty that the real reason that the reason you don't answer isn't because of a new boyfriend or because you hate him. Instead, it’s because you know you can't deal with another goodbye. You can't risk all this happening again. You were already practically ripped open. You can't risk tearing the very stitches you worked so hard to sew closed.

But matty doesn't know that, so with a huff, he clicks off you and onto George, and this time, he lets the phone ring.

“Huh? what-” he hears the groggy voice over the phone mutter, and it's then he realises maybe ringing George at 3 am because he had a nightmare wasn't the best decision. But it was too late now, and he could practically see George's expectant face from the other side of the phone.

“Hi. it um- it happened again” Matty said with a huff, falling back into the pillows and staring at the moonlight dancing across his ceiling. He heard George's heavy sigh and the distinct sound of ruffling sheets, George had sat up instinctively, knowing something was up.

“What was it this time? Did everyone in the crowd turn into her again” George says softly, rubbing at his tired eyes and fighting a yawn.

“No, it started off really nice this time. I saw her again at that cafe we always went to, you know the one near the studio? We were just chatting and catching up. But then she wouldn't stop talking about that night, telling me what happened all over again. And then I blinked, and I was back. I was in that kitchen again, just staring at her.” Matty follows the moonbeams with his eyes, lingering on the two beams crossing over, only for their paths to separate once again.

It reminded him of you and him.

“I think you need to get some lavender oil or some shit. You need to sleep. And these nightmares aren't helping” George says firmly, Matty would usually fight him tooth and nail at the suggestion.

He claimed it was because that stuff had never worked for him, but George knew it was because he saw it as still having a part of you in his life. Even if you were there in the form of his demons, at least they all looked like you.

But to his surprise, Matty immediately crumbled, “Yeah, you're right. Will you come to Boots with me after the studio tomorrow?” George agreed quickly before Matty could change his mind.

But he didn't try to, Matty simply said, “Thanks. Okay, I'll let you sleep now… Bye.” And before George could tell him it was okay, and he’d stay chatting as long as Matty needed, he was gone.

Tears leaked from Matty’s eyes, wetting the same pillow where you used to lay your head. This loop of healing felt endless, and Matty wasn't sure if fixing this was possible when he knew you were still out there without him. Forever wouldn't have even been enough with you, but now he has nothing. What is he meant to do with no you?

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

As Matty lay awake in Manchester, you were in the same position in London. The same lonely bed, but different cities. Unlike him, you haven't managed to sleep yet. Instead, you can't stop your brain from imagining what is in that letter. Your mind falls back to that night, and you replay the events over and over again. Every word Matty said was etched in your mind, so it played easily, the same script ringing in your ears all these months later.

//////////////////////

Matty shut the door delicately. Getting home at 2 am. was already bad enough. He didn't want to wake you or Annie in the process. But when he saw the light pouring out of the kitchen and heard the distinct hissing of the kettle, he knew you were awake. And he knew you were waiting for him.

He walked into the kitchen silently, leaning on the counter and watching you potter around, he remember when he used to sit here for hours and dream of you in his house. Now he's not even sure the last time you said I love you to each other. You continue to ignore Matty, but you getting a second mug out of the cupboard tells him all he needs to know. This is going to be a long night.

“At the studio late again?” You ask, passing Matty his mug and leaning across from him. Your eyes trace up his figure, and you can't help but think you don't recognise the man in front of you. His clothes hung off of him, and heavy bags sat under his empty eyes. His hair was standing on end, once perfectly manicured curls now frazzled beyond repair.

“Yeah, George wanted to fix this harmony. Sorry I'm back so late” he knew lying to you was wrong. He really did. But he couldn't bring himself to explain where he actually was, drinking alone in a bar rather than at home with his family.

“Oh. okay.” you pause and wait for Matty to correct himself, giving him a chance to be fucking honest for once. But he doesn't, so you push again.

“That's weird though, because I asked Charli where George was 2 hours ago, and she sent a photo of them together. In bed.”

Matty's eyes widened. He knew he'd just been caught, but he wasn't ready to give up the lie yet. He just needed a few more weeks away, and then he would come back. Then everything would be made right again. So his tipsy mind comes up with a new lie and pleads with whatever God there might be that would believe him, “Oh did I say George? I meant Hann, you know how I get when it's late”

“Matty. You stink of booze. Do you think im an idiot?” You sigh, placing your tea down and crossing your arms over your chest. The anger bubbling within you was threatening to spill over. You felt as if every word from Matty was a stab, yet he kept just pushing the knife deeper.

“So I had a drink at the studio! Sue me, Jesus Christ” Matty sneers at you as he talks, slamming his cup onto the counter, ignoring the burning on his hand from the tea falling over the rim.

“Liar” you click your tongue at Matty and cast your eyes to the floor. Staring into his eyes as he lied to you was agony, and you're not sure how much more pain you can take.

“I'm not lying. I swear I just-” he tries to argue, but you refuse to let him keep going.

“I know you're lying. You're always fucking lying! You weren't at the studio.” you sighed heavily flicking your eyes up to Matty briefly, but the tension was too much, it hurt to look at him.

“Baby, cmon, calm down. It’s okay, yeah? I’m here now,” Matty moved towards you, grabbing your cheek in his hand and moving in to kiss you, prepared to make this all melt away just like he always did. You try to push him away, but Matty stands strong. He had to fix this. He needed to kiss and make up. It was all he knew how to do.

“Would you just fucking listen” you shout, pushing Matty back across from you, “I don't even know who you are anymore! These past few weeks have made you into a man I don't even fucking recognise.” You look up at him with crazed eyes and scoff at the sight of the man in front of you.

You were done with it all. The lying, the running away, the sleuthing around. Done. You were having this conversation, and you were having it now.

“No please don't say that. You know me. I don't know who I am without you knowing me,” Matty begged, sobering up quickly at your words.

He needs to bring this back, claw what little life you had left in you to the surface. Everything that left Matty’s life has had claw marks in it, and he would be damned if he'd let you go without the same scars.

“Don't you understand that's the fucking issue, Matty? You don't know who you are anymore, I don't know who you are anymore. You need to be a person without me.” your words struck Matty in the chest like a bullet.

Were you seriously suggesting what he thinks you are? Do you actually want to break up with him?

Matty baulks at your words. Every feeling he’d had over the past few months was catching up to him, crashing into each other in his brain as they fought to be let out. Anger won because, of course, it won. It seems to always win.

He decides that if you want to break up, then he'll do it himself. He can't let you beat him to it. He knows it's childish, but he doesn't fucking care. He needs to win this. “Please, I've been a person without you for 30 fucking years. I’m a fucking dad! I don't need you to tell me who I am.”

“Annie needs both her parents, Matty. We need you back, please.” The mention of Annie makes outrage bubble within him like it had never done before. He can't believe you'd practically threatened to break up with him one minute and then beg for him back for the sake of his daughter the next. Because that is what she is, she's his daughter.

“You don't know what it's like to be a parent y/n,” Matty mumbles under his breath, but he might as well have screamed it at you because that's how loudly it rang in your ears. He knew he'd fucked up as soon as he said it, but there was no going back now, and he could see that in your eyes.

“I don't know what it's like to be a parent. Are you fucking kidding Matty? What the hell have I been doing here for the past year? Just fucking around? I can't believe you could say that to me.” You hear your voice wavering as you force each word out.

“Annie is just as much my daughter as she is yours” you whisper desperately. The regret of mentioning Annie was building in your chest, and it felt like a rock impeding your lungs, each breath fighting against the weight. but it was too late to take anything back now. Both you and Matty knew it.

Matty scoffs at your words, rolling his eyes as he fiddles with his fingers. He tries desperately to cool his raging mind, but he can't. He figures if he is already in this deep, why not stoop a little lower?

“Just as much your daughter? Please. You weren't here for fucking any of it. Where were you here when she was born? How about when she was sick for the first time and wouldn't let me put her down without screaming bloody murder? Or- or how about when she broke her arm and she cried when she couldn't have a pink cast? Or maybe for any fucking time apart from the last 12 months. I know you liked playing happy families y/n, but be fucking real for 5 seconds. You were her teacher, maybe a fun friend, but nothing more. And if you think you were, you're more delusional than I thought.”

His chest heaved as he finished, not taking a single breath during his rambling speech, he could see your wet eyes and he felt his heart aching but he just couldn't stop himself, words tumbling out of his mouth. "Even if you stayed, even if you never give up on us, on this. You could never be her mother.”

Both of you pause, the silence thick and heavy around you. How long could you stand like this and pretend he didn’t say that? Maybe if you just stayed there and listened to your ragged breathing, something would change.

But nothing did.

“Fuck you. You told me I was practically her mother a month ago. You said to me I was it for you, that your family was complete. I can't believe-” words poured out of you, streaming helplessly as you paced the kitchen.

Matty tried to cut in, desperate to get a word in edgeways. The need to defend himself was all-consuming. He needed to know that you understood he said it in the heat of the moment. Words fall out of his mouth without thinking. He can’t help it.

“y/n, love-”

“I’m not her mother? Tell that to the time I took her dress shopping for your mum's wedding. Or when I took her to A&E with suspected appendicitis. and-”

“y/n. Stop, just listen to me, please.” Matty begs, he almost inches closer to you, but some ineffable force keeps him where he is, watching you pace helplessly.

“Listen to you? Oh, I've done plenty of fucking listening Matthew. All I do is listen to you! But you never fucking hear me-”

“Can you just shut up for 5 fucking seconds” Matty shouted, grabbing a plate from beside him, throwing it against the concrete floor, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. He just needed you to look at him, to tell him you could fix this, but you wouldn't stop talking.

A gasp from you pulls him back to earth, and he feels his heart break into as many pieces as the plate below his feet. Your wide eyes and tear-stained cheeks glare back at him, and Matty has nothing to say. He has no fucking idea what just came over him.

Matty gingerly takes a step towards you, trying to avoid the ceramic splayed over the floor. His fingers shake as he reaches his hand out to your cheek, wanting to thumb away the tears falling.

But just as he does, he sees you flinch. It wasn't even a full movement, practically a micro-expression. But you fucking flinched. And you both knew it. The veil of silence over you is thick as you both stand there motionless with no idea what you could say to fix this. To make the last 10 minutes disappear.

Matty’s touch used to calm you. It was the only reassurance you needed. But now the mere thought of it filled you with some twisted sense of fear. The woman he had planned the rest of his life with was scared of him. And it was all his fucking fault. How had this all become his worst nightmare? How had the very thing he sacrificed so much to build crumbled and destroyed itself so deeply?

“Matty wait- I’m sorry, I was just still on edge. It's okay, im okay. See?” With a shaking hand, you grip his, bringing it to your face despite his protests. You can feel him trying to pull his arm away, but you fight him at every tug. Forcibly placing his hand on your wet cheek.

As soon as your hand drops from his, Matty wrenches away from you. The feeling of your cheek against his palm felt as if his skin was burning. The pain touched his every nerve.

The air is charged with pure fear as you stare at the other, both of your chests heaving and your eyes glassy with unshed tears. Without thinking it through, Matty storms off, grabbing his keys as he pushes through the house. You chase after him, ignoring the blades of ceramic impaling your sock-covered feet, “No don't leave, Matty, please. Stay, stay here.” You reach to grab his arm, but Matty snatches it away before you can even feel his skin against yours.

“I’m leaving. I’m staying at George tonight. Tomorrow I’ll come pick Annie up from school. You will call in and take a sick day. Start packing your shit. I’m done. You're out of my house by tomorrow.” Matty demands, and with that, he leaves. Slamming the door behind him.

Bloody footprints lay in a trail behind you, and your socks start slowly becoming sodden from your weeping wounds. But still, you stood there, unmoving. Shock coursing through your veins.

It was all over. Just like that.

////////////////////

The letter was taunting you from the other room, the blacked corner flashed into your mind whenever your eyes finally fluttered close. The image of you burning the letter played behind your eyelids like a movie, and you almost wish you really had done it.

But you didnt, so it still sat on your living room table, torturing you.

Eventually, you drift off to sleep, tears dampen the pillow below your head, but you ignore the thumping in your head and finally let sleep pull you under.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

You know you're dreaming when you're back in that kitchen. But you can't stop it from happening. The hazy filter that covers your surroundings is the only thing assuring you this isn't real, that this isn't all happening again.

Matty stands in front of you just as he had that night, but he looks different. His once frizzy curls sat in perfectly ringlets around his face, the streaks of grey dancing through them more prominent. His unshaven face was now neatly trimmed, and you admired the salt and pepper hairs within it. You can see the tears brimming in his eyes, glittering on his waterline.

“So you'll forgive me? We can move on?” he says desperately, smiling and moving towards you with tears falling down his cheeks.

You try to speak, but your mouth doesn't move, your lips stay pressed together against your brain's protests. Not even grunts escape you. Silently, you stare at Matty, completely motionless.

“y/n? You forgive me. I can make this right again, can't I?” Matty begs desperately. He grabs your hand but recoils at the cold feeling on his skin, your fingers cold as ice in his grip.

You fight to speak again, to tell him yes. To tell him you forgive him, that you need to try again. But still, nothing leaves your lips.

Matty scoffs at you, ripping himself away from you, “I can't believe you're ignoring me. I thought you'd be more mature than this. Call me when you can actually have an adult fucking conversation.”

He storms off, but all you can do is watch him helplessly. Every nerve in your body is screaming to move, to chase after him. And you almost do, but some inexplicable force is keeping you there, motionless in the same place where your life ended all those months ago.

So you watch him leave again, the haze surrounding you soon becoming darkness.

You know it's a dream, and you keep on telling yourself that. But when you wake with wet cheeks and a heaving chest, it feels pretty fucking real.

You swear you can feel him next to you, awake and staring at the same ceiling. But when you turn to see him, the piled-up duvet is all that's there, along with a cold bed beside you.

It's then you decide to finally give in to that voice in your head, the one screaming at you to just read the letter, to get it over and done with. The one begging you to throw it away and never look back is nearly silenced, and it soon becomes nothing but a whisper in the back of your mind.

The letter stays exactly where you left it, and whilst you know it couldn't have moved, part of you wishes it had. With shaking hands, you grab the pile of pages, and you can feel your heart racing the very same way it used to when you saw him.

The city lights shine onto you as you finally open the pages, looking at the handwriting you knew all too well. The same handwriting that used to give you butterflies, that used to detail how much it loved you, filling pages with adoration.

Now you're not so sure what it entails. But you read anyway, ignoring every screaming signal telling you to stop.

///////////

Hi darling,

I know I don't have the right to call you that anymore, but I can't bring myself to call you anything else. It's been a few months since we've spoken, and I've felt every minute of it. I've filled notebooks writing about you, writing to you. I must have practised this letter a dozen times, and I know this still won't be right.

So, instead of trying to write the perfect letter, I've ripped out some pages from my journal. My therapist told me to write like I was speaking to you, so that's what I did. I’m sure she would be pissed that im sending this at all, but I need to do this for us. To remember what we once were.

Anyway, I hope it makes you understand what this time without you has been like for me. You can ignore this letter completely and I wouldn't blame you. I won't hold it over you if you burn it and never look back. But if you do read it, I just need you to know im sorry. For everything.

(3 weeks without you)

To say the past couple of weeks have been hell for me is beyond an understatement. There is this festering part of me that thinks I will love you forever, and the knowledge that we will never be like we once were kills me, but it has to kill me. Because if I felt anything other than agony, I would come crawling back to you, and you don't deserve that. And I know that. But fucking hell, that doesn't make it hurt any less.

You know me, I don't know what it's like to have surface-level emotions. I either feel it all, or I feel nothing. and with you? I fucking felt it all. I felt every touch, every smile, every fight, every screaming match ending in tears. I fucking felt it. and for some reason- I'm still thankful for it. because at least I felt you.

I wonder if you're at the point where you miss me when you hear my name. And I can't help but think about you hearing my songs, do you change the station? Even if they're about you? But if I’m honest, they're all about you. Every one of them. Even before I knew you, they were about you.

(a month and a half)

I wish you could forgive me. I think if I knew you didn't hate me, I could move on. Or maybe it would do the opposite. I don't know. All I do know is, I miss you.

(2 months)

Sometimes I miss you so much I can't handle it. I go driving and find the places we used to go, I sit there, and I can still hear your laugh. I can feel that all-encompassing warmth that surrounds you. but then someone speaks, or a car horn goes off, and suddenly, it's cold again. I mourn you like you're someone I've lost forever, and in a way, I have.

You know I still feel you every day, everywhere. Because you might have left, but you never really did. I still find your socks down beside the bed, and your hair ties around the house. I accidentally used your shampoo in the shower this week. You know that ridiculous Jasmine one that you pay too much for?

It was like having you around again, I never thought the small of some shitty shampoo would be the thing that brought it all back to me, brought you back to me. Yet it was. But still, you were gone.

So apparently, I decided to fall into the breakup trope of crying in the shower. For 45 minutes, which made me feel slightly pathetic. And it didn't help when George knocked on the door and washed my hair again. with my shampoo. But I still find myself smelling jasmine even when it's nowhere near.

You haunt me in ways I never thought possible.

(3 months)

It's 3 a.m., and I can't stop picturing your face. Just knowing you're still out there makes it so much fucking harder. I don't know how to cope knowing you're there and not here, with me. Even months later there's some sick part of me that hopes leaving me was the hardest thing you've had to do. but I hope loving me wasn't.

I know that's selfish, and that this is all my fault anyway. so I want you to move on, even if it kills me. it's hell thinking that the one person you could never forget is fighting to forget you.

But I hope you find the love of your life. I hope they make your tea just how you like it, and buy you those crazy expensive candles you love. I hope they will follow you to the ends of the earth, just like I would. even now.

(3 and a half months)

I want to say you don't know how it feels to miss you, you don't know how hard it is. but I have to keep hoping you miss me just as much. because if you didn't, if you just moved on without a second thought; I couldn't cope. the fact that we will always just be an almost will live with me until the day I die. I don't want you to be an almost. I want you to be an always. but it's over, and I know that. or at least I'm very good at pretending I know that.

(4 months)

Recently, I've been thinking about “what ifs?” Despite my therapist telling me I shouldn't. But you know what it is like after breakups. It's this all-consuming thing, and you can't help but imagine if things were different.

I think in another universe, we worked out. I got over my massive ego, and you worked through your past, and it fixed itself. We got married, had another kid, and got that cat you always wanted. We'd go to Annie's graduation together. Her wedding together. you'd cry as I walked her down the aisle, I'd smile and kiss away your tears. and I know that's not this universe. but fucking hell why can't it be?

(4 and a half months)

My mum misses you. She asked how you were doing today and if I had reached out yet. I got angry at her and stormed out. If only she knew how many times I’d dialled your number and then turned off my phone. Or how many unanswered texts I've sent.

Annie misses you too, by the way. She's finally stopped asking when you're coming back.

I wish she still asked.

(today)

I don't expect you to read all of this, and if you've just skipped to the end, I don't blame you.

but I'm sending this letter because I think I'm finally at a place where when I think of you, I don't take it as a sign from the universe that we were meant to be together. instead, I think of it as a past life, as proof that we were an almost.

Next time I see you, I hope it doesn't hurt as much as the last time.

Goodbye, my love,

Matty x

///////////

The distinct sound of dripping tears hitting paper was the only noise in the room. You watched helplessly as the ink distorted under the little pools of wetness. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you can't help but fucking hate him for sending this.

How could he do this to you? All you've been doing for months is healing, but he keeps ripping open old wounds carelessly. He has to know you can never go back. You can't trust him.

All you left behind you was a mess. You were both better off this way.

With a scoff, you grab your lighter and cigarettes, stepping onto the balcony with the letter gripped in your shaking hands. You have to flick the lighter a few times before it works, the bitter wind fighting against it.

But soon the flame comes, you sigh happily, moving it up to the cigarette delicately balanced between your lips. You suck in a deep breath, revelling in the feeling of the smoke filling your lungs. The slight crackle brings you more relaxation than anything else these days, but you still have to fight to ignore the familiarity of the scent.

You flick the lighter again, huffing annoyed as it goes out. Once you see the distinct glow of amber, you don't hesitate before placing it against the paper and watching the pages in front of you burn up.

Ashes sizzle your skin, but you couldn't care less. In fact, you welcome the pain. A sick smile comes across your face, grinning around the now-lit cigarette in your mouth.

Isn't it funny how little words mean, when they're a little too late?

#here it is... i am nervous <3 #like i had fun writing it but is it any good?? time will only tell...#angst is difficult but very interesting to write #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfiction #matty x reader #matty healy angst #the 1975 angst #the 1975 fic #teacher au!

126 notes · View notes

captainsophiestark · 7 months

Text

Witches Get Stitches

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Day 11 Prompt: "You lost it. Well, we lost it."

Summary: Klaus and his girlfriend have been together since they were humans, surviving together for a thousand years. They don't intend to let anything tear them apart.

Word Count: 1,352

Category: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, not descriptive

A/N: This doesn't even follow the Originals timeline/canon a little bit lol

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I groaned as I slowly came back to consciousness, my head throbbing. The last thing I remembered, I'd been talking to Genevieve, a resurrected New Orleans with who'd been dancing on the line between ally and enemy.

She took a great, giant leap into the enemy category when I forced my eyes open to find her smiling at me, looking immensely satisfied with herself. I tried to stand, maybe make a move to rip her head off, but my wrists were chained to the walls on either side of me. I was trapped.

"I'm going to kill you," I spat, not bothering with pleasantries or pretending. Genevieve smiled like she'd expected me to say that.

"I know you think we're the bad guys here," she said, giving me a sympathetic expression that made me want to rip her head off. Literally. "But we're not. You've been dating the bad guy, and you've been so blind you haven't been able to realize it."

I rolled my eyes so far back in my head that I could see the wall behind me. I'd heard this same nonsense a thousand times from a thousand different people, and it never got any less irritating or boring.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Y/N," Genevieve said, walking towards me with a very menacing swagger in her step. "I'm just going to make you see the truth."

Before I could hit back with a retort, she raised her hands to the side of my head, and I went spiraling back through my own memories.

For a witch who'd managed to catch me, one of the oldest vampires in creation, in the home of my boyfriend, one of the other oldest vampires in creation, I'd expected more, honestly. But her plan wasn't particularly creative.

She forced me to relive some of my worst moments in my thousand years with Nik. We'd been together as humans, and he'd turned me not long after Esther turned the rest of them, so there was plenty of material for her to work with. Nik and I had been through hell and back, mostly due to enemies, but sometimes due to each other.

Genevieve made me sit through a few particularly bad moments, then pulled me out of her little trance, staring into my eyes like she expected some kind of connection.

"For a thousand years, he's lied, cheated, and backstabbed," she said, her voice low and grave. "He's left a trail of blood, pain, and suffering in his wake. You haven't been spared from his list of victims, even if you've convinced yourself you have."

I closed my eyes, taking a long breath in through my nose. This was getting tedious.

"We've decided to put an end to his reign of terror. We'd like you to join us. So what do you say?"

I fixed her with my best 'really?' stare, which I'd perfected using on Nik.

"Genevieve, let me explain something to you." My voice was quiet, faux-patient, with an undertone of promised violence the way I'd perfected from hearing Nik do so many times. "For more than one thousand years, Niklaus Mikaelson and I have had each others' backs, through everything. We're partners, best friends, and the loves of each others lives. One thousand years of a relationship does not come without bumps, and problems, and things we have to spend a long time working through. Every single time, we have done so successfully.

"One thousand years as a Mikaelson has also come with hundreds of people just like you, Genevieve. They've tried to get to Nik through me, or they've tried to turn me against him, or a thousand other attempts at causing us problems by breaking us apart. And not one of them, in all that time, has succeeded. And do you know what else, Genevieve?"

She cocked an eyebrow at me and gave a little snort, but I could see the way her shoulders tensed and the flicker of fear in the back of her eyes.

"Every single one of those people who tried to come at me and Nik? They're dead. And we're still standing."

Genevieve snorted, louder this time, shaking her head as she straightened and backed away from me. I stared her down, letting a feral smile slowly drag its way onto my face.

"Fine. If you won't help us, then I have no more use for you. So-"

"Oh dear. I hope that sentence isn't going to end in a threat against my lovely partner over there."

Genevieve whipped around, and I smiled at the sight we both found over her shoulder. Nik had arrived, covered in blood and grinning in the way that made my heart race. Clearly, he'd worked his way through at least some of the witches outside to get here. I grinned back at him.

"Your hold over this place, this world, is coming to an end, Klaus," said Genevieve, standing her ground remarkably well. "The two of you have terrorized this place long enough."

"Now you're bringing my girlfriend into it?" asked Nik, raising one eyebrow, a teasing tone in his voice. "Well, I really can't let that stand, now can I?"

"You're not going to have a choice," Genevieve growled. With that, she flung her arms out, whipping up a witchy storm to throw at Nik just as two more witches came into the room. Nik held his own alright—he was the Original Hybrid after all—but he couldn't stand on his own against three powers like this forever.

He needed help. And I was going to give it to him.

I closed my eyes, getting into the headspace I'd had to reach more times than I'd ever wanted to, but that had gotten Nik and I out of more than a few hard spots. Pure rage and a desire to protect the man I loved washed over me, and I pulled against my restraints with all my strength. I dislocated my thumbs to get them out of the cuffs, stifling a scream, then got to my feet and rushed Genevieve before she could realize I was free.

The next minutes were a blur. They always were, whenever Nik and I were in a fight like this. After landing a few hits and killing both of Genevieve's little helpers, I saw Nik go down. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, and I saw red as I whirled on Genevieve.

A few moments later, Genevieve followed Nik to the ground, although she was a little more dead. I stayed standing, trying to recover from the adrenaline. After I'd had a few moments, I crouched down next to Nik.

"Hey. Nik, wake up," I said, gently shaking his shoulder to try to rouse him. After a moment, thankfully, his eyelids fluttered. A second later, he sat into a seating position, looking ready for a fight. I quickly reached out to calm him, to reassure him that we were fine.

"What happened?" he asked, eyes still a little wild, even as he saw the bodies around us and started calming down.

"You lost it. Well, we lost it. Genevieve kidnapped me to get to you, you lost it on her and her little followers over that. She seriously hurt you, so I lost it and helped you finish them off. Same thing we've been running for a thousand years. We're alright."

Nik nodded, letting out a sigh and sagging a little. Then, he looked at me with a grin.

"You'd think after a thousand years they'd learn, wouldn't you?"

I sighed. "No kidding. Maybe this'll be the one that sticks."

Nik and I shared a smile as I leaned into him, kissing him softly before standing and offering a hand to help him up. No matter where we went or how much time passed, people would probably always try to come after me and Nik. But together, we were completely unstoppable. We'd spent the last thousand years proving it, and we'd spend the next thousand doing the same.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

154 notes · View notes