brinasheqrt

[brinasheqrt]

guess who’s back writing? go check it out!! 🫶🏻

[brinasheqrt]

cast is up for my new wattpad fic! look out for moodboards and introductions to the characters next! <3

wattpad is - ellscqrp

[brinasheqrt]

take care dearest :c

i'll deeply miss the fluff 😞

sorry :(( ily though

[brinasheqrt]

aw :( we’ll miss u elle 🩷

i’ll miss you too :( still writing on wattpad dw :)

[brinasheqrt]

Aww, no way! You were the best Brina writer! I'm so sad, but I understand your decision.

Take care, girl!

thank you so much angel! but don’t worry, brina fics will still be up and i will write more on wattpad!

[brinasheqrt]

hii guys.

thank you sm for all the love and support i get on my fics it means the world to me.

but unfortunately, i have made the decision to stop writing on tumblr :( i feel it isn’t for me anymore.

however, i will continue to keep writing on wattpad, but will be changing fandoms.

i still love sabrina with all my heart so maybe i’ll write another brina fic on wattpad (probably will) but i will also be writing for others as well!

and i will be keeping my fics up on here so anyone can go back and read them! and i will of course read yours as well.

thank you all sm x

- elle.

[brinasheqrt]

wouldn't it be cute if sabrina was perfoming, and saw reader in the crowd, and she wasn't expecting her to come (since reader mentioned that she had something to do and couldn't qttend the show) and then sabrina arrests her for juno and they kiss? aw

Middle Of The Heart

summary - request (i changed it a little)

warnings - none <3

wc - 3k

a/n - kept u guys waiting long enough, enjoy <3

Backstage was a flurry of chatter, clinking brushes, and the low hum of music bleeding in from the arena speakers. Sabrina sat in front of the mirror, eyes closed, her cheek gently cupped by her makeup artist as they blended the last strokes of highlighter into her skin.

“You okay, babe?” her stylist asked softly, catching the quiet tension in her shoulders.

“Mhm,” Sabrina hummed, though her voice gave her away. She forced a smile and peeked down at her phone resting on the counter in front of her. The soft pink case looked untouched for hours, but the last messages still lingered on the screen — faint blue bubbles that made her chest feel heavier the longer she stared.

You: i’m so sorry baby

You: something came up w work

You: i won’t make it to the show tonight

You: but i’m gonna be thinking about you the whole time

You: kill it for me, okay? 🤍

That was earlier this afternoon. No follow-up. No surprise texts. And it wasn’t like you to lie — that was never your thing — but Sabrina still found herself hoping, maybe irrationally, that you’d show up somehow. That you’d pop out from behind the curtain with that smirk that always melted her heart, flowers in hand, like you’d never been gone.

But now, with minutes before showtime, and her team putting the finishing touches on her outfit, it was pretty clear you weren’t coming.

And yeah, it stung.

The lights dimmed. Her cue was called. And she took one last look at her phone before locking it. Then she stood, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the tunnel with a practiced calm she didn’t quite feel.

⸻

The roar of the crowd greeted her like a warm wave, crashing through her uncertainty. Her fans — her beautiful, loyal, too-good-to-be-true fans — lifted signs and screamed her name, their joy contagious. Even on the hardest days, their energy pulled her back to life.

Sabrina poured herself into every word, every note, dancing and laughing and playing along with the crowd like she wasn’t secretly looking for someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Her set was flowing by like clockwork, every beat second nature by now. The lights shifted, the stage rotated. She felt herself drop deeper into her performance, letting the music carry her forward.

And then, as the first notes of because i liked a boy echoed into the air, something in her chest twisted just a little more. This song wasn’t just a song anymore. It was a piece of her — vulnerable, messy, beautiful in its chaos. She never performed it lightly.

She moved through it all with grace, as always, her eyes scanning the crowd between lines. The spotlight burned, but she didn’t flinch. The music swelled, the lyrics cut deep, and she let herself go there — let herself feel it.

When she reached the final part of the performance, her dancers cleared the center stage. The heart lit up — a glowing red outline that pulsed with the music, right where she always sat to close the number. A theatrical gesture, sure, but one that always left the audience breathless.

She walked toward it, slowly, letting the last note fall away into silence. Her breath caught as she dropped into the center, kneeling down and open-hearted, palms resting gently on her thighs. The lights dimmed to a soft pink hue, and the crowd’s cheer softened into a sweet hush.

And then — just as she tilted her chin up to breathe, just as her eyes swept out toward the front row — she froze.

There you were.

Dead center, fifth row. The same hoodie she loved stealing draped across your shoulders. Hands clutched at your chest. And your eyes — your eyes were on her. Big and bright and teary like you were seeing something you didn’t think you’d get to see again.

Her stomach flipped.

She blinked once, twice, too fast to hide it, and her heart thundered so loud she swore it echoed through the mic. She hadn’t even realized tears were burning behind her eyes until one slipped down her cheek — unplanned, unscripted, and achingly real.

The crowd thought it was part of the moment. They cheered louder.

But Sabrina knew the truth: that was for you.

⸻

Backstage again. She barely made it past the wings before ripping the in-ears out and turning sharply toward the green room.

“Sab—hey—where are you going?” her manager called, but she didn’t stop.

She pushed through the curtain and found her dressing room, breath shallow, adrenaline still thrumming under her skin. The applause still echoed behind her like a ghost, but all she could think of was you. She turned the corner and stopped cold.

You were there.

Leaning against the vanity, holding a bouquet of white peonies — her favorite. That same hoodie, now unzipped, revealing the shirt she once teased you about buying (“it’s hideous,” she’d said, and then wore it to bed every other night). And that same stupid smile you always gave her when you knew she was about to cry and didn’t want to.

“Hey,” you said, softly.

She didn’t speak. Her eyes locked onto yours, wet and wide, and you barely had time to brace yourself before she crashed into you, arms wrapping around your waist with a force that made the bouquet squish awkwardly between you both.

You chuckled. “Okay, that’s a no on saving these flowers, huh?”

She buried her face into your neck. “You said you weren’t coming,” she whispered, voice breaking.

“I lied,” you murmured into her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disappoint you in case I really couldn’t get away… but I figured if I could, it’d be a better surprise.”

Sabrina pulled back just enough to look up at you. “I cried on stage. In front of thousands of people.”

“I saw.” You set the flowers down, reached up and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It was beautiful. You were beautiful.”

“I hate you.” She sniffled, laughing through it, her nose scrunching like it always did when she tried not to sob.

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned down and kissed her forehead.

⸻

You both ended up curled on the dressing room couch, her legs draped over yours, your arm wrapped snug around her shoulders. The lights were lower here, soft and golden, nothing like the harsh fluorescents of the hallway. It felt safe.

“So, be honest,” she said, voice still raspy from the show, “how much of that performance did you catch?”

“All of it.”

Her brows rose. “You were here the whole time?”

“Snuck in during the opening set,” you admitted, grinning. “I didn’t want to distract you before your show. But when that heart lit up and you walked into it…”

You shook your head, eyes locked on hers. “I’ve never seen anything more perfect.”

Sabrina bit her lip, her eyes shining again. “You’re too good at this. Being sweet. Making me cry.”

“I’m making up for the part where I pretended I wasn’t coming.”

She sighed and pressed her forehead against yours. “I was seriously trying to play it cool, but I looked for you like… ten times during the set.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I could tell.”

She smiled, soft and crooked. “Did it ruin the surprise?”

“No. It made it better.”

There was a pause.

Then: “You saved the heart moment,” she said, eyes glistening.

“You are the heart moment,” you said.

And then she really cried.

⸻

Later, when most of the crew had cleared out and the dressing room was quiet except for the low hum of the speakers still playing house music somewhere outside, sabrina changed and free off makeup, you found yourselves lying on the carpet, backs pressed against the couch.

Your hand found hers, fingers laced effortlessly, like they always did. She wore one of your rings now, and you caught her spinning it absentmindedly on her finger.

“Will you stay tonight?” she asked softly, voice nearly a whisper.

You didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“I mean like… stay-stay. At the hotel. I want to wake up next to you again. It’s been a while.”

You turned your head to look at her. “I want that too.”

She exhaled. “This was my favorite show. Ever.”

“You’ve had some pretty amazing ones,” you teased.

“This one had you.”

She smiled again, that small, private one you only got when it was just the two of you and the world melted away.

And you smiled back, already knowing that from now on, whenever she sat in the center of that glowing heart on stage — even when you weren’t there — she’d still be thinking of this night.

Of how you showed up when she least expected it.

Of how, in the middle of the spotlight, her heart still managed to find its way home.

[brinasheqrt]

please we’re starving

i have a fic in my drafts guys! out soon <3

[brinasheqrt]

hi guys i’m alive don’t worry! new fic finally today or tomorrow! <3

[brinasheqrt]

sorry for the late post. trying to get it out today

[brinasheqrt]

getting a fic out today i promise. i’m trying to finish it and it’s killing me so bear with me <3

[brinasheqrt]

hi i miss ur fics thats it bye

new one today :)

[brinasheqrt]

hi can i request a short fic where reader and sabrina are having a lazy day like it’s raining and watching movies and stuff together and reader has tattoos and sabrina loves to traces them and while they’re cuddling on the sofa sabrina asks some of the meanings of the tats or just something along those lines ( masc reader please)

Ink And Rain

summary - request!

wc - 3k

warnings - none.

a/n - changed my theme, don’t forget me <3

The rain hadn’t stopped since late last night, and honestly, you were grateful for it.

Heavy sheets tapped the windows like a lullaby, rolling thunder in the distance more comforting than menacing. The sky outside was a steely grey, casting the living room in the kind of muted light that makes everything feel soft and still. The kind of day that made plans feel impossible and staying in feel like the only right choice.

You were stretched across the couch, legs long and bare in your grey sweats, with a soft throw blanket slung over both you and the small girl lying on top of you. Sabrina was curled into your chest, chin propped up just enough to see the screen, her fingers tracing idle patterns along your forearm—again.

It wasn’t the first time today, or this week.

She was obsessed with your tattoos.

Every single time you were in a tank top or anything short-sleeved, her fingers would automatically find them. Even in the middle of conversations, her fingertips would ghost over the ink like she was trying to memorize the shape of them all.

“You’re not watching the movie,” you murmured, brushing your lips lightly over the top of her head.

“I’m multitasking,” she replied, voice soft and raspy from sleep. “I can trace and listen. I’m very talented, you know.”

You chuckled, your hand slowly running up and down her spine under the blanket.

“I’m starting to think you love the tattoos more than you love me.”

She made a small, offended sound in her throat and popped her head up to look at you.

“You take that back,” she said, eyes wide and playful, her blonde hair a little messy from the way she’d been laying.

“Take what back?”

“That slander. I love you. The tattoos are just a bonus.”

“A bonus?” you teased, raising a brow. “Is that all I am to you? A hot canvas?”

She leaned forward and kissed the corner of your mouth. “A very hot canvas.”

Your arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, and you kissed the tip of her nose just to watch her scrunch it.

Sabrina settled back down on your chest, her fingers returning to the ink on your upper arm—a script tattoo written in a looping, handwritten scrawl.

She was silent for a few beats, just tracing the letters, before she asked softly, “Can I ask what this one means?”

You didn’t have to look to know which one she meant. It was one of the first tattoos you ever got, and it always seemed to be the one she came back to.

“It’s my mom’s handwriting,” you said after a moment. “From a note she left me before I left for college. Says, ‘Be brave, and call me if you get lonely.’”

Sabrina’s fingers stilled. Then she whispered, “That’s so sweet.”

You shrugged a little, suddenly aware of how personal it sounded out loud.

“She used to tuck notes into everything. Backpacks, coat pockets. I didn’t even notice this one until I was unpacking my dorm. I was having a rough time adjusting—y’know, quiet and homesick. Then I found it folded in a sock.”

Sabrina was quiet again for a few seconds, the rain still tapping rhythmically on the windows. Her hand moved to the next tattoo—an outline of a delicate flower just under your bicep.

“And this one?”

You smiled a little. “Wildflower. It was my sister’s favorite before she passed.”

Her fingers pressed gently against the petals. “She’d be proud of you,” she said quietly.

You didn’t answer right away, just let your hand drift up to her back again, fingers splayed over the soft cotton of her oversized hoodie—your hoodie, technically, but it always looked better on her.

“I hope so,” you finally murmured.

Sabrina pressed a kiss to your chest, right over your heartbeat.

She didn’t pry or push. That was one of the things you loved most about her. She could be curious, but she was never demanding. Always gentle. Always knowing when to ask and when to just be with you.

“Do you ever think about getting more?” she asked after a few quiet minutes, her fingers now tracing the edges of a geometric design on your forearm.

You grinned lazily. “You mean besides the one you keep begging me to get?”

Her head popped up again. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t beg. I made a very compelling pitch.”

“Oh right,” you laughed. “The matching heart on the ribcage one.”

“It’s romantic!” she insisted. “And painful, which means it counts.”

You leaned in, brushing your nose against hers. “Tell you what… You get the heart first, and I’ll follow.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “You’d let me go through all that pain alone?”

“You’re the one who pitched it,” you shrugged, smirking.

She rolled her eyes dramatically and settled back down, this time pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.

The rain outside got a little heavier, and the thunder grumbled again, soft and low. On the TV, some random comfort movie played, half-forgotten. It was more background noise than entertainment now.

Her hand moved lower to your inner wrist, fingers ghosting over a tiny minimalist compass inked in black.

“This one’s always been one of my favorites,” she said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed. “What’s it for?”

You hesitated for a moment, then said, “It’s a reminder to stay on course. I got it after a really dark time. I’d been… losing myself, kind of spiraling. So I needed something that said, ‘hey, keep going. North is still there.’”

Her fingers wrapped around your wrist delicately, like she was holding more than just your skin. Like she was holding the moment that birthed that tattoo.

“I’m glad you kept going,” she whispered.

You turned your head and kissed the crown of hers. “Me too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have met this tiny gremlin who’s always stealing my hoodies and tracing my ink like I’m an ancient map.”

She let out a muffled laugh and nuzzled into your chest. “You love it.”

“I really do.”

You could feel her smile against you, the quiet kind of contentment that didn’t need words. The weight of her was warm and grounding, and everything about the moment felt sacred in a subtle way—like something you’d look back on in ten years and still feel the echo of.

A beat passed before she said, “I think you should get one for us.”

You looked down at her. “A tattoo?”

She nodded without lifting her head.

“Okay,” you said, easy. “What kind?”

She tilted her chin, meeting your eyes. “Something that’s just ours. Like a little thing no one else would even notice.”

“Like a secret?” you asked.

“Exactly. A quiet one.”

You smiled and rubbed your thumb over her lower back.

“Then we should get it on our hands. Something small. A symbol or a letter. Something only we’d know to look for.”

Sabrina’s eyes softened. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course. If it means something to you, it means something to me.”

She grinned wide, eyes glittering even in the dim rainy light, and pulled herself up to kiss you—slow and sweet. You cradled her face with one hand as she leaned into it, her lips gentle against yours, tasting like warmth and sugar and lazy Sunday mornings.

When you pulled back, her smile lingered.

“I love you,” she said softly.

You smirked. “Is that because of the tattoos or despite them?”

“Because, obviously,” she teased. “But also because you’re warm, and you smell good, and you laugh when you think no one’s listening. And because you remember your sister’s favorite flower.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. You looked away for a second to steady yourself.

“Hey,” she said gently, fingers curling under your chin to guide your eyes back. “It’s okay.”

“I just… I didn’t know how much I needed a day like this.”

“Me neither.”

You pulled her even closer until she was practically molded into you, legs tangled, blanket snug. The world could’ve ended outside and you probably wouldn’t have noticed.

After a long, soft silence, Sabrina murmured, “Do you think I’d suit a tattoo?”

You smiled. “Yeah, but only a tiny one. Something cute and subtle.”

She grinned. “Like a little star?”

“Or a little knife,” you deadpanned. “To match the chaos.”

She smacked your arm lightly, laughing. “Rude.”

“But accurate.”

She looked up again, her head resting on your chest like it belonged there— it does. “Do you ever regret any of them?”

You shook your head. “Not a single one. They’re like a roadmap. Every mark’s a story. Even the sad ones remind me that I lived through it.”

Sabrina’s smile softened. “That’s kind of beautiful.”

“You’re kind of beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes but blushed anyway, hiding her face in your neck.

You exhaled slowly, your body sinking deeper into the cushions and into her.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about anything else. Not tomorrow, not worries, not your phone buzzing on the coffee table. Just her, in your arms, while the rain kept falling like a lullaby meant just for the two of you.

[brinasheqrt]

i love you! @wol-fica

hi hello i’ve been looking for sabrina fics and do u know any? like on wattpad or here ive alr read juno on wattpad but idk what else to read

hiya!!!

there’s a handful of wonderful writers on here that do incredible sabrina stories all the time :) a few of my favorites are

@brinasheqrt - does some incredible fluff and gentle sab stories, i love her writing (and her ♥️)

@ruebossanova - is currently doing a bunch of little drabble combos, i thoroughly enjoy how they write their more intimate scenes out

@lacyspressotv - read a little overthinking sab fic they did, very much enjoyed <3

@urjustsosweet - just read their fic called “whisked away” and i love i love i love sappy sab so much omgggggg

@j-dio - has a handful of sab fics i fawned over again just last night!

for wattpad, theirs a story on there called Almost Love Is Nonsense which is reallyyyyy good and has some pretty consistent updates, should give it a try!

[brinasheqrt]

new fic ready for you tomorrow <3

[brinasheqrt]

i love @wol-fica so much

guys i love @brinasheqrt

[brinasheqrt]

sabrina got harassed by paparazzis or at the backstage of her concert (or amother place u can think of) and feels a bit nervous and uneasy, and she needs reader to comfort her?? (preferably masc!reader)

Safe

summary - request!

warnings - none.

wc - 2.2k

You’d parked in the usual spot outside the studio—half-shaded, tucked between two concrete pillars, and far enough away from the main doors to avoid attention. The tinted windows did most of the work, but it was still hot, even with the engine idling.

Sabrina had texted you twenty minutes ago:

“running over, almost done. promise.”

It wasn’t unusual. When she got into a creative groove, especially in a writing session, time stopped existing. You didn’t mind. Your playlist had been looping quietly, and you were scrolling through photos from your last trip together, smiling at the memory of her squinting into the sun with your sunglasses on crooked.

But when the studio doors opened, you could tell something was off.

She stepped out quickly, head down, one hand gripping her tote bag tighter than usual. A flash went off across the street.

Then another.

Paparazzi.

You straightened up in the driver’s seat instantly.

“Sabs…” you muttered under your breath, hand moving toward the door handle, but she hadn’t seen you yet. Two guys—cameras slung around their necks—were already walking toward her, quick.

“Sabrina, smile for us!”

“You dating that girl we saw you with last week?”

“One photo?!”

“What happened with Barry?!”

You saw her flinch at the last question.

The man’s voice was loud, too loud, and her pace quickened. She wasn’t saying anything—just beelining for the car. You threw the door open and stepped out.

“Back off,” you called, tone sharp, shoulders square. The click of their cameras didn’t stop, but they slowed a little when they saw you approaching.

Sabrina’s eyes found yours and instantly softened.

“Baby,” she said, half-breathless as she reached you.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist and guiding her toward the car. “Just ignore them. I’m here.”

They didn’t follow, not closely, but the damage was done. You could feel the tension in her body as she climbed into the passenger seat, fingers trembling slightly as she tugged the door shut. You made sure to shoot the men one final warning look before getting in and pulling out of the spot.

It was quiet for a while, except for the low hum of the road under your tires.

You glanced at her.

She was staring out the window, biting her lip. Her hands were fidgeting in her lap—playing with the ‘SC’ ring she always wore, twisting it over and over.

“Sabrina,” you said gently, reaching across to rest your hand over hers.

She blinked and looked down, like she’d only just realized what she was doing.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “That was stupid.”

“Hey.” You squeezed her hand. “Don’t do that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t think they’d be there,” she said quietly. “I usually wait for someone to come out with me, but everyone was still in the booth and I just… I don’t know, I wanted to go home.”

Your eyes softened. “Of course you did.”

She fell silent again. Her jaw was tight now, and when you stopped at a red light, you noticed her foot tapping anxiously against the floor mat. The kind of twitchy movement that only came when she was trying to hide her nerves.

You reached for her hand again and laced your fingers through hers.

“Talk to me.”

Her throat bobbed. “I hate when they yell stuff like that. Like they’re entitled to know everything.”

“They’re not,” you said. “And you don’t owe them anything.”

She didn’t speak for a moment, but you felt her squeeze your hand tighter.

“I used to be good at brushing it off,” she murmured. “But lately it’s been… harder. I don’t know if that makes me soft or sensitive or—”

“It makes you human.”

Your voice was steady. Calm. You knew she needed that right now—something to anchor her.

You pulled into your driveway a few minutes later and shifted the car into park. You didn’t rush her out. Instead, you turned to face her, your fingers still threaded with hers.

“Want to go inside?” you asked gently.

She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the house, then back to you. “Can we just… sit for a second?”

“Of course.”

You leaned your head back against the seat and turned the AC up slightly. The silence between you was comfortable now—held together by the quiet strength of your presence and the way you hadn’t let go of her hand once.

Finally, she broke it.

“I hate how it makes me feel after,” she whispered, voice so small you barely heard it. “Like I’m being watched even when I’m not. Like something’s gonna jump out.”

You looked over at her—really looked—and saw the tightness in her shoulders, the way her chest was rising and falling a little too fast, the tremble in her lip she was trying so hard to hide.

You reached over and cupped her cheek.

“Come here.”

She didn’t hesitate. She unbuckled her seatbelt and slid across the center console clumsily until she was in your lap, arms slipping around your neck, face pressed into your shoulder.

You held her. Strong and steady.

Her breath hitched once—then again—and you felt it: the way her fingers clenched at your jacket, the soft, shaken sound she made as the adrenaline started to wear off and her nerves cracked open a little.

You kissed her temple.

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Her body trembled slightly, but she didn’t pull away. You cradled her like she was glass. You ran your hand up and down her back, soothing and slow.

“They don’t get to have you,” you whispered. “They can take a picture, shout all they want—but you’re still yours. Always.”

She nodded against your shoulder.

“I didn’t like the way one of them looked at me,” she admitted. “Like he knew something he didn’t. Like I was…”

“Objectified,” you finished for her softly.

She nodded again.

You exhaled, pulling her tighter. “I hate that you had to feel that. I hate that they try to make you smaller.”

“You make me feel safe,” she whispered.

Your hand paused on her back. “Yeah?”

She nodded, face still tucked into your neck.

“I always feel better when I’m with you. Like nothing bad can reach me.”

You kissed the top of her head and let that sit between you.

“Let’s go inside,” you murmured after a while. “You need to be wrapped in a blanket and buried in my hoodie.”

That earned the tiniest laugh from her—a real one. She leaned back enough to look at you, eyes glassy but warm now.

“And snacks?”

“Obviously.”

She kissed your cheek, soft and grateful. “Thank you for always being there.”

“Always,” you echoed. “No matter what.”

⸻

Inside, she sat on the couch, bundled in your favorite hoodie, the sleeves way too long on her. Her legs were curled up beneath her, and her makeup—what was left of it—was smudged under her eyes, but she looked softer now. Less wound up. Calmer.

You set a cup of tea down in front of her and sat beside her, resting your hand on her thigh. She immediately laced her fingers with yours again.

The room was quiet. No cameras. No shouting.

Just you.

After a while, she looked over at you with that vulnerable kind of gaze—one she only gave you when the walls came down completely.

“You don’t think I’m weak?” she asked, voice hesitant.

You shook your head instantly. “Never.”

“I just… I hate that I still get scared. That I still carry it with me, even after I’m home.”

You leaned in and kissed her forehead, then her cheek.

“Courage isn’t never being scared,” you said quietly. “It’s being scared and getting through it anyway. And you do. Every time.”

She stared at you for a long moment—then curled into your side, head resting against your chest.

“Can we just stay like this?” she mumbled.

“For as long as you want.”

You let the quiet stretch out, your thumb brushing over the back of her hand, grounding her. And when she finally drifted off—still curled into you, breathing steady—you knew she felt safe again.

And that was all you ever wanted.