#/thanks for everyone that followed me back

[reignpage]

Piercer!Geto

Ducati 350 Desmo : rev my engine

Contents: 18+ mdni, huge foreplay, teasing, insight into that one text between modern au!Suguru and reader, inappropriate workplace behaviour, not proofread (literally wrote this just now and felt an urge to post immediately)

A giggle escapes you. 

Your boss just texted you to come to his office for a consultation on a possible tattoo. And you’re biting your lip, walking over to his door, weaving around the different stations of your fellow co-workers who simply grin at you. They have eyes, they can see he treats you differently, see that he’s softer, more patient around you. 

And they definitely see the blush that stains your cheeks every time he winks at you or breezes past. You just hope they can’t see you press your thighs together when he places his large hand on the small of your back and whisper an ‘excuse me, pretty’ in your ear.

It’s a little silly to be getting so worked up over your boss — your sister would certainly not approve, but she’s not much better than you — but your boss is tall, dark and handsome. Anyone in your position would feel the same way. 

You hear him say ‘come in’ when you knock, so you slip inside and close the door with a nervous smile. Suguru is sat behind his desk, hair tied up into a bun at the back, flicking through a portfolio. His leather jacket is strung on the back of his chair, tight black shirt clinging to his lean but muscular body in a way that makes you jealous. 

“Hey, boss.” Your voice has a slight waver to it, a nervous tremor that catches his attention. He looks up through his thick lashes, a small smile pulling at his lips. Beckoning you to sit across from him, he leans back in his chair, seemingly taking in your figure. 

Thank goodness you stole your sister’s pink sweater with a low v-line dipping to your cleavage. The simmering look he gives you makes facing her wrath so worth it. 

Sitting down, you clasp your hands in your lap. You’ve been in his office many times, but those were quick moments: giving him coffee, informing him of an emergency or a sudden cancellation, grabbing something from his shelves. But you’ve never quite sat and basked in the slight vanilla smell in the air, never been on the opposite side of his desk like a client, and you’ve certainly never faced his flirtations head-on like this. 

Suguru sits up, leaning on his elbow and tilting his head at you with a patient smile. A lock of hair follows with him and you want to feel it. Gosh, his hair looks so pretty. You wonder if it’s as silky as it looks. 

“How have you been finding working here, Y/n? I hope you’re finding it easy enough to balance your studies with your part-time job.”

You pout at the paternal tone he’s taken on. “It’s great. Everyone is so nice. No matter how many times I mess up, no one gets mad at me. Everyone’s so patient, I really feel at home.”

He nods, smile widening ever so slightly. “Good, good. I’m glad to hear that.”

The pink polish on your pointer finger is flaking off as you scratch. You’re fidgeting, suddenly feeling alert and aware of every movement, every shuffle outside the door as people walk past. It feels wrong to be hidden away like this with everyone still working just behind that door. It isn’t even locked. 

“So,” Suguru begins, a teasing lilt to his voice, “you want a tattoo.”

“I want to be tattooed by you,” you hurriedly correct. Why did you do that? That sounded so desperate. You wince but he only smiles wider, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

You’re too obvious. 

Suguru opens a drawer and places the leather sketchbook you found the other day. It’s thick, with scraps of paper poking out, and held together by an elastic band. The only thing in his entire office, and in his entire studio, that is messy. It feels scandalous, like you saw a peek through his soul and he had let you. Your heart clenches. So does your pussy. 

Nope.

Behave, you tell your body.

When you catches his gaze, he motions you over to his side. So you stand, pulling your short skirt down as discreetly as possible, and round his desk. This feels even more scandalous. You’re on the boss’ side, seeing the world from his perspective. He’s still sat down whilst you stand beside him, shuffling on your feet awkwardly. 

Then he pushes his chair back ever so slightly to give you space to lean forward and look at the page he’s opened. It’s of the dragon you saw. A pearly white, elegant looking creature with captivating yellow eyes. Its body is twisted, curling as it takes flight, rising through the heavens. You had no idea tattoos could be so beautiful. 

“I’m happy to broaden your perspective, pretty girl,” he replies. 

You hadn’t even realise you said it out loud. You blush again. 

You’re looking down on him, and he’s leaning back in his chair, legs spread in the loose trousers he wears, but it’s settled on his thick thighs, revealing the delectable muscles there and the bulge you’re trying not to look at. 

When you glance back up at him, he’s pressing his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh. Heat rises up your neck to your face. You should be fired.

Clearing your throat, you point to the dragon. “I want that one.”

“Yeah?” He’s studying you, no doubt trying to determine if you’re worthy. “Can you handle being tattooed, pretty? You’ll have needles poking you, will you manage?”

It’s clear he’s trying to test your limits, which is fair because you don’t have a single tattoo, unlike everyone else in the studio. You stand out with all your pastels and pinks contrasting with the sharp metals and ink of the place. But Suguru thinks you’re a scaredy cat. He thinks you’d tap out immediately and cry home about how he was too rough or too mean. 

You raise a brow, trying to imitate that arrogant look your sister always has. “I think I’ll be able to handle whatever you give me,” and then you add, almost like an afterthought, “boss.”

Always smiling, Suguru lifts a hand and curls two fingers. You shuffle between his spread legs, slotting in so perfectly it makes the tips of your breasts tingle. It’d be so easy to just kneel between them, to take out that part of him you’ve been dreaming of since he interviewed you, and ask for his cum like a good girl. Or better yet, to just plop yourself down on his lap and ride him to oblivion. 

You don’t do either, of course. 

It’d be wrong to do any of that with your boss, though you’re sure you wouldn’t regret a thing. But you have no experience with men. Your fingers, and a couple times a pillow, have been your only company on night where the frustration has boiled over. 

Suguru runs his gaze up the length of your body, from the smooth thighs peaking from your skirt, to your waist, to the nipples pebbling under your thin sweater, and the curves rounding out beyond the neckline, your neck, and your face. Then back down again. 

You gulp. 

There are phantom grazes running along your skin, tickling your skin wherever it goes. It’s making you ache between your legs and you want to rub yourself along his thigh, or his face, or both. How is he doing that?

Slowly, like a panther stalking its prey, he straightens his posture and his hand lifts. You’re both watching his fingertips graze the side of your thigh at a snail’s pace, as if intent on carving the feeling of your skin to memory. 

Your heart is pounding in your ribcage, threatening to burst out and dance on his desk. It’s pulsing at a beat that matches the down at the apex of your thighs. Can he hear it?

His eyes meet yours. His smile is gone. That cool temperament has disappeared, replaced with a strain in his eyes, in the way it flickers between yours. And when you gasp as his fingers reach the hem of your tight skirt, feeling the soft pudge, his eyes narrow. 

“Where do you want it?”

Through the haze, you barely hear what he’s saying. You stutter out, “Anywhere you want, boss.”

That was the wrong thing to say apparently because in a flash he’s standing behind you, pinning your hips to the desk with his own. Oh goodness, his body feels so firm against yours. And he smells so good, like thrill and danger wrapped in one. 

Your head falls back against his chest when his hands grip your hips, fingers splaying over your tummy, so close to where you want them but still not close enough.  

His lips scrape the shell of your ear and his deep timbre enters you and vibrates your very being. “Be careful, angel. I might just brand you everywhere.”

Head tilting to the side, you’re gasping at him. “Brand?”

You breathed it out like it was the dirtiest word in the English vocabulary, like he had just suggested he spit in your mouth in front of the clients. But when you make eye contact, he raises his hand to lift your sweater just a little, thumb settling on your bare skin, all warm from the blood rushing through you. 

You’re growing dizzy, so lightheaded you hardly remember where you even are. That must be why he has an impression that looks so innocent, like he hadn’t said anything at all. You’re mistaken. The rush is ruining your perception. 

Suguru leans down and he’s so close, you’re just a tiptoe away from feeling his lips against yours, from tasting him and exploring anything and everything he’s willing to give. His hands are burning his imprints and you already know you’ll feel them later when you’re no doubt sliding your own hand into your soaked panties. 

But then he pulls away just as there’s a knock at his door. 

You hear Miguel’s muffled voice and you scramble back from Sugar, who’s gracefully sitting back down like nothing’s happened. Your mind is frantically trying to catch up, and it leaves you breathless. 

Stumbling over to the door, you fix your sweater and pull down your skirt hurriedly before opening the door to see the man polite smile at you and then at the boss. 

He enters and you exit, the door remains open. But when you sneak one last glance at the room, you see Miguel admiring something on the wall, and then you catch Suguru’s heated gaze, his stare not faltering even as he presses a hand to his crotch and adjusts himself like a promise. 

You walk back to your desk at the front of the shop and desperately try to catch your breath just in time as a pink-haired man you recognise as being a member of the student council and a friend of your sister introduces himself and ask to see Suguru on a ‘personal matter’.   

It’s as if you’re moving on auto-pilot, nodding with a polite smile and gesturing to the direction of his office unnecessarily because the man’s already walking off. Your phone pings and you open it to see a text from your friend about how she’s on her way. 

You exhale one last time, replying something to her and ignoring the embers flickering on the places your boss has touched. 

And then you giggle. 

[district4loading]

Pathetic

Twice Sana x Male Reader

4k words

Content Warning: smut, cheating, mix of degrading and praise

Minors DNI

A/N: First of all I wanna say thank you so much for the support on my latest fic! It motivates me to put out more for you guys and I really appreciate it.

So so so sorry to the person that wanted female reader next, I PROMISE its coming. This is just some smut that was in my drafts, i figured I'd post it while I write the next fic I plan on uploading.

This is cut from a longer fic I wrote a little bit ago. I won't be posting the entire thing because I took alot of inspiration from a different fic I read. Not the smut though, the smut is all my writing so that's why I'm sharing it with you all.

(Also when I mention "Kim Minji" I'm talking about Jiu from Dreamcatcher.)

-

"You're pathetic"

-

One bad night was all it took, an argument with your wife over the way you looked at the intern at work earlier that day. You swore you weren't looking because 'no co-workers' was the rule in your open marriage and you would always honor that. Even if it wasn't, you knew that they didn't like each other so it'd be nothing short of betrayal to fuck someone who hated your wife. So no matter how incredible the girl looked in her short dresses and her tiny mini skirts, she was forbidden fruit.

Minji couldn't trust you though, she knew your type and could spot that look in your eye from a mile away. So she waited until you both got home to confront you about it. Of course, you denied even looking the interns way—a lie, might I add—then it turned into a screaming match, the hatred she had for her subordinate much more prevalent in her fiery eyes.

It ended with a slam of your bedroom door and the expectation that you'd sleep on the couch that night, which you did.

That's basically how you spent the following weekend, not talking to each other and only being painfully cold and passive aggressive when you did. You never liked to fight, it always felt so cold and empty, sleeping in different rooms waiting for the other to apologize. Days had passed, still barely any communication as your weekend fight bled into the weekdays. At work you kept things cordial, still not communicating much at all.

Everyone could tell, people at work could tell, there was a certain coldness in the both of you. You two were similar in that way, being extra shitty to your co-workers when things weren't going well at home. That and the fact that you chose to eat alone at lunch rather than with her.

You were in your office spending your lunch eating some ordered fast food while trying to catch up to a deadline when you heard your door open. Assuming it's one of your assistants you say "I'm on my lunch break, come back in thirty" without even looking up from your computer.

In your peripheral vision, you see the person instead step into your office and close the door behind them. Actually looking up this time, you open your mouth to speak, but the words fail to come out. It's the intern, Sana and she looks incredible. Her hair is straight and black today, very different from her usual brown wavy look but she pulled it off all the same. She wore a cute black dress, its material velvet and its collar white with three cute silver buttons down the midline. Then your eyes drift to her legs. Bare, pale and slim, not to mention there wasn't a bruise, scab or blemish in sight.

"Minatozaki, if you're looking for Mrs. Kim, she should be in her office" You throat goes dry, immediately noticing the interns quick move to lock the door behind her, a mischievous grin on her face.

"She's my boss, I know where she is. If I was looking for her, I would've went to her" Sana rolls her eyes and approaches your desk, leaning forwards to place her palms flat against the maple wood, straightening her arms as well. You look above your desktop, meeting her eyes for a split second before hearing alarms ringing distantly in the back of your mind.

You dart your eyes back to the paper you were working on then you gather up the thread of authority you have left to say "I can't imagine there would be anything you'd want from me, we work in completely different departments and.." You make eye contact for a moment "No disrespect but you're just an intern, so if you could please unlock the door and see your way out.." You say it so non chalantly, almost catching her confident demeanor shift at your passive aggressive tone.

Sana chews on her bottom lip for a bit "Oh don't be like that Mr. L/n..." She fake pouts, acting as if she's oh-so upset about your tone and in a way it was sexy. It's the way she drags out the words all slow in that sweet voice of hers, God it's killing  you. "I just noticed that Mrs. Kim's been extra bitchy this week... you know, at first I thought maybe she's on her period but then I noticed you two are barely talking to each other. Trouble in Paradise?" She asks, circling around your desk to stand beside you.

You look over with a fake polite grin on your face, making the grave mistake of rolling your chair back and turning it so you could face her. "That's really none of your business"

"Oh please, your open marriage is everybody's business" Sana chuckles for a moment and she leans down, holding herself up on the armrests of your chair. You mean to scoot the chair back as far as it can go, stand up and demand that she leave with your voice stern but instead you freeze. You fucking freeze, realizing how close she is and those ringing alarms from before? They turn into blaring sirens "So, why don't you tell me what happened? Whose fault is it? Yours or hers? She fuck someone she's not supposed to?"

It takes you a second to blink, then you swallow hard as you feel your body begin to burn, that nervous heat in your armpits. You catch a whiff of her perfume and it's fucking heavenly, some warm mix of vanilla and maybe cinnamon. Then her face, her beautiful face, one that could've only been hand sculpted by God himself. Her pink lipgloss only making her plump lips look all the more delectable and—fuck you're staring way too hard. "Listen, you're - you're way too close right now"

Sana leans down even closer and conveniently, if you were to look a few millimeters down, you'd be able to see her cleavage pouring out of her dress. "I'm just as close as I need to be, Sir" She says and there's that smirk again, that fucking smirk, the one that says 'I know i've got this mother fucker right where I want him' Now there's a thumping sound that begins filling your ears and it takes a second for you to realize it's your heart.

"I'm married, you should know this is very inappropriate and- "

A whimper escapes your lips the moment she makes a move to straddle your legs. "You're in an open relationship, so this..." She puts her hands on your shoulders "Is fine"

"We have certain boundaries, certain rules that aren't to be broken.. it's what makes us work"

She pokes her bottom lip out and looks at you through her lashes "Am I a boundary?"

"Of course you are! I know you and my wife aren't exactly the best of friends and to be frank, you're a stuck up, entitled brat who seriously needs a fucking reality check" You tell her and for the first time it actually sounds as if you have some sort of backbone but Sana doesn't flinch, make a face or get upset.

She just tilts her head "If i'm so bad, then why am I still on your lap?" She pauses, then looks down observing exactly how your body has betrayed you "And why are you hard?" She asks with a false-innocent tone, God you hated when she used that voice because she just sounded so stupidly sexy. She leans in closer to you, just by your ear "How about you give me a reality check" Her breath is warm as it brushes past your ear lobe.

Then you lose it, like actually lose it. Your hands find their way to her waist and you squeeze, hard enough that it elicits a sharp gasp from her. You pull her forwards and your bodies are now closer than ever, she leans down, arms wrapped loosely around your neck before your lips are pressed together. It's nothing like a rom-com, where the two main characters kiss and suddenly fireworks go off and it's magical and wholesome. No, this was pure raw lust, so strong that if it had a scent, the room would fucking reek of it.

Your lips move together so messily—sloppily as if you're genuinely trying to absolutely devour each other. Sana shoves her tongue into your mouth and you can taste her lipgloss, sweet strawberries, so intoxicating it all made your vision start to blur like a lucid dream. But this is no dream, this is real and the it's the sinful desire that makes it feel so good.

Now she's rocking her hips, whining and humming into your mouth as you suck each others lips swollen. She kisses your cheek and then deviates all the way down to your neck. You sigh a pleasureful breath "I shouldn't be doing this" You mutter, but make no effort to push her off.

She slides back then works on unbuttoning your shirt. "But you want to, I know you do" Her tongue darts out to wet her lips even more than they already were as she focused on getting your shirt off "God, how many fucking buttons.." She whispers to herself with a hot frustration.

This is wrong. You know it's wrong, hell your mind is yelling at you, sending an army of receptors to stimulate your brain to form a coherent rejection. Something mean enough that'll make this evil seductress leave the your office crying. It doesn't work in the slightest, you can't control the way you grip her waist or the way your head stirs from the feeling of being under her.

Sana finally finishes opening your button up "How'd I know you'd have a perfect body?" She mumbled, allowing her cute black nails to scrape against the hard surface of your chest and torso. Your hands drifted, eager to finally get a feel of those legs you've been leering at since day one. They were even softer than you imagined, you grabbed them softly, refraining from digging your fingernails into them. You just couldn't bring yourself to ruin such beautiful skin just yet.

"Sana" You say her name, low and deep, still not taking your eyes off of the way her thighs seem so tiny in your hands. With one hand still on her thigh, your dominant one slides up her dress and you pull her so called panties to the side. The material feels so thin and lacy, you couldn't even for sure call it underwear. "You're already dripping for me" You announce, sliding the pad of your middle finger up and down her slit, just slightly parting her lips so that it can graze against her clit ever so slightly when you reach the top. Her body jerks as you do, a tight gasp escaping her lips.

She's grinding on the pad of your fingers now and you're just watching—observing how she was so desperate, so needy for you. For you. She needed you to do something so badly but you wouldn't yet. It was frustrating her, of course but she just refused to open her mouth to say something so you do "Go ahead Sana, beg for it, tell me exactly what you want" You say it softly, slight rasp in your voice only adding to her burning arousal.

It takes her a moment before she can actually communicate words that didn't sound like pathetic whines. Still, moving her hips on your now stationary hand she mutters "I d-don't beg." She says it so weakly without even an ounce of conviction in her tone. What a fucking brat. You slip your hand from under her dress and they're on her waist again, then you pull her forwards and sit her directly over the rock hard bulge between your legs. She gasps, wet core directly on your clothed cock and when she moves to grind she realizes she can't because you are holding her still.

"You know, my lunch break will be over in a little under 20 minutes. Then people will be in and out of here like clock work and you?" You pause, taking a second to admire her beautiful face. From those pink pouty lips all the way to those dark and lustful eyes. "You'll be walking out of here un-touched and so wet that it's leaking down your thighs" You chuckle for a moment and shake your head "Is that what you want Sana?"

"mm-mm" She shakes her head, then looks deep into your eyes as if the thought of walking out of your office unsatisfied was the worst possible thing that could ever happen in life. "Please Sir, please - I need you inside of me please, please Sir"

You push her back a bit, then slide your dominant hand back under her dress. Your fingers come back into contact with her core and she's looking at you, her eyes begging-pleading for you to take her right here, right now in your office. Ever so slowly, you push your middle and ring fingers inside. She took them easy, a long whine escaping her lips when you curl your fingers "Fuck - thank you sir, thank you, thank you, thank you—" She's chanting in short breaths, her eyes screwing shut the moment you begin to pump in and out.

It's so wet, the sticky sound echoing throughout the otherwise empty office. Her walls hugged you tightly, only making your cock throb even more in your pants when you realized that you were going to be inside of her. Inside of this perfect fucking pussy. "So fucking tight, baby" You mutter as she mirrors your movements, grinding down on your fingers. She's moaning and whining so loud you think someone will hear, but you don't care anymore. Sana looks amazing like this, like she's made for this. To be on your fingers, rutting like a needy slut on top of you as she tries to get them much deeper than they could go.

"Oh - Fuck yes... just like that sir" She cuts herself off with a gasp "That feels so fucking good" You're allowing the pad of your fingers to press against her g-spot and you can tell its driving her crazy. By the way she's moving her hips and squeezing your arms for leverage, she's fucking loving this. Everything about Sana is just obscene. From the way she curses in that filthy tone to the way she's shamelessly

Now her breathing is erratic, like she's about to have a panic attack or faint, and you can feel her walls massaging you. "Are you gonna cum already?" You mutter almost in awe as you stare at her beautiful face. She was so pretty with her eyes closed and her head hung from the embarrassment of being so needy and horny. Then she was soaking, her arousal running down your fingers.

"I - fuck sir - please" She tries to respond, nodding frantically as she begins moaning unabashedly in your face. Her breath warm and shaky as it escapes her lips "Ah - Please make me cum sir, please make me fucking cum" Sana's begging now, pridefully without any kind of shame even though she was in a really shameful position. Riding her superior's fingers on his lap in his office where there's a big ass window in the door. If someone looked through at the right angle, she would've been caught and she knew that. Hell, she gets off on it.

The stirring in your pants gets more persistent, more impatient and it's fucking aching. So you slide your fingers out and for a moment, Sana's still whining and grinding, her fucked out brain still not registering the loss of touch yet. You grab her legs and stand up, then you place her on the desk, right next to your computer and you begin unzipping your pants. "Oh fuck yes daddy please give me your cock" She bites her bottom lip and gives you a look and it almost makes you growl.

Your pants are at your ankles along with your boxers and you're pulling her closer, her legs loosely wrapping around your waist. "You're a real fucking slut" You grab her face, squeezing her cheeks so her lips sort of smush together. In your grip, she nods the best she can, a hot 'mm-hmm' leaving her throat. There's a moment you take to just look into her eyes, the way her eyebrows were upturned, the look of pure fucking want in her eyes. God it was ruining you.

"I can be your personal slut if you'd like, sir" She says it like she's pleading after you let go of her face. Then you hike her dress up a bit more and you're finally lining yourself up. You press the fat tip against her entrance and she winces and looks down. She's holding onto your arms to brace herself "Fuck, it's so big - want you to fucking stretch me"

God she's so filthy, in the way she speaks, moves and stares at you it's unbelievable and you fucking love it. You know you should hate it, you should be disgusted with her. Practically throwing herself at a married man all to spite his wife, her boss at that. You should fucking hate her for the things she's said to Minji and the fact that she hates her. But you just can't get over her body, the way she walks, the way she talks, the way she does fucking anything with that pretty face of hers.

You slide your cock into of her entrance ever so slowly, immediately feeling the tight grip of her warm walls. "Holy shit" You groan and Sana's gone silent, her jaw slack as she looks up and directly into the white light in the ceiling with her eyebrows furrowed. "So - fucking - tight" Your teeth are clenched as you're grunting finally making it all the way to the hilt.

Then you stop for a moment, pulling her even closer "You're so fucking deep i - please fuck me sir, please" You do exactly as she says, pulling your hips back just to thrust all the way back in and she lets out a moan so guttural that it had to have been stuck the back of her throat. Then you're in more of a rhythm, fucking the tight, smooth hole that she's just letting you have. "That's right - fucking use me - oh God"

She's more than just enjoying herself and you're both moaning way louder than you should be. But everything's just too much, because you're a thousand degrees, sweaty and tousled. You can't smell it but you know the room reeks of that pungent aroma, one that could only be recognized for what it was—what it could only be. Sex.

You lean over, resting your head in the crook of her neck so that your lips can come into contact with the salty flesh. "You feel so fucking good - God" You mumble on her skin, licking, kissing, sucking all to make everything feel all the more overstimulating to her. It was something you never thought you'd ever say, but she felt the best out of almost any girl you've ever been with. There was something uniquely warm, tight and moist about her that you've never felt before.

"Yeah - Yeah - Yeah - please don't stop sir, please keep fucking me like that." You can't get enough of her, you wouldn't even stop if you wanted to. Then you're reaching your hand down, tongue still licking her neck as you press your fingers against her swollen clit. The poor thing was practically begging for attention before you got to it. You circled your fingers around it in a way which matched your thrusts.

Now Sana was really seeing stars, like actual stars, her vision even going black at some points. You knew you had her when you first felt her legs begin to shake, then the rhythmic pulsing inside. You lightly bite her ear "There you go baby, cum for me" You whisper so hotly that it's got her right on the edge.

"Yeah" She whispers, her voice shaking breathily and then she gets louder "G-Gonna - Fuck" It's erratic, the way she's moving so rigidly and the insane grip you have on her waist isn't doing any favors. "You're gonna make me cum, you're gonna make me fucking cum" Sana's nodding her head.

Then her back is arched, pushing her chest into yours and she's toppling over the edge. Her moans beautifully silent, caught in her throat as her body stutters and shakes erratically. "That's a Good girl, Sana" You encourage her, knowing that she'd love the praise.

Once she recovers, you don't slow down, in fact you're speeding up almost choking as you now recognize how pent up and sensitive you are. Like you could explode any fucking minute. You know it and Sana does from the way you're heaving and panting like a beat dog. The way your face is red, and then the serious concentration. She squeezes her legs tighter around your waist "Please cum in me sir - wanna feel you filling me up" She moans erotically.

You shiver at this, hearing the words come out of her mouth so fucking easily.. "I can't" Are the only words you can mutter without your voice breaking, it's almost humiliating. But she wants it, she wants it so bad.

"Yes you can" She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you close, her mouth near your ear now. "Come on daddy, breed me. Mark your fucking territory" she eggs you on in that perfect voice of hers and you almost fucking malfunction. This girl is so dangerous. You mean to pull out, you really do but all of a sudden you can't make yourself stop when you begin shooting your load inside. Fucking it deep inside of her womb, like really deep and she's moaning so loud as if she's the one cumming. She's getting off on it.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, God knows how long with your heads empty and your bodies sweaty. When you finally pull out, your cock already soft. Sana giggles a bit, then pulls her panties back over her raw cunt and she slowly slides herself off of your desk. You're pulling your pants up, fixing your belt and then your button up as she tidy's up her dress. "I shouldn't have done that" You sigh, immediately feeling the regret hit you like a truck now that the lust has withered away.

"Come on, it's not like your marriage is exclusive"

You sit in your chair, leaning forwards as you bury your hands in your face, smelling Sana on them. "We have fucking rules Sana, and i broke them all" You're thinking about what you'll tell Minji, how badly this'll probably fucking hurt her. Way to go, you went ahead and fucked a load into the only girl your wife hates. The one you promised that she didn't have to worry about. Sana opens her mouth to say something else but you don't want to hear it "Please get out and... don't tell anybody about this"

"Okay" She says, but she says it sarcastically, like she doesn't take you seriously. You get up from your chair as she puts her hand on the door knob "I'm fucking serious, Sana. Nobody, not your friends, not our co-workers and certainly not-"

"Mrs. Kim?" She finishes your thought, tilting her head. "You're pathetic, let go of me" She scoffs then snatches her arm from your hands then continues to exit your office. You exhale deeply, and you punch the wall, not hard enough to leave a hole but hard enough to leave a bruise. So you immediately regret it, shaking the hand you used.  Sana was right, you were pathetic.

"This can't happen again" You tell yourself out loud as if it'll make your words true.

It doesn't.

[interruptedtrance]

Bet (carlos x reader x lando)

Smut; 18+

word count: 2,8k

contains: buttplugs (prep for anal), anal, hand on neck/slight choking, nicknames (baby/ good girl), (calling lando daddy), mirror sex, jealous lando

carlos won a game of golf against lando, so this is his prize

thank you everyone for following, and making me hit 100 followers!! i truly didn't think i could achieve, my first milestone in only 56 days!

masterlist

“good news or bad news first” lando yells to you as soon as he enters through the door.

quickly you spin around to face him, “what have you done?”

“good news it's carlos”, you give him a confused glance, “bad news, i might have wagered you as the prize in our golf game, and lost” he says so fast you barely understand him.

“what? how did no one ask if i was alright with it?” you cry out in disbelief.

“oh come on, i know you love carlos, i have seen the way you check him out” lando teases. making you exhale in frustration.

“so explain, what exactly was the bet” you challenge, not sure if you want to know the answer.

lando moves closer to you, gently wrapping his hands around your lower back, “that he joins us”

“oh, is that it?” you question, pretending to be disappointed, “maybe he can join more often if he is good” you tease back, tracing his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck, making lando shudder.

“definitely not” he shoots back, his jealous side coming out, “you are mine”

“i am? then why did you wager me?” you mumble through a kiss.

“i thought i would win” he moans, “but baby we will have to get you ready” he groans, slowly walking you to the bed, not daring to break the kiss.

once you make your way into your shared bedroom, you break away from the kiss and climb onto the white fluffy bed, the smell of clean sheets filling your nose.

lando moves in between your legs and gives you a quick peck on the forehead, “let me go and grab the towel” you mumble a small yes in a sign of approval. while lando goes out of the room, to the linen closet you let out a sigh, at least it's carlos, you think to yourself, while shuffling across the bed to get to your nightstand where you keep the lube and toys.

“you ready?” lando questions.

“do i really have a choice?” you ask, while moving towards your boyfriend, snatching a pillow, from the headboard.

a worried expression covers lando's face, “you know you don't have to do anything you don't want to” he says fear showing on his face.

“relax, we have talked about it before, if anyone is joining, i would want it to be carlos” you give him a reassuring smile, “sit down, you need to prepare me”

“yeah, sorry” he smiles shyly, “over my lap?” he questions, making you nod in return. you hand him the pillow, which he puts on his legs and covers with the towel. stretching out his right hand to you, he invites you to lay over his lap, you gladly take his hand, and with the other strip yourself of your underwear, carefully laying down over his lap.

softly stroking your ass, lando questions if you are ready. “yes daddy” you speak, wiggling your butt.

you hear a hitch in lando’s breathing, “you tease” he chuckles "i can see you getting wet”, you mumble a little yeah in return.

“can you help me baby?” he questions without waiting for an answer, “spread yourself open for me” he orders. without much thought you reach over your hands, and spread yourself apart. “good” lando praises.

he grabs the lube bottle, opens it, and squeezes a bit out onto his fingers, spreading it around them. deciding it is not enough lube, he lifts the bottle over your hole and lets a drop fall onto it, the cold temperature, making you moan in return.

“already enjoying it?” he asks, while massaging your lower back with his other hand.

“yeah” you let out a little cry, “please continue”

“as you wish baby” he says, delicately moving his to your entrance, and teasing it a bit. gently moving his finger around the hole, slowly sliding his finger over it, but never entering.

you moan out in protest, “alright, i'll stop teasing” he promises, and gently he probes at your entrance, now applying a bit more pressure, he enters, but only up to the first knuckle making you moan.

“ready for more?” he questions simultaneously pulling out and pushing his finger back in.

“yes daddy”

“good girl” lando praises, now ever so slowly he pushes his finger fully in, making you whine in the process.

you beg, “please move”.

without answering, he obliges to your request and slowly curls his finger in you, pulling another moan from you. without question, he sees that you are open enough, and with a bit more lube, adds another finger into your hole, making you groan in the process. gently he curls his fingers, until he sees you are ready.

“do you think you are ready for your toy?”

“yes daddy”

“alright baby” he says, pulling out his fingers and whipping them onto the corner of the towel. he grabs the glass toy into his palm, to warm it up for a second. “can you stay still and relaxed for me?” he asks while lightly caressing your lower back with his other hand.

you can only nod in return, “you can stop holding yourself open”, so you relax your hands over the side of his legs, gently holding onto his tight. carefully lando moves his hand from your back to generously lube up the plug, once he is done, he moves his hand to you, and spreads you open. “can you deeply inhale for me baby”, so you do, now feeling the tip of the toy at your entrance slowly but at a steady pace entering you.

“just a little bit more” lando confirms, making you nod in return. and finally you feel it, you feel your sphincter stretch out a bit more, and close itself against the base of the toy. “we are done baby, good job” he praises softly massaging the plump flesh of your ass.

“come, stand up” he orders, and begrudgingly you get up from his lap, now feeling the weight of the toy in you, making you shuffle from side to side.

“let me go wash my hands and then we can cuddle” he says, moving the pillow and towel from his lap onto your vanity chair. you carefully climb into bed, cuddling the pillows, waiting for lando to return.

swiftly he returns back, and jumps into bed next to you, pulling you to his chest, and giving your forehead a light kiss. “rest a bit baby, get used to this plug, we will have to use the bigger plug in a bit” making you whine in protest, “i know you don’t like the plugs as much, but i have to prepare you” he speaks, while squeezing you closer together.

“i know lan” you say with a yawn.

“go take a nap” he smiles, kissing your lips.

time skip

“baby wake up, it has been a few hours” you wake up to lando peppering light kisses all over your face.

“five more minutes” you groan in return, turning around to try and get away from him, which in return only makes lando’s arms tighten around you.

“as much as i want to cuddle with you, you know that we need to prep a bit more for tonight” he says while now kissing your shoulder, “i will be as quick as i can, i promise”

you groans of protest fall on deaf ears, as lando maneuvers the pillow from your vanity chair under your hips alongside the towel. now your hips are in the air while you hide your face in another pillow.

lando with a gentle touch caresses your calf, up the tight all the way to you ass, giving it a playful squeeze. you moan, “please just switch the plugs”.

“okay baby” he replies, he stands up from the bed for a minute to grab the bigger plug from a box at the top of your closet, and the lube you have used before.

with utmost care he spreads your cheeks apart, and grabs the base of the plug. with a firm but slow tug, he pulls the widest part of the plug from your sphincter, letting your body adjust for a second, in a gentle movement he removes the rest of it from you, making you wince.

repeating the same steps form earlier, lando applies a bit of lube to his fingers helping you relax your muscles by pushing his fingers in and out of you. he takes the larger glass plug and again warms it up in his hand a bit, before applying lube to it.

“are you ready baby?” he asks, before proceeding further.

“i am”

“alright” he says, placing the rounded tip to your hole, and firmly pushing the toy into place in one move. the stretch from the plug is making you pant, you have taken the larger size before but you are unsure if you'll ever get used to it. to ease the burning feeling, lando softly runs his lubed fingers around your stretched out hole, making you moan in the process.

he removes his hands from you, and grabs the smaller plug with him to the bathroom where he cleans and dries the toy, alongside his hands. returning to the bedroom he places the small plug back in its original place, in the nightstand.

“can we cuddle like before until carlos comes?” you question, giving lando the puppy eyes.

“of course we can” he exclaims, while pulling you closer to him, “do you want to nap a bit more?”

“maybe” you answer with a yawn, nuzzling your head into the side of lando's neck.

“you go and do that baby” he speaks, while lightly dragging his fingers along your spine, lulling you into sleep.

time skip

you feel lando shuffle and move away from you, making you let out a groan of displeasure at the loss of contact.

in your half asleep state, you hear the furniture move, it sounds like someone has moved the ottoman from the end of the bed to somewhere else in the room, but still so tired you don't question anything.

once the shuffling subsides, you feel the bed dip behind you, finally lando is coming back to cuddle, you think to yourself. but you don't smell lando's cologne, nor do you feel his hands tenderly move along your spine, these palms felt larger and more plush.

“wake up cariño" carlos' whispers against your ear, making you smile and turn around to face him, sleep long gone from your mind.

“you are finally here” you say with a laugh, making carlos' smile back.

“oke lovebirds, can we start now” lando speaks impatiently, his jealousy getting worse by the second.

“lando relax, we don't want anyone getting hurt” carlos says, while getting up from the bed and offering you a helping hand, which you gladly take.

you finally notice where the ottoman was moved to, they have moved it to the front of your full length mirror.

“come cariño, sit down” the spaniard demands motioning to the space between the two men. without question, you sit yourself down, looking between the two, unsure as to who will start first.

“cariño, is this something you want to do?”

“yes”

“will you tell us to stop if it gets too much?”

“i will, i promise”

and with the conformation you have given carlos, he moves his arms to your neck, giving it a bit of a squeeze, just enough to pull you into a kiss. lando, from behind you, pulls one of your legs over the ottoman, so now you're straddling the piece of furniture.

“come baby, let me take of your shirt” the brit speaks. only then do you break the kiss with carlos, so lando can rid you of your final article of clothing.

making carlos moan “fuck cariño they are beautiful”.

“thank you” you smile, leaning towards him so you can continue the kiss.

“too bad they are mine” lando states, while running his hands from your hips to your breasts where he gives them a rough squeeze, making you groan into the kiss. firmly he pulls you away, bringing one hand to your face so he can make you face him, and roughly connecting his lips to yours, glaring at the other man.

“lando, you lost, you shouldn't have wagered something so precious” carlos teases, now moving one of his arms below your legs, and the other to your waist, lightly lifting you, and pulling you into his chest, making you whine at the loss of contact between your and your lovers lips.

“look at me cariño”.

giving him the best puppy eyes you mumble “yes”.

“did lando prep you?”

“he did”.

“well than, turn around let me see it” without hesitation your back to him, and lay yourself on your front, never breaking eye contact with your boyfriend. making lando shudder, and carlos groan as soon as he realizes you still have the toy in you.

“can i remove it cariño?”

“yes please” you answer to carlos, never breaking the eye contact with lando, with one hand you motion for him to move closer, which he obliges. gently, while carlos is working the plug out, you move your hands along lando's legs all up to his boxer, where you move them and let his cock spring free, making his breath hitch.

still keeping eye contact, you lightly kiss his cock, from the bottom to the top, making sure to give more attention to his slit. once he moves his hand to grab your hair, you take him fully with one swift motion, making him moan out your name, and tighten the grip on your hair.

meanwhile carlos, with a firm hand, is massaging your ass hoping that you'll be ready for him, carefully he moves a hand to the toy still in you, and starts taking it out, the motion not causing any issues, which he could tell by your continuous head bobbing.

the spaniard stops for a moment, he places the toy gently on the floor, and applies lube to his cock. carefully, like you are made from glass, one hand grabs onto your neck and the other he snakes around your middle, making you stop, before he pulls you up into him.

“come cariño, sit down on me” he orders. and you move up a bit, allowing him to line up to your hole, and slowly you start sinking yourself down on him, making you both groan in pleasure.

once again, you motion to your boyfriend to move closer, thinking nothing of it he kisses you, “no lando” you cry, “i need you in me”, the statement making lando inhale sharply.

“are you sure baby?”

“please” you cry out in desperation, so he obliged, he moves closer waiting for you to lift your hips again a bit, moving your hands to his shoulders, and his alongside carlos to your waist, for you to feel a sense of security. he connects your lips carefully, gently prying one of his hands from your waist to his cock, so he can line himself up, where he enters with one swift movement.

the pleasure of having both of your holes filled makes you let out a breathy moan, dropping your head onto lando's shoulder.

“no, no cariño” carlos complaints, before he reaches for your jaw and turns your head to face the mirror, “you will watch us fuck you”.

and with that both men start moving in unison. you can feel them rubbing against each other, each hitting their respective spot, pulling one moan from you after another. lando brings one of his hands from your waist, to your clit, circling it. carlos, following the younger mans lead, brings one palm to your boobs, lightly tugging and twisting your nipple, his other hand never leaving your jaw, not allowing you to miss a single moment.

with the combined pleasure of both men thrusting in you, lando playing with your clit and carlos with your boobs, you quickly reach your limit, gripping landos shoulders so hard you leave nailmarks in his skin, and let the orgasm wash over you, the guys soon following behind, finishing in you.

once all of you have caught your breath, lando and carlos pull out, making you cry out. your boyfriend gently removes carlos' hands from your body, and wraps his, under your legs, where he carries you to your shared bed, gently laying you down on it and tucking you in.

“carlos it's time to leave” the brit speaks, while throwing carlos' clothing back to him, rushing him to dress and leave.

as soon as the spaniard leaves, or more so gets kicked out by your boyfriend, you hear lando rushing over to you, dropping into bed next to you, hastily wrapping his arms around your middle and nuzzling his face in your back, “i'm never wagering you again”, he promises making you laugh.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hihiiii can i request some shy ekko 🫶 the scenes of him double taking at powder changed the chemistry in my brain and i just need some shy & smitten ekko 😭

When Ekko found himself alone and deep in his thoughts within the solitude of his room, he’s reminiscing and wondering while tinkering with some spare parts lying about upon his workbench, needing something to occupy his empty hands as they began to go to work.

His thoughts were filled to the brim of you only you and while he hadn’t noticed it earlier, being as busy as he was with going out on missions and being responsible for a whole commune of people who followed his lead with wholehearted faith in him, he finds himself smiling at the moments you two shared away from everything else. You’d drag him away from his duties even if it was for five minutes but to Ekko those five minutes with you were more then needed, and he had you to thank for reminding him that he was only human, reminding him that he can rely on others rather then barring the brunt of the weight himself.

‘You’re making progress Ekko.’ You told him once as you were both watching over the commune high above. ‘It may not show itself right now, progress often doesn’t, it will in due time but what matters is that you’re changing Zaun one step at a time and I couldn’t be prouder of you.’ You finished as you took his hand in your own, intertwining your fingers with his as your thumb caressed his softly.

Ekko remembered being touched by your words, glad to know the had your faith and your pride in him, more then he’d ever admit in that moment as all he could see was you as everything else seemed to fade away. At the time he thought he was happy to have his closest friend help him make sense of the fog within his head, however the way Ekko remembered feeling was akin to that of seeing you for the first time.

You were the person he suffered scrapped knees with, bruises with and minor injuries with, only for you to merely laughed them off all the while patching him up. You dared to laugh and smile in the face of fear as you gripped his hand tight, only letting him know of your true fear and hopelessness in the off chance of great adversary. Ekko was the only person you trusted to have your back and he reciprocated those feelings, trusting you with his own life without hesitation. For that was how your relationship with him was built upon trust, respect and loyalty for as long as Ekko could remember, as it had always been you and him in his eyes.

And it will always be you and him until the end, a promise made way back when he shared his vision for Zaun’s future with you on a star lit night.

‘How about this, I’ll promise to help you to bring Zaun to a better place for you, for me, for everyone we help in the future and those who’ll carry the fight long after your dream comes true.’ You tell him as you presented him with your pinky and he playfully scoffs. ‘Pinky promises? Are you five?’ He asks and you nudge him in the side, pushing your pinky finger closer to him.

‘Are you going to continue to make fun of me or take me up on my promise?’ You replied and once again Ekko could only see you, even the stars seemed to frame you perfectly so that he was forced to keep his eyes on you, at a loss for words as he takes in how naturally you looked right then and there before he linked his pinkie with yours.

‘Deal.’ He said as he felt his body become warm upon seeing you beam brightly, your pinky tightening on his.

‘Ekko.’ Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts and his tinkering as he looked over at you, the emotions he felt when reminiscing about your shared past only seemed to be amplified upon seeing you; You weren’t wearing anything ingesting in particular, just your usual attire and his coat that you had stolen from him that very morning, much to Scar’s silent amusement.

Ekko would use the excuse that you’d always stole his clothes whenever Scar tried to gauge just what you were to him, and while that was true Ekko didn’t mind the sight he got whenever you stole off of him, it left a warmth within his chest that he wanted to experience for as long as he could before going back to being leader. A memory that he engraved in his head countless times and yet the sight of you in his coat never fails to make him take a double take at you, feeling that warmth spread throughout his chest as a soft smile graced his lips, he just couldn’t tear his beautiful eyes away from you even if he tried.

‘You okay there boy wonder? Seems like you’ve lost your tongue there.’ You add lightheartedly as you walked further into his room, stopping just when you were beside him, instinctively resting your hand upon his shoulder and squeezing it like you always did when you felt he needed a bit of comfort.

Ekko’s smile widens as he looked back at what he had been making the entire time his head was elsewhere, not wanting you to see what he could only assume was the look of a lovesick boy upon his face, only to see that he had made what looked like something a man deep in love would make with his eyes closed.

It was a forget me not flower.

You raised a brow. ‘You making flowers now Ekko?’ Your voice once again sliced through the silence as he looks at his creation, remembering what you had said those flowers in particular represented; remembrance, devotion, a vow to remember a love that will never be forgotten or lost to time. It was the perfect flower to represent his own feelings towards you but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to give it to you just yet, whether it’s be a rare feeling of shyness or the idea that one flower wasn’t enough to give to you when you deserved a bouquet of them, whichever it was or even both Ekko still wasn’t quite sure wha to lead with.

‘ I guess I am, maybe I should open up shop and start making more of these instead.’ He tries to joke back but the sudden sheepish feeling within his chest made it seem forced, his eyes kept flickering towards you then back to the flower, then back to you again to gauge your feelings through your eyes.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You said softly as you silently asked if you could reach for it, only to have him gesture with his head for you to take it from him.

‘Just like you then.’ Ekko murmured under his breath.

‘What was that?’ You looked to him and Ekko’s eyes went back down to his workbench, his cheeks aflame as he internally fights with himself to say something, after all being this uncharacteristic was only going to send you the wrong message since you were that good in reading him.

‘Nothing, you were imaging things again.’ He shrugged, hoping you’d reply with a sarcastic laugh or something, but you didn’t and before he knew what was going on you were kneeling next to him with concern shining in your eyes. ‘Ekko.’ You say lowly, making him swallow thickly as his eyes lingered on your lips, liking the way his name sounded coming through them. ‘What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.’ You continued as your eyes scoured his face for potential answers for your concern, moving your hand from his shoulder to hold his cheek instead, stroking it.

The feelings were killing Ekko at this point and you being as close as you were to him didn’t help one bit, especially not when he found himself resting his head against yours, closing his eyes as he breathed you in. Forehead touches weren’t something you were deprived of, no you and Ekko touched foreheads often as it was the biggest sign of affection a zaunite could give to one another, but this felt different then the others times in a way that made your heart sing. ‘Ekko?’ You asked again.

‘I’m fine.’ He says in a soft voice, ‘more than fine really.’ He adds as he opens his eyes to look into your own, giving you a sheepish but boyish smile.

You furrowed your brows as you lifted your pinky. ‘Promise?’ You replied and Ekko couldn’t help but chuckle and bring his pinky to interlock with yours, squeezing it reassuringly. ‘Promise, if I had something on my mind I will tell you first.’ He tells you, not liking the fact that he was keeping his truest feelings from you but he didn’t know what else he could do in that moment, he was tripping over his own words and everything as his mind was trying to convey a few simple words that his heart had been feeling for far longer then he had recognised.

He’d tell you how he felt for you soon as he watched you walk out of his room before burring his head into his hands, just not yet. He runs his hands down his face, only to stop in his tracks when he remembers that you still have the forget me not flower he made, never once giving it back to him almost as if you were under the pretended that it was made with you in mind; well it was but was he really that obvious? Could you read him that well? All these questions only made Ekko groan in annoyance, damming himself for suddenly becoming a shy, smitten kitten whenever you were near.

He’d get the words out…sooner or later.

[amirasainz]

Can u do an Oscar x driver!reader fic where she is meeting Oscar’s family for the first time and is really nervous but they got on really well xx ♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

The Piastri family

It was a sunny morning in Melbourne, the kind of day that made everything feel a little too perfect. Yn adjusted her sunglasses nervously as Oscar maneuvered his car through the suburban streets toward his parents' house.

“You’re going to be fine,” Oscar said, glancing at her with a soft smile.

“I’m not so sure,” she muttered, her hands tightening on her lap.

Oscar chuckled. “Yn, they’re not going to interrogate you. They’re just excited to meet you.”

“That’s the problem. What if I say the wrong thing? What if they don’t like me?”

“They’re going to love you,” he said firmly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Besides, you’ve already won over Mark. My family isn’t half as intimidating as he can be.”

Yn snorted. “Mark doesn’t count. He’s a Red Bull guy. Of course, he likes me.”

Oscar smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled into a driveway and put the car in park. Yn’s stomach flipped.

“This is it,” he said gently.

The front door opened almost immediately, and Oscar’s mum, Nicole, stepped out, her face lighting up at the sight of them. Yn barely had time to unbuckle her seatbelt before Nicole rushed over and enveloped her in a hug.

“Yn! Oh, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you!” Nicole exclaimed.

Yn blinked, startled, but quickly hugged her back. “It’s so nice to meet you too, Nicole.”

Oscar was grinning as he grabbed their bags from the boot. “Told you,” he mouthed to Yn.

Nicole looped her arm around Yn’s and led her inside. “Come in, come in! Chris been dying to meet you too. He’s got a hundred questions about racing.”

Oscar laughed from behind them. “Mum, don’t scare her off.”

Nicole waved him off. “Nonsense. Yn’s a racer; she’s tougher than that.”

Yn smiled shyly, feeling some of the tension in her chest ease. Inside, the house smelled like fresh coffee and baked goods, and she could hear chatter from the living room.

“Yn!” Chris, Oscar’s dad, greeted warmly. He extended a hand, but Nicole swatted it away.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chris. Give her a hug!”

Yn found herself laughing as Chris pulled her into a quick, slightly awkward hug. “It’s great to meet you,” he said sincerely. “We’ve been following your season, of course. Fantastic stuff.”

“Thank you,” Yn said, feeling her cheeks heat up.

“Right, right,” Chris continued, his enthusiasm bubbling over. “So tell me, how are you finding the car this year? Any big changes for Melbourne?”

Oscar groaned from the doorway. “Dad, at least let her sit down first.”

Chris chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Coffee first. Questions later.”

Yn exchanged a glance with Oscar, who winked at her before guiding her to the couch. She settled in, feeling more at ease as Nicole bustled around, offering snacks and drinks.

“Hey, mate,” came a familiar voice from the kitchen.

Yn turned to see Mark leaning casually against the counter, sipping a mug of coffee.

“Mark!” she said, standing to greet him.

“Yn,” he replied with a grin. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too. Wait, what are you doing here?”

Oscar rolled his eyes as he sat beside her. “It’s Mark. He’s always here.”

“Pretty much,” Mark admitted with a shrug. “I couldn’t miss the big introduction, could I?”

Yn laughed. “Fair enough.”

Nicole returned with a tray of drinks, setting them down on the coffee table. “Mark’s like part of the family. You’ll get used to it.”

Mark smirked. “I’m just here for the food.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Nicole asked about Yn’s travels and how she balanced racing with everything else, while Chris peppered her with technical questions that she happily answered. Mark chimed in occasionally, sharing stories from his own career that had everyone laughing.

At one point, Oscar’s younger sister popped her head in from the backyard. “Yn, you have to see the purple kangaroo that keeps hopping around out here!”

Oscar groaned. “Not this kangaroo again.”

Yn grinned. “A purple kangaroo? I have to see this.”

The group moved to the back patio, where they spent the next hour chatting, laughing, and keeping an eye out for the infamous purple kangaroo. Yn couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at home.

As the sun started to dip lower in the sky, Nicole wrapped an arm around Yn’s shoulders. “You’re part of the family now, Yn. There’s no escaping us.”

Yn felt a lump in her throat but managed to smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Oscar watched the interaction with a soft expression, his heart full. Later, as they were leaving, he turned to Yn and took her hand.

“Told you they’d love you,” he said quietly.

Yn smiled, her earlier nerves now a distant memory. “Yeah, you did.”

“And for the record,” he added, leaning in close, “I think they’re right.”

[mcrveilles]

just this once // ln4

HI THERE WE GO - also can you let me know if the taglist works? tumblr is being weird about it 👀

word count: 2.8k warnings: casual intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content, heartache, feelings of betrayal includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend summary: sorrows sorrows prayers - heartaches, max comes to his senses and summer break happens

PART SIX previous part - next part

The celebration has fizzled out, and the quiet hum of the hotel feels almost suffocating. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at the untouched glass of water on the nightstand, your phone resting loosely in your hand. Every moment from today replays in your mind like a relentless highlight reel: Lando standing on the podium, the roar of the crowd, the grin on his face as he sprayed champagne. You’d cheered for him, of course. He deserved it. But you couldn’t let yourself get too close—physically or emotionally. Not today. Not after everything.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

Lando: "Can we talk?"

The message is simple, but the weight behind it feels unbearable. You don’t want to talk. You don’t want to feel everything that rises to the surface when it comes to him. And yet, you find yourself typing back before your brain can catch up with your hands.

You: "Where?"

His response comes almost instantly.

Lando: "Your floor. Hallway."

You freeze. It’s unexpected. He could’ve easily asked you to meet somewhere neutral—the lobby, maybe, or the bar. But no. He’s put the ball in your court, literally meeting you where you are. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. When you open your door, you find him standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. He looks… hesitant. Like he’s just as unsure about this as you are. His eyes meet yours, and for a second, the tension between you tightens like a live wire. “Thanks for not locking me out,” he says, his voice soft but laced with something heavier.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the door frame to maintain some semblance of distance. “Figured if I didn’t come out, you’d just keep waiting there like some kind of lost puppy.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Yeah, well… wasn’t gonna let this weekend end without at least trying.”

Trying. The word sticks with you, twisting itself into a knot in your chest. “What do you want, Lando?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intend.

“I want you to stop running from this,” he says simply, stepping a little closer. He’s careful not to invade your space entirely, but his presence feels overwhelming anyway. “I get it—Max is pissed, and everything’s messy, but I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t matter to me. That you don’t matter to me.”

You glance down the hallway, ensuring it’s empty before sighing and stepping back into your room. “Fine. Come in. But keep your voice down.”

He follows you inside, closing the door gently behind him. The room feels smaller with him in it, the tension between you filling every corner. You stay near the window, putting some space between you, but it doesn’t do much to ease the knot in your stomach. “Lando…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words. “This isn’t fair.”

“To who?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “To Max? To the team? Or to us?” You shake your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “To everyone! Max barely speaks to me now, and if people find out—” “Why do you care so much about what people think?” he interrupts, his voice sharper than before. “Why does everyone else’s opinion matter more than what we feel?”

“Because it’s not just about us!” you snap, your voice rising before you catch yourself and lower it again. “Lando, you don’t get it. I’ve already lost so much because of this—because of you. I can’t lose Max too.” His expression softens, but it only makes things harder. “You haven’t lost him,” he says, his voice steady. “He’s mad now, sure, but he’ll come around. He always does. You know he does.” You look away, biting your lip. “I’m not so sure this time.”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unrelenting. Finally, Lando takes a cautious step closer, his hands still in his pockets like he’s holding himself back. “I know it’s complicated,” he says quietly. “And I know I’ve made things harder for you. But I’m not sorry for how I feel. I can’t be.”

You meet his gaze, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, and it’s terrifying. “I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I can’t deal with all of this—Max, the pressure. It’s too much.” Lando’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might argue. But instead, he nods slowly, his expression guarded. “Okay,” he says softly. “If that’s what you want.”

It’s not. It’s the furthest thing from what you want. But you don’t say that. Instead, you turn back to the window, unable to face him any longer. You hear him move toward the door, his footsteps hesitant, and then he stops. “For what it’s worth,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I think you’re worth all of it. Every messy, complicated part of it.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and the weight of his absence settles over you like a storm cloud. You press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, your chest tightening as you try to catch your breath. You’re not sure how long you stand there, staring at the empty street below. But when you finally turn around, the ache in your chest hasn’t gone away. It lingers, heavy and unyielding, a constant reminder of what you just let walk away.

The silence in the room swallows you whole. It feels suffocating, like the walls are closing in. You stay frozen by the window, staring at the darkened street below, but the city lights blur as tears sting your eyes. You try to hold it together—you really do. But the ache in your chest feels like it’s splitting you in two, and before you know it, the first tear spills over. It’s slow at first, just a quiet trickle. Then it becomes a flood you can’t control.

You press your palms to your face, trying to muffle the sobs that wrack your body, but it’s no use. The dam is broken, and everything you’ve been holding back—the stress, the guilt, the fear—comes rushing out all at once. How did it come to this? The weight of it all presses down on you, heavy and relentless. You think about Max, about the way he looked at you on the balcony like you’d betrayed him in the worst way possible. You think about how much you’ve hurt him, how you’ve fractured the one relationship you swore you’d always protect.

And then there’s Lando.

You think about the way he looked at you just now, his voice soft but sure, his words cutting through all the noise in your head. “I think you’re worth all of it. Every messy, complicated part of it.” But you don’t feel worth it. You feel like a mess. Like you’ve let everyone down, including yourself.

Your knees buckle, and you sink to the floor, the plush carpet doing little to soften the weight of your emotions. You hug your knees to your chest, letting your tears soak into the sleeves of your hoodie as you try to steady your breathing. But the more you try, the harder it becomes to control the swirling storm in your mind. The image of Lando walking out flashes in your mind, and your heart clenches painfully. You think about the way his voice trembled when he said, “Okay,” like he was giving up on something he didn’t want to let go of. You think about the way he looked back at you before leaving, his eyes searching yours one last time as if hoping you’d stop him.

But you didn’t.

You let him go.

And now, you’re left with the hollow echo of your decision, and the crushing reality of what you’ve lost.

Eventually, the sobs subside into quiet sniffles, but the heaviness in your chest doesn’t lift. You sit there on the floor, staring at nothing, as the night stretches on. You wonder how you’ll face Max tomorrow, how you’ll look Lando in the eyes again. You wonder if things will ever go back to the way they were.

And deep down, you know the answer. They won’t.

---

It’s been a week and some since Silverstone, and the silence is deafening. Not just between you and Max, but between you and Lando too. Neither of you reached out—no texts, no calls, nothing. Maybe that’s for the best, you tell yourself. After all, how do you even begin to repair a friendship when so much has been broken? But late at night, when the world is quiet and your thoughts are the loudest, it’s hard to ignore the ache in your chest, the hollow space where his presence used to be. After all, before all of this, Lando was something like your best friend. The only person you had when you moved to the south of France all by yourself.

Max, on the other hand, has been… different. Polite. Distant. He talks to you, but the easy sibling banter you’re used to has been replaced by careful, measured words. It’s like he’s walking on eggshells around you, and it’s exhausting. So when he texts, telling you he’s in Monaco and asking if you want to grab coffee, you hesitate. Part of you wants to avoid it altogether, but the other part—the part that misses your brother—wins out.

You meet him at a quiet café not too far from your apartment. It’s a small place, tucked away from the hustle Monaco, and the warm, homey atmosphere does little to ease the knot in your stomach. You sit across from him, your hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and wait for him to speak. Max takes his time. He stares at his cup like it holds the answers to the universe, his brows furrowed in thought. Finally, he sighs and looks up, meeting your eyes.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the other night,” he starts, his voice low and steady. “You and Lando.” You brace yourself, every muscle in your body tensing. Here it comes. “I handled it wrong,” he admits, surprising you. His shoulders slump slightly, and for the first time in weeks, he looks less like the overprotective big brother and more like the Max you’ve always known. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you. Or at him. It’s just… it caught me off guard.”

“Max,” you start, but he shakes his head, cutting you off. “Let me finish,” he says, his tone soft but firm. “I was angry, yeah. And hurt. Because you’re my little sister, and Lando’s my best friend. And the idea of you two…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not easy for me.” You nod, swallowing hard. “I get that.”

“But,” he continues, leaning forward, “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to choose. That wasn’t fair. And I’m sorry.”

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I understand,” you say quietly. “And I’m sorry too. I should have told you.” Max’s expression softens, and he reaches across the table to take your hand in his. “No, you shouldn’t have to tell me everything,” he says gently. “I should trust you enough to know that if there was something going on between you and Lando, you would have told me.”

“I’m not saying I’m okay with it,” he interrupts, holding your gaze. “I don’t think I ever will be. Not completely. But I also don’t want to lose either of you. So if this is something you really want…” He pauses, exhaling slowly. “I’ll try to deal with it. For you.”

You squeeze his hand gratefully, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. Max has always been fiercely protective of you, but right now, as he sits across from you with his messy hair and tired eyes, he just looks like a worried brother who wants the best for his little sister. “I’ll talk to Lando,” Max continues, breaking the comfortable silence between you two. “I’ll apologize to him too.”

His words are like a lifeline, pulling you out of the storm you’ve been drowning in since that night on the balcony. Your grip tightens on your mug as you try to find the right words, but all you can manage is a choked, “Thank you.”

Max smiles faintly, a flicker of the old him shining through. “Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.” You let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over you like a wave. “Noted.” The tension between you softens, and for the first time in weeks, it feels like you’re starting to find your way back to each other. It’s not a perfect resolution, and it doesn’t fix everything. But it’s a step forward. And for now, that’s enough.

---

The morning sun is already warm against your skin as you wheel your suitcase across the tarmac in Monaco. Everything feels too quiet—except for the sound of your heart, which beats like a drum inside your chest. You remind yourself this was always the plan: flying to Mykonos with Lando. It’s been set in stone for months, back when things were simpler, back when the thought of sitting next to him on a private plane didn’t send a confusing mix of anxiety and longing spiraling through you.

“Morning.” His voice is soft, hesitant, as he steps out of the car behind you. He’s wearing sunglasses, his hair just slightly disheveled, and he looks like he hasn’t quite woken up yet. There’s a faint tension in the way he carries himself, though, a stiffness that mirrors your own. “Morning,” you reply, your voice sounding way too bright in your own ears. You quickly turn back to your suitcase, fiddling unnecessarily with the handle.

The crew greets you both as you board, but you barely hear them. The plane is sleek and modern, with wide leather seats and enough room to keep things casual. But even with all the space, you feel like the walls are closing in when Lando sits down just across the aisle from you.

You settle into your seat, fussing with your bag and pretending you’re completely unbothered. You’re thankful for the sunglasses hiding your eyes, giving you a shield to glance at him when he’s not looking. He scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, his brow furrowed in concentration. He doesn’t look at you, not even once, and you tell yourself that’s a good thing. The engines hum to life, and the plane begins to taxi. It’s a short flight, really, but it feels endless as you sit there, hyperaware of the silence between you. Normally, you’d be talking and laughing with everyone by now, but your other friends are joining later, flying in from various parts of the world. For now, it’s just you and him, and that fact is as heavy as the August air.

After takeoff, Lando finally speaks. “You excited?” he asks, his voice neutral, careful. He’s not looking at you, instead staring out the window at the endless expanse of blue sky. “Yeah,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’ll be good to relax for a bit. Mykonos is beautiful.” He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile but thinks better of it. “Yeah, it’ll be nice.” And just like that, the conversation ends. You chew on your lip, debating whether to say more, to ask him how he’s been, but the words stick in your throat. It’s easier this way, you decide. Easier to keep things surface-level, to avoid the deep waters you’ve both been treading since Silverstone.

The flight attendant offers drinks, and you accept a sparkling water, grateful for something to do with your hands. Lando orders the same, his voice low and polite. For a moment, you almost miss how easy things used to be. The teasing. The jokes. The way his laugh used to light up a room—or a plane cabin.

But that was before. Before Monaco, before Silverstone. Before the lines between you blurred so completely that you’re not sure where you stand anymore. When the plane begins its descent, Lando shifts in his seat, glancing at you for the first time since takeoff. There’s something in his expression—hesitation, maybe, or regret. “Hey,” he starts, his voice softer now. “Thanks for… you know, still coming.” You blink at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Of course. I wasn’t going to miss it.” He nods slowly, his eyes searching yours for something you can’t quite place. Before you can say anything else, the plane lands with a soft thud, and the moment passes.

As you gather your things and step onto the sunny tarmac in Mykonos, the salty sea breeze greets you like an old friend. The island stretches out before you, glittering and inviting, full of promise. You tell yourself this trip will be what you need—a distraction, a fresh start. But as Lando falls into step beside you, his arm brushing yours for the briefest moment, you’re not so sure.

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[blueberrypancakesworld]

Howdy! Hope you're doing well!

Could you write a piece for Emperor Caracalla, in which Reader is his wife and is nearly killed when an assassin shoots an arrow at them? Like it's angst, it's Reader being unsure if they will live or not etc but maybe end with fluff?

I was thinking reader using She / Her

Totally understand if you don't want to write this tho 🤍

The lasting scar of love

Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, emotional, blood, kissing, cuddling, drinking alcohol, mention of death and torture

Summary : The imperial family consisted of the eldest Geta, his brother Caracalla and his wife, three people who formed the head of Rome. But when an assassination is carried out during a solemn festival in the Colloseum and the blood of the Sun is spilled, Caracalla's thirst for blood and fear seems to overpower all of Rome as he cares for his beloved...but how long before her life is extinguished?

info : Ahhh I'm so happy to write something like this so good and full of angst I LOVE IT. Thank you dear anon for giving me this request, I hope you are good, now everyone have fun reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The leaders of an empire had to be infamous, when you heard the name of the leaders you had to get heart-racing, feel fear and already ask the gods for mercy.

The Holy Roman Empire's reputation preceded it, the world seemed to belong to them, there was no land, no area that they had not conquered and taken.

The imperial brothers were notorious for their mercilessness, the elder the self-proclaimed god who judged without even listening to others, his opinion and power counted.

The younger, even if not politically and divinely knowledgeable, was all the more ruthless, a child in the body of a man, as some said, who would climb into the Colosseum himself if it meant seeing his enemy dead and mutilated.

For years, they had been spreading gold and blood across the land, showing no mercy and causing fear...only the sun in the imperial palace of Rome was like a goddess.

The sun that when you saw it immediately gave you hope for a better world, it was the mirror of reason when it came to the atrocious decisions of her husband Caracallas and her brother-in-law Getas.

But only one reason did not seem enough for all the inhabitants and nihct all the gladiators, if they had known what was conspiring in the lower ranks the three would never have even entered the Colosseum.

The high sun fell on the palace, illuminating mosaics and paintings, and the empress looked out, a smile playing around her lips as she saw the red gem that had been set into the golden ring on her finger.

Remembering his smile when Caracalla had given her the ring as a wedding gift His favorite color a blood red she thought and shook her head with a grin, her servant pausing as her mistress rose to follow her.

They all got ready, another fight in the coliseum, a great match and a look in the mirror that told her she was dressed appropriately for what was to come.

The servant looking down at her adjusted the fabric before nodding and pulling it back so as not to disturb her any further, a golden fabric with a deep dead and dark painted eyes, the red for Caracalla and the black for Geta whose eyes also looked like this.

Even though she belonged to Caracalla, she had a deep friendship with her brother-in-law, in those moments when she despaired with her loved one, when the madness became too much, Geta was there to help her, ,,The color is beautiful!” she heard a loud voice as seconds before her door opened and saw Caracalla whose clothes were more the color of turquoise and resembled flowing water.

She couldn't help but turn and the fabric fluttered, the golden tooth flashed as his hands wandered over the fabric and his cheeks turned pinker as she gave him a kiss, ,,You look like flowing water my king,” she replied, tracing the shiny fabric, a nice job by the closer she had to give them credit once more.

The pair held each other in their arms as footsteps echoed through the corridor again and Appollo himself appeared to stand before them, ,,Brother! Majestically divine,” the younger one said, looking fascinated at all the gold attached to Geta and the fine work on the black fabric.

They were the blood in the water who took the hand of the flowing water which was overlooked with a smile of burnt wood and a god as the three made their way to the colloseum.

Caracalla held her hand, pride in his gaze and he kissed it again and again, which she returned on the tip of his nose, the two sat side by side on the throne and Geta made the announcement

,,An overwhelming fight,” she said, pointing to the sharks in the water and seeing Caracalla nod. Sharks were his idea, at first he wanted to pick up a crossbow himself but she and Geta couldn't persuade him to go for sharks, a decision that would mean fewer deaths, at least in the ranks of the audience.

The three of them sat down excitedly, wine goblets in her and Geta's hands, while Caracalla was much too jittery as the ships rowed out, she hadn't seen him this excited for a long time and Geta was eager to see who won...it was no secret that he wanted to see the "poet" dead.

She herself was almost indifferent, the Colosseum amused her husband, quenched his thirst for blood, she herself was entertained and Geta could live out his fantasies, it was helpful and as long as everyone was happy she would be too - besides, Caracalla was sweet bobbing up and down next to her when another one died.

It relieved her to see him like this, not delirious but simply happy and that was what mattered to her.

Horns blistered, wood creaked and sharks swam faster as arrows were shot at each other and after a few moments the first landed in the water and she knew that some bets were already lost or won.

It was another fight to the death, only on a different scale.

The battle was in full swing no one wanted to give in and even though the ships had reached every part of the Coloseum by now, the battle had wedged itself right in front of the stage. Directly below the imperial family who were looking down with anticipation for an end, anxious to see who would win.

,,Shoot! Kill them!” she heard Caracalla shout again and Geta had also put his goblet aside, she stifled an eye roll sometimes they both seemed to be children.

Two adults who could forget all their worries when they were here, a nice moment because they weren't bothered by the worries of the realm.

She was about to take a sip of wine, her hand went to her husband's, his blue eyes glanced at her, a happy expression met hers as the air was filled with a whirring sound and a scream could be heard.

There was a clink as the goblet slipped from her hand, the drink mingled with her blood on the floor, Caracalla's scream followed as je jumped up and stood in front of her to protect hiw wife and Geta's screaming command as he tried to pull his family away.

The arrow from the crossbow, shot with such force, had almost nailed her to the stone throne. Caracalla tore her away from it but did not pull the arrow out, too quickly would she continue to lose blood, too quickly would he fall into madness as the sanity of a frightened loving man struggled with his madness to burn Rome to the ground.

It...is...all...right she thought, wanting to say it but not making a sound as her hand went to her neck and she felt the unnatural inside. The blood stained her hand warmly as she coughed on a breath something seemed to block her air, she didn't see the blood flowing from her lips, the same color as her tunic.

As Caracalla pulled her along trying to be careful. It seemed as if the gods were beside her, as if someone was carrying her, as if she was numb, everything around her was melting and her hand felt strange as it slipped from Caracalla's grasp.

As if she had no control anymore, not seeing the blood trail that stretched from the throne into the hallway, the guards now supporting her as her body gave way, no breath reaching her as she slowly realized that something was probably stuck in her throat.

Blue crying eyes searched hers, his voice told her something and she saw Geta tear his brother away from her, but what they were arguing about she didn't know, her eyelids too heavy and the feeling of drowning even though she wasn't in the water too strong for her to move. Would she end up like this?

But who would protect Caracalla? A fear welled up inside her, arms holding her tighter, gripping her painfully, her voice like a distant echo as she spoke Caracalla's name, not knowing if he even heard it before the world around her was shrouded in darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A never-ending darkness for her, her unconscious body carried into the palace by the imperial guards, the medics attending to her as quickly as they could.

While the doors remained closed and nothing could be heard from the room for hours, it was the cries of Rome that resounded all the louder as Geta gave orders for security and arrests, while in the Senate it was Caracalla who returned to the Colosseum with sword, crossbow and torch and a group of soldiers.

For every hour that passed, the corpses of every single gladiator piled up in the arena, for every word he cut and shot more into the body, for every lie, for every false word he burned more and more.

There was no smile on his lips, no golden tooth flashing, no giggle and no desire for more, it was the sense of revenge and justice he wanted...he would kill all of Rome if it brought back his love.

Only when he had just shot the last one in the throat with the crossbow arrow late at night did the news of her awakening reach him, at least she was no longer in immediate mortal danger.

He ignored the words of his brother who told him to wait, ignored Dundus who jumped out of the way and doors were flung open as he entered her chamber.

Torches lit the room, the smell of blood hung heavy in the room and herbs only slightly masked it, ,,My heart, my sun I am here, you are awake, the gods have shown mercy” he said hastily as he sat down at her bedside, slightly bent over her as he took her hand and looked anxiously at the bandages on her neck.

It had taken hours to close the wound, using one bandage after another until she had stopped bleeding to some extent.

Her eyes still heavy, the pain burning and she slowly took heavy breaths as she slowly saw him clearly, ,,Are...you...hurt?” she asked slowly, gasping, trying to sit up, he seemed overwhelmed, afraid of hurting her even more.

Guilt and fear met her concern that was still for him, her fingers weakly stroking his cheek and leaving kisses on it as he laughed bitterly, ,,I made them all pay, sacrificed them one by one,” he assured her, seeing her touched look.

The blood that stained him, the blood of hundreds she had brought back and he would have given so much more, ,,So kind-hearted” she whispered and he laid his forehead against hers, holding her while his warm hands held her cold ones.

With every apology he tried to make, with every death he told her, she seemed to come more to her senses hours passed as he held her body, trying to give her his warmth.

Leaving gentle kisses on her battered body, ,,I will not lose you, the king and his sun belong together” he reminded her of her own words and the smile on her face matched his.

Over the next few days, the emperor stayed with his wife, only allowing his brother and the doctors to visit, who continued to care for the empress with everything they had.

Every day he continued to sacrifice gladiators, convinced that the gods had to listen to him, a concept that prevailed when the last of the gladiator's blood was drained and the sun of Rome was declared healed.

Although still weak, she managed to stand up with the help of her husband, holding on to him he instructed her to do one step after the other, ,,Wonderful! You are stronger than all the gods!” he exclaimed as she walked towards him and he took her in his arms, gently stroking the scar on her still bruised skin.

Turning her head away, not wanting to blame him, he stopped her, ,,That's over, I'm healed Caracalla,” she reminded him, seeing the piercing look in his eyes.

He held her gently, resting his forehead against hers again she heard the soft chuckle as he left a kiss on it, one on the tip of her nose, her lips before he placed a quick but loving kiss on her scar.

,,Rituals of our love...you survived, the scar shows our strength” he held against it and as much as it hurt, the fear and memory when she looked into that hopeful face.

The look in his bright eyes and the love on her body, he loved her, loved her for everyone, she couldn't help but smile and return the kiss.

No one would be able to kill the king and his sun, the leaders of Rome would continue to be three and that would not change, because even love could not be killed, it only made everything stronger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @somepallings , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs

[buselkiy]

** I'm ready to be wrong, but the current situation at Disney reminds me more of this:

And if, from what the new owners are doing with the studio "Disney is spinning in a coffin", then from how and what desires are fulfilled (if fulfilled) on the island, Magnifico bangs his head against the glass

The wish at the ceremony: is a sewing master who can help provide for the island and whose work can be dearly sold to the mainland. The desire after the overthrow of the king: is a girl who wants to fly. Thank you, this is very logical and useful. Indulging the naivety of a bygone childhood, instead of doing something new. What's there? Aaa.. the Ice Age? Yes, of course

To sail to another island to apply for the fulfillment of a wish that violates the laws of physics, or for some reason you are too lazy to fulfill it yourself, knowing that it takes a month to roll back mana for this spell and sell your already existing franchise (which has passed the adequacy screening) because you went broke / don't know how / don't you want to continue working with her, there are different things.

Yes, I've heard about Nimona. Although my friends and I were giggling nervously at the time. "Puss in Boots 2" is coming out And you can't follow the path of "giving up dreams in favor of reality" - we're rewriting it. Nemana comes out (despite all attempts to crush her and be the first) and a chaotic werewolf child is also impossible - we cut out the Starboy and rewrite it again. Everyone was already tired of bizarre princess? Asha was planned to be different. But without him, the bizarre stupidity is once again given to the girl.

And it's a specific anniversary, you can't move it anywhere. And the crap that was left after other films (which took some of the ideas to themselves) was crookedly sewn. And they themselves are shocked that they had to leave It in the end, despite the first ideas, concepts and storyboards. Yes, every character has suffered here. And everyone is open to writing in any direction. And for that, the gratitude of this strange thing

Sometimes I wish there were fewer fights over copyrights. (looks very unkindly at Games Workshop, which banned fan animation). Don't care if someone can outrun you, don't bother them, and do what you planned. But viewers should also forgive such coincidences. Otherwise, there will be only sequels and prohibitions.

There are a lot of films and real stories about the fact that desires can be dangerous, so people responded to this. And that's why people want to play it, ignoring the original. -Someone wants to marry someone who is against it. Gaston's wish will hang there forever, and he will forget about it, stop pestering Belle, and everyone will be happy. -A ship-obsessed person will not climb onto a ship without asking, and will not be thrown into the sea. -The desire to return the deceased will be exchanged for peace and acceptance of the past. These are not franchises, but powerful obsessions of people. And many people go to doctors for years to get it out of them and forget it.

Despite the gorgeous art and orderly arguments, I cannot agree with this position.

*Bow of respect

Later at the wish granting ceremony, CEO Magnifico announces he’s greenlit Ice Age 6 and five more live-action remakes.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

There are so many cancelled and unrealized projects that Disney is sitting on, that they do not benefit from in any way by keeping them locked up tight. They really ought to just let them go if they don't have any intentions of doing anything with them.

Incidentally, I could never agree with the mentality of “Magnifico is actually the hero, and Asha is the TRUE villain” that a lot of people seem to have. I drew my comic based on this post. I feel like if more people had been aware of this possible interpretation, they wouldn’t have sympathized with Magnifico.

Does Wish have bad writing? Yes, it does. And it’s because of that bad writing that every single character suffers. What I think happened is that, as a result of said bad writing, Asha became a character that’s so uncompelling and lacks uniqueness that she ends up a blank slate for audiences to project their frustrations with the movie onto. King Magnifico on the other hand, is probably the most interesting and entertaining character, due in no small part to Chris Pine’s performance, and so the audience is much more sympathetic towards him and willing to ignore his flaws.

One of Asha’s problems as a character is that she doesn’t really contribute much to the story. By contrast, Magnifico’s downfall is brought about entirely as a result of his own actions. Magnifico is in fact not a good leader, because he gives in to paranoia and temptation, acts in a very unprofessional manner, and escalates the conflict to an absurd degree.

Please note, Asha does not get upset that Magnifico refuses to grant her grandfather’s wish, nor does she ever demand that Magnifico needs to grant every wish. She gets upset that he insinuates that her grandfather might have dangerous intentions, and because he does not have a convincing reason why he doesn’t return wishes that he won’t grant. Rather than calmly explaining his reasoning to her, Magnifico rudely dismisses Asha and then blows up at her.

If Magnifico were a good leader, he would have explained to each person WHY he won’t grant their wish, and given them advice on alternatives. As it stands, he knows full well that everyone expects their wish to be granted. It’s why they even came to Rosas in the first place, it is the literal reason he even built his kingdom. He clearly makes a big spectacle out of the wish granting ceremonies, which every citizen visibly goes wild for. Not to mention, he literally tells Asha, "People think wishes are just ideas. But no, no, they are a part of your heart. The very best part." He knows, for a fact, how important wishes are to everyone. But the movie's awful writing makes him think the best solution to dealing with wishes that MIGHT have dangerous consequences, is to just hoard them. All that returning the ungranted wishes will accomplish is returning the memory of what the wish even is, that's literally it, and the people will be no better off than they were before they gave Magnifico their wish.

I dunno about you guys, but whenever I watched stories that preached “be careful what you wish for”, my takeaway was never “your desires could be dangerous and you should never pursue them for fear of disaster”, I always thought the stories were telling us, “beware of anything that promises instant gratification, because it’s usually too good to be true, and will cost you more than you will gain”. While the things you want in life may have disastrous consequences, you won’t really know until you try to pursue them through your own honest efforts, and not through “magical” shortcuts. That’s how we learn and grow, through trial and error. 

As it currently stands from my point of view, when people say "Magnifico has every right to keep ungranted wishes" it looks like they're unintentionally saying, “The Disney Corporation has every right to keep your work and ideas, because you willingly and legally handed them over. Tough luck if you regret the deal you were given. No takesies backsies!”

While I have found no evidence to confirm that the filmmakers intended for Magnifico to be a criticism of Corporate Disney, considering the inclusion of the animation sweatshop scene in Pixar's Inside Out 2, I think the probability is likely. (Not to mention, when Asha shows Magnifico her little flipbook animation, he remarks “Do we consider that a talent?”)

Please note, everyone is free to rewrite and reinterpret Magnifico however they want. He's just a fictional character after all, and fan content is supposed to be for fun. I just think it's funny how defensive people get over him. They say he deserved better, and I agree, but we have very different ideas of what "better" means. In fact, I think every character in Wish deserved better, because again, they were all victims of bad writing. My problem isn't that they took a good man and made him arbitrarily "evil", it's that they didn't make him evil enough from the very beginning. Remember those deleted scenes featuring a villainous Magnifico with better writing, along with an evil Amaya that he can play off of? I'm fairly certain that everyone unanimously agreed these deleted scenes were much better than the final movie, and yet some still insist that Magnifico should have been a hero all along. I dunno, it's a funny dichotomy. 

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter seven ♡

Summary: Joel's mind is a stormy place. WC: 14.5k A/N: Hope this part finds u well <3 remember that I no longer use the tag list, and if you want to receive notifications you can activate them on this blog or on capuccinodollupdates. Thank you for your lovely messages and comments, don't forget to leave feedback, it helps and motivates me a lot! love u <3

Joel met you on the night of your your twenty-second birthday, at a small, slightly chaotic party your friend Cassie had put together in her dimly lit apartment. It was one of those nights where the air felt like it held a secret, but Joel wasn’t planning to go. He didn’t know Cassie, or you, and the idea of spending an evening with Brianna’s friends felt more like an obligation than anything resembling fun. But Brianna had that way about her, the kind of charm that made saying no feel almost impossible.

“Come on, it'll be fun,” she’d said, her fingers brushing against his cheek in that practiced, easy way of hers. Her eyes sparkled, soft but insistent. “And I want you to meet everyone.”

Everyone turned out to be Cassie, her boyfriend Freddie, Paul, Paul’s younger sister Iris, and you. He didn’t know much about you, but Brianna filled in the gaps as she rifled through her purse for something or other.

“Well, it’s her birthday,” she said, glancing up with a small smile. “I told you about her—Cassie’s best friend from way back. It’s at her place.”

Joel frowned. “I don’t even have a gift. What am I supposed to bring? What does your friend likes?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered,” Brianna said, already moving on to another task, as if his presence at this party were a foregone conclusion. 

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, watching her with the sort of resignation that felt familiar by now. “I’ll feel out of place,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” she said, dismissive, like it wasn’t even a possibility. “Do it for me, Joel. Then we’ll go to that bar you like after, okay?”

And so he found himself standing, shaking his head but moving toward the bedroom anyway. He picked up the phone to call Tommy, wanting to check on Sarah. It was always like this—this invisible tether that pulled at him, the need to make sure she was safe, that she wasn’t lonely or scared. Sarah’s nanny had quit a few weeks ago, and the new one, while kind, was still a stranger in their world. Joel had made it clear to everyone he wouldn’t tolerate anything less than kindness toward his daughter, but still, worry clung to him like a second skin. 

When he left the house, Sarah had been curled up on the couch with her fruit and a movie, looking happy enough. He tried to focus on that image, tried to let it soothe the part of him that always itched with concern. But the worry followed him, up the stairs and into Cassie’s apartment. 

The apartment was small, warm with the low buzz of conversation and the flickering light of candles Cassie had scattered around. Brianna took his hand, leading him through introductions. Smiles, nods, the blur of names until they got to you. 

You were perched on the armrest of a couch where Cassie sat, and the first thing he noticed was the way your gaze landed on him—sharp, assessing, like he wasn’t quite what you’d expected or wanted. Something tight curled in his chest, an instinct he didn’t know how to name. You didn’t say much, just offered a polite, somewhat distant smile when Brianna pulled you into a quick hug. Your eyes were tired, your posture restrained, your hands folded neatly in your lap like you were holding something in. 

Joel noticed the way your shirt hugged your frame, the soft sheen of your black stockings, the way your legs crossed at the ankle like you were trying to make yourself smaller. He didn’t like how quickly he cataloged all these details—how automatic it felt, like he was breaking some unspoken rule. He nodded politely, offering a faint smile, and then stepped back, unsure how else to exist in this moment. 

He stayed on the edges after that, with Brianna attached to his side, her hand slipping under his collar, her lips brushing against his temple in a way that felt like it was meant to remind him he belonged to her. But Joel couldn’t stop noticing you. The way your eyes flickered away whenever Brianna leaned into him. The barely perceptible shift in your shoulders when Cassie started recounting some story about your last birthday. Like the whole night was built on a kind of friction you were trying not to let show.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but the sight of you unsettled him. Maybe it was the way you carried your discomfort so carefully, as if you didn’t want to ruin the party. Or maybe it was because he knew that feeling so well. That ache of being somewhere you didn’t entirely want to be, surrounded by people who didn’t really see you.

At some point in the evening, Joel felt the weight of it all—Brianna’s hand on his arm, the too-loud laughter from the living room, the vague pull of unease he couldn’t shake. He shifted, leaning away from Brianna’s touch.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone lined with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied, a little too sharply. “I’m just gonna check on Sarah. Be back in a sec.”

He disentangled himself from her and headed for the kitchen, his hand fishing for his phone in his pocket. As he closed the door behind him, the sudden quiet felt like stepping into a different world. The party was still humming on the other side, but here, in the stillness, he could breathe. 

He unlocked his phone and scrolled through the messages from Sarah’s nanny. They weren’t dire—just updates about Sarah refusing to sleep and crying because her movie had ended. Joel sighed, his stomach knotting anyway. Late nights made Sarah clingier, her emotions harder to soothe, and he hated not being there. 

He typed out a hurried reply: Put the movie back on. She’ll probably drift off in a few minutes. If not, call me—I’ll go back home.

From the living room, someone shouted, karaoke. The cheer that followed was met by Joel’s quiet relief at being tucked away in the kitchen. He let out a breath, leaning against the counter, when the door creaked open. 

You stepped in, freezing mid-motion when you noticed him. For a moment, you just stared, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer. The tension Joel had sensed in you earlier seemed to have dissolved in this quieter space. 

He straightened instinctively, a faint warmth rising to his face.

“Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice a little uneven. “Sorry, I didn’t  get a chance to say it earlier—”

You waved him off with a small smile, interrupting. “No worries. Thanks.”

There was something about the way you carried yourself in the quiet that Joel found disarming. The edges of your earlier wariness had softened, and for the first time, he saw you for more than a glance. You were calm, reflective, maybe a little tired—but there was something else, something Joel couldn’t quite place. 

He searched your face for a hint, for the thing that had inexplicably drawn his attention from the moment he saw you. But it eluded him, like trying to name a feeling he didn’t yet understand. He liked you—he realized that much instantly. And not just for the way you looked; you were beautiful, that much was clear. It was something deeper, more intangible. Something that felt a little bit dangerous to analyze, something he could discover if he allowed himself the time... and he couldn't. What was he thinking? 

Joel left that night without saying much else. Every time Brianna suggested they meet up again—usually with you in attendance—he found a reason to decline. Polite, noncommittal excuses. Work, Sarah, tiredness. It didn’t matter. The truth was, he wasn’t sure why the idea of seeing you again felt impossible, only that it did.  

It wasn’t long before things with Brianna unraveled. They hadn’t been falling apart so much as they’d never truly held together. Their conversations ran on parallel tracks that never quite met; their connection relied on superficial agreements that felt thinner every time they spoke. The breakup came naturally, quietly—no grand argument or dramatic gesture, just a mutual fading. Joel knew it was for the best.  

He told himself that the timing wasn’t right for anything serious. Not with Sarah so young, not with the weight of his responsibilities pulling him in every direction. Dating, he decided, wasn’t a part of his life right now. His world revolved around work and his daughter. There was no room for anything else.  

That’s why he didn’t expect to see you again.  

But then came that Saturday afternoon. Joel stood outside his house, his chest heavy with the tightness of panic, his breath caught in the raw edge of fear. Sarah was nowhere to be found. She had been playing hide-and-seek, though he hadn't known the game had begun... Apparently. His heart thudded in his chest as he drew closer. And then, the sun caught your face, illuminating every angle, softening the edges. You were holding a bundle of plastic flowers (why? he had no idea), their bright colors clashing with the quiet confidence in your smile.  

“Joel,” you said, your voice light, like the beginning of a melody. And there it was—the unmistakable spark of recognition in your eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted you to remember him until that moment, when you did.  

He nodded, trying to muster an air of casual indifference, even as something in his chest shifted, calmed. 

“Hey,” he said, the word almost too small to hold the sudden rush of feelings he wasn’t ready to name. 

How could he name the feeling? The space between the last beat of his heart before he saw your face again and the next was a quiet, breathless eternity—because from that moment on, you would be the reason behind every quickened pulse, every ache and swell in his chest.

That afternoon passed like a blur. Sarah had invited you to stay for dinner before Joel even had a chance to think, let alone object. The meal was simple—chicken, vegetables, and bread that Sarah insisted she’d “helped cook.” You’d laughed, the sound light and warm, and Joel found himself watching you more than he should have. You didn’t seem to notice the way his eyes lingered when you reached for a plate or tucked your hair behind your ear. If you did, you didn’t let on.  

Two weeks later, you had dinner again, but this time Joel introduced you to his brother. And all those things that passed you by, Tommy picked up on instantly, impossible to ignore the unmistakable attitude of his smitten brother. And after you’d left his home, he leaned back in his chair and gave Joel a look that was all knowing smirk.  

“So,” Tommy drawled, leaning back with an almost smug ease, “are you finally gonna ask her out, or are we stuck with this whole pining routine forever?”

Joel exhaled sharply, running a hand over the back of his neck. The movement was unsteady, betraying the heat rising to his face despite his effort to appear unaffected.

“I dunno,” he muttered, his voice low and hesitant. “Not sure she—”

Tommy cut him off with a loud snort, shaking his head in disbelief. “She would, you idiot. Of course, she’d say yes.”

Joel looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met his brother’s. He searched for any trace of teasing, waiting for Tommy to give himself away. But there was none. His younger brother’s expression was steady, his confidence unshakable.

“Go ask her now,” Tommy said, his tone nudging toward playful but still earnest. “She’s probably still awake. Probably thinking about you, you know.”

Joel let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if to brush off the suggestion. “Oh, knock it off. I’ll ask her, alright? Just… when the time’s right. Not now.”

Tommy rolled his eyes dramatically, but he didn’t press the matter further. He knew Joel well enough to understand when to let things lie.

Joel, however, wasn’t brushing it off as easily as he seemed. He would ask you. Someday. Just not yet.

But that day—the day he’d finally say something—never seemed to come.  

The more time Joel spent with you, the harder it became to imagine risking the delicate balance of what you already had. You fit so seamlessly into his life, into Sarah’s life. It felt natural, effortless. You’d come over for dinner, sharing stories around the table that made Sarah giggle and Joel’s chest feel a little lighter. Sometimes, you’d sit on the porch with him as Sarah played in the yard, her laughter echoing in the quiet evenings. Joel trusted you with his daughter in a way he trusted almost no one, a rare kind of faith he didn’t extend easily.  

Your presence turned ordinary days into something brighter. There was a comfort in your company, a quiet joy in the small moments you shared—your easy laughter, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him or Sarah, the unspoken understanding that passed between you. Those moments felt like tiny gifts, precious and irreplaceable.  

But weeks turned into months, and every time Joel built up the nerve to say something, doubt crept in and stopped him. What if it changed everything? What if you didn’t feel the same way? Or worse—what if you did, but things didn’t work out? The thought of losing the quiet, steady friendship you’d built, the one that had come to mean more to him than he’d ever anticipated, was unbearable.  

Eventually, Joel convinced himself that friendship was enough. And in a way, it wasn’t a lie. He truly was happy in your presence, content with the moments you shared. He told himself he could live with the unspoken, that he didn’t need anything more.  

But sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and the world felt still, his mind would wander. He’d think about the way your smile lingered when you thought no one was watching or the way your laugh seemed to wrap around him like a warm embrace. In those moments, he couldn’t deny the truth buried deep inside him: he wanted more.  

Still, he decided it was safer to push those feelings away, to bury them deep where they couldn’t surface. And so he did. He buried them so well, smothered them so completely, that he nearly convinced himself they were gone. Until, somehow, he forgot they were even there.

Well, he’d managed to bury it—convince himself it was gone—until that night, when everything shifted.  

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. Not really. Somewhere deep down, a quiet voice had always been whispering the truth to him, persistent and patient. But Joel had ignored it, pushed it aside like an overdue bill he didn’t have the energy to deal with, telling himself he’d face it another day. And yet now, there it was, no longer subtle or ignorable, staring him in the face with a weight that felt impossible to avoid.  

Because deep down, Joel had always known that if the two of you crossed that invisible line—if he let himself take even one step past the boundary you’d built—nothing would ever be the same. It wasn’t the intimacy itself that gave him pause. Joel wasn’t afraid of touching you, of holding you close, or of sharing the kind of closeness he’d once told himself he didn’t need. That wasn’t it. What unsettled him, what gripped him with both exhilaration and dread, was the certainty that after that moment, he’d never be able to step back. He’d never be able to pull away from you, not in the way he had before, not in the way he’d convinced himself he could. Because once he gave in—once he let himself have you, even for a moment—Joel knew with startling clarity that he’d never recover. You wouldn’t just be part of his life anymore; you’d become part of the very center of it. And that terrified him as much as it thrilled him.  

And then, he met Sienna. She entered his life at a time when he had successfully buried those feelings for you so deep that they rarely surfaced anymore, their edges dulled by time and avoidance. Her arrival was almost perfectly timed, slipping into the space he’d created in his effort to distance himself from emotions he hadn’t dared confront. And it wasn’t just convenience; he genuinely liked her. She wasn’t a substitute or a stand-in for something unresolved. She was her own person, someone who caught his attention and managed to hold it, filling his brief days with her with a kind of lightness he enjoyed. But, she wasn't you.

Sienna, with her warm smile and quick laugh, who was easy to like and even easier to spend time with. She was smart, kind, and effortlessly beautiful, the kind of woman who made you feel comfortable in your own skin. He’d met her one morning at the bank, a serendipitous encounter that had led, improbably, to him asking her out. It had surprised even him—Joel Miller, diving headfirst into something for once, emboldened by a rare flash of courage. 

The first date had been pleasant. A simple dinner, unpretentious conversation, and laughter that lingered. When he got home, he’d felt good—content, even. Tommy had stayed to watch Sarah, and Joel hadn’t mentioned the date to you. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. Just one night out, nothing more. Not worth bringing up. But later, as he lay awake in bed, the quiet of the house pressing in around him, he felt it—the faint, prickling weight of guilt. It wasn’t sharp or overwhelming, just a subtle ache that settled low in his chest, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

The second date was even better. Dinner had been just as easy as the first, and afterward, they’d gone to see a movie. Sitting in the dim theater, their shoulders brushing occasionally, Joel had felt a faint sense of familiarity, a hint of comfort that he didn’t expect. When Sienna invited him in for coffee after she’d smiled at him in that warm, open way of hers, Joel hesitated. Something inside him pulled back, and though his refusal was polite, it wasn’t just about needing to get home to Sarah. It was something else, something he couldn’t name.

On the drive back, his mind wandered. Passing your house, he noticed the soft glow of light spilling from your window and, for a moment, considered stopping by. Maybe he could sit with you for a while, let you bring some clarity to the restless thoughts swirling in his head. You always had a way of calming him, grounding him, even when you didn’t know he needed it. But he didn’t. Instead, he went home, crawled into bed, and left the lamp on as he drifted to sleep. Yet, even in those moments before sleep took him, thoughts of you tugged persistently at the edges of his mind.

By the third date, doubt had begun to creep in. Joel found himself questioning why he hadn’t told you about Sienna. Why he was keeping it to himself, why it felt so unsettling. It wasn’t as if you’d judge him, he told himself. If anything, you’d probably encourage him, tell him he deserved to be happy, that he should give it a real chance. That was who you were—supportive, unselfish.

But the thought of you knowing made something twist in his chest. It felt wrong, somehow, like it would shift the delicate balance between you. Admitting it to you felt too final, as though saying it aloud would confirm that he was searching for something else, something permanent, and he wasn’t ready for you to know that. He couldn’t untangle the knot of emotions tightening inside him, couldn’t put words to the unease that crept in whenever Sienna smiled at him or touched his arm. All he knew was that no matter how good things seemed with her, thoughts of you were never far behind.

Then came his birthday. You’d confronted him that night, quiet and firm, catching him off guard with your piercing gaze and steady voice.

“Why would you lie to me?” you’d asked, your tone a mixture of hurt and bewilderment. “We're friends. Why wouldn't you tell me you're seeing someone?”

And just like that, the truth he’d been avoiding stood between you, unspoken but undeniable.

You cornered him, and he didn’t handle it well. The anger Joel felt in that moment wasn’t just irrational—it was childish, unfair, the kind of emotion he’d scold Sarah for if it came from her. But it rose inside him, stubborn and hot, because deep down, Joel felt as though he was betraying you. The thought alone unsettled him; it was absurd. You weren’t his, and yet, the idea of you holding that kind of sway over him—being able to tilt the axis of his decisions—left him feeling exposed, furious. He knew, with unsettling clarity, that if you asked him to leave Sienna, he would. That realization burned, not just because of the power you held over him but because he was certain it wasn’t mutual. At least, he thought so.

“I know you too well to know you’re just jealous,” he spat, the words sharp and venomous, aimed more at himself than at you. He hated the way his own insecurities betrayed him, how they shaped the bitterness in his tone. The accusation was hypocritical; he knew that better than anyone.

The month before, when you casually mentioned that Travis had asked you out, Joel felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. Your tone was so light, so unaffected, that it caught him off guard, knocking the air out of his lungs. His reaction was instant and visceral, jealousy surging like a tidal wave and gripping his chest in a vice. The mocking laugh that escaped him wasn’t intentional—it was sharp and bitter, a reflex from the worst parts of himself. Out of all the men in town, why him? The sting of it still lingered, the memory sharp and vivid.

Three years ago, Joel had first met Travis Dunn on a scorching Sunday afternoon. The kind of day where the sun bore down relentlessly, turning the air into a suffocating blanket of heat and making every movement feel sluggish. Joel was outside his house, organizing tools in the back of his truck, more out of habit than necessity, while the hours stretched long and slow.

Two houses down, across the street, Travis was in his yard, wrestling with an overgrown bush that refused to yield. Joel had noticed him before—a new face in the neighborhood—but they’d never spoken. Deciding to introduce himself, Joel grabbed a rag to wipe his hands and wandered over, his shoes crunching against the dry grass.

Travis straightened when he saw Joel approach, leaning on his shovel with an easy, welcoming smile despite the oppressive heat.

“That’s real kind of you, Joel,” Travis said after Joel offered to help, his voice friendly and conversational. “But I’m just about done here. Damn Texas sun’s brutal, though. Still tryin’ to get used to it.”

Joel chuckled, nodding in understanding as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yeah, it’s a killer. You get used to it after a while. Been working outside my whole life—kinda got the skin for it now. But if you ever need a hand, I’ve got the tools. Sometimes even the time.”

Travis nodded, brushing damp hair back from his forehead, and smiled sideways, an idea forming in his mind. “Actually, there is something.”

Joel tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Travis hesitated only a moment before blurting out your name as an invocation of the terrible, and the mention of you froze Joel’s easy smile in place, turning it into something tight and forced.

“You’re close to her, aren’t you?” Travis continued, his tone almost playful. “She’s something else. So sweet, beautiful too.”

Joel forced himself to nod, his voice flat. “That she is.”

“I like her,” Travis admitted, a nervous laugh bubbling up as he spoke, oblivious to Joel’s growing tension.

"No shit." His voice was low, flat.

“I mean, I was relieved when I realized you two were just friends. For a while there, I thought you might be, y’know, together.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What made you think that?”

“The way you act around her, and the way she acts around you,” Travis said with a shrug. “You’re together a lot. I dunno, it just... felt like a thing.”

Joel didn’t respond, but the silence between them thickened.

Travis, either unaware or unconcerned, grinned and added, “Anyway, you might wanna watch yourself, man," he said with a smug grin. "If you're not careful enough, I might just swoop in and take her off your hands forever. And trust me, I don’t do refunds—especially not with something as gorgeous as her."

Something snapped inside Joel. The casual arrogance in Travis’s tone, the smug smile—it was too much. He stepped closer, his posture rigid. Something as gorgeous, he said? Who did he think he was, strutting up and talking to him with all the confidence in the world, like they were old friends or something?

“What did you just say?” Joel’s voice was low, the Southern drawl sharpening into something dangerous.

The grin faded from Travis’s face, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Oh, sorry—”

"Y’ain’t gonna get anywhere near her with those words, Dunn," Joel growled, his voice low and thick with anger, his strong southern accent accentuating with emotion. "You better watch your damn mouth 'fore I show you what it really means to cross a line."

"No, listen—"

"No," Joel cut him off, stepping even closer. "You listen here, boy. You think you can talk about her like she’s some kinda prize to be won? Like she’s just sittin’ ‘round waitin’ for some fool like you to come swoopin’ in and steal her away? You’re downright dumb if you think you can underestimate her like that—like she’s some kinda damn manipulable thing you can just twist ‘round your finger."

“Joel, I didn’t mean—”

“You stay away from her,” Joel warned, his voice calm but edged with steel. “You hear me?”

Travis’s hands went up in surrender, his expression wary. “Alright, alright. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Joel stared him down for another beat, his jaw tight, before turning on his heel and walking away. His fists were clenched, heat simmering in his chest long after the confrontation ended.

For a while after, Travis kept his distance, careful not to overstep again. But three years later, when he reappeared, asking you out as if that encounter had never happened, Joel was flooded with a familiar anger—and something else. The possessiveness he thought he’d buried roared back to life, impossible to ignore.

“Why don’t you like him?” you had asked Joel that afternoon, your voice laced with curiosity as you leaned against the counter, watching him with that determined look that always made him feel like there was no escape. He had just scoffed at Travis invitation, brushing it off like it was the most ridiculous idea he’d ever heard.

Joel barely paused before spinning his answer, sharp and dismissive.

“I just don’t like the guy,” he said, his tone gruff. His hand reached for the coffee mug on the table, more to occupy himself than because he needed another sip.  

You didn’t let it go, of course. You crossed your arms, head tilted, waiting for something more.  

“He’s... weird,” Joel added with a shrug, avoiding your gaze. “Something about him rubs me the wrong way.”  

That was a lie, and he knew it. The truth was more complicated, and Joel hated complicated. He didn’t like Travis because the guy seemed too perfect, too slick, the type who could charm everyone in the neighborhood without even trying. Worse, Travis hadn’t done anything genuinely wrong, and Joel knew it. Hell, he wasn’t even all that bad of a guy—just the kind who could make you laugh, who could say the right things at the right time. And Joel? He wasn’t about to admit that every quip and joke Travis threw your way felt like a punch to his gut.

The real problem was simpler, though Joel would never say it out loud: he didn’t want Travis—or anyone—getting close to you. Because deep down, he was terrified that if someone did, you’d start to drift away from him. Slowly, naturally, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He could already picture it—the quiet evenings you two spent together fading into quick hellos and polite smiles as your life began to revolve around someone else.  

And Joel wasn’t sure he could handle that.  

You didn’t make it easy for him, either. You’d always talked to him about your boyfriends—there weren’t many, but enough to leave a mark. He listened like the good friend he was supposed to be, his face calm and unreadable. He even gave you advice sometimes, measured and practical, and he pretended to be relieved when things didn’t work out. But the truth? He was selfish. He couldn’t deny the ugly twist in his stomach every time you lit up talking about someone new.  

The worst part was the details. You shared everything—how they made you feel, the way they looked at you, the tiny, romantic gestures that made your heart race. Joel would sit there, nodding along, while his insides churned. Sometimes, he was almost convinced you did it on purpose, like you wanted to poke at the feelings he’d buried so deep. But then he’d shake that thought away because it couldn’t be true. You didn’t see him like that.  

Still, the possessiveness lingered, and it wasn’t one-sided. Whenever Joel mentioned a woman he was seeing, your posture would stiffen ever so slightly. He noticed the way your smile faltered, the way you suddenly seemed distracted. Joel kept his descriptions vague, never giving you the kind of vivid details you offered him. At first, he found a strange satisfaction in your reactions. If it bothered you that much to imagine him with someone else, maybe—just maybe—you felt the same way he did.  

But then you’d start listing their flaws with pinpoint accuracy, dissecting them in a way that left him wondering if you had a secret playbook for unraveling his attempts at romance. And you were always right. Every critique you made landed, exposing cracks he’d tried to ignore, as though you saw right through his attempts to prove he had control over his feelings.  

It frustrated him, how easily you could tear down the façade he worked so hard to build. Yet a small part of him—a selfish, conflicted part—was glad. Because it meant you were paying attention, and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to lose him either.

Sienna had taken him by surprise. She was unlike anyone Joel had encountered in a long time, and that unfamiliarity left him unsure how to talk about her—especially to you. He knew you were angry, and he couldn’t blame you. You had every right to feel shut out. Still, Joel couldn’t help but dig in his heels. His life was his own, and no matter how close you two were, some things felt too personal to share.

Yet, despite his stubbornness, the guilt lingered like a low hum in the back of his mind. He couldn’t stop replaying that night, the one you had so carefully planned, the kind of evening he usually dreaded but had come to cherish since you had entered his life.

It had been just the three of you: Sarah, you, and him. Tommy had bailed last minute, caught up in some errand or chore Joel couldn’t even remember now. But Tommy’s absence hadn’t dampened the warmth of the evening. It was perfect in its simplicity. Everything Joel loved most in the world sat around that small kitchen table, the faint glow of the overhead light softening the edges of the moment.

Joel wasn’t big on birthdays. He never had been, and neither were you, which was probably one of the reasons you understood him so well. For him, it was complicated. As a kid, he’d get excited—what child wouldn’t? But as he grew older, birthdays became a cruel reminder of time slipping away, of how life only seemed to grow more complicated with each passing year. 

The last time he had truly enjoyed the day was the year Sarah was born. He could still picture it vividly, like a snapshot preserved in his mind. He and Amelia had been newly married, their relationship rocky but held together by the promise of their daughter. Their apartment was small, the wallpaper peeling in the corners, but that night, none of it mattered.

Amelia had baked him a cake. It wasn’t anything fancy—a bit uneven, with frosting that leaned to one side—but Joel had loved it all the same. She had dimmed the lights and sung "Happy Birthday" softly, her voice barely above a whisper as he held Sarah in his arms. Joel blew out the single candle with a quiet wish: that this fragile moment of happiness might last forever.

After cake, he had sunk onto the couch, Sarah nestled against him, her rhythmic breathing lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’d ever had.

Joel hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew, Amelia was shaking him gently awake, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

“Come on, Joel,” she’d murmured. “Go to bed. You’ve got work in the morning.”

The next morning, Joel was stirred from sleep by the sound of Sarah’s crying. It was sharp and persistent, cutting through the fog of his exhaustion like a knife. His eyes fluttered open reluctantly, his body heavy with the weight of another long day ahead. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the cries continued, loud and unrelenting. Something felt off, though he couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Amelia?” he called out groggily, his voice rough from sleep.

There was no response. The silence, save for Sarah’s escalating wails, gnawed at the edges of his unease. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Joel sat up, running a hand down his face as if to wipe away the lingering haze of sleep. His chest felt tight, a faint, inexplicable tension coiling there.

Pushing himself to his feet, he shuffled toward Sarah’s crib in the corner of the room. She was red-faced and wriggling, her tiny fists flailing in frustration. Joel bent down, scooping her up with the practiced ease of a man who had done this many times before.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured softly, rocking her gently against his chest. Her cries tapered off for a moment, replaced by hiccuping gasps, but it didn’t last. Soon enough, the wails returned, sharper and more insistent.

Joel recognized the sound immediately—it was hunger. The kind of cry that pierced through everything else, demanding attention. He adjusted her in his arms, cradling her close as he moved toward the kitchen.

“Amelia?” he called out again, louder this time, his voice tinged with irritation and concern.

Still no answer. His eyes scanned the dimly lit apartment, searching for any sign of his wife. That’s when he saw it—a piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. Bright yellow, stark against the dark wood, it seemed out of place, almost glaring in the soft morning light.

Joel’s stomach twisted. A sinking feeling settled deep within him, heavy and cold. Shifting Sarah in his arms, he stepped closer, his boots creaking softly against the worn floorboards.

The note was short—just five lines scribbled hastily in Amelia’s familiar handwriting. Joel’s eyes moved over the words, his heart pounding in his chest as he read them.

She was gone.

The words blurred for a moment as the meaning sank in. She was gone. Amelia had left, abandoning both him and Sarah with nothing more than a half-hearted apology. The note was filled with excuses: This life isn’t for me. I need something more. I’m sorry. I can’t keep lying to myself. I can’t do this anymore.

Joel’s hand tightened around the paper, crumpling it as Sarah’s cries rose again, loud and demanding. The sound seemed to echo in the hollow space inside him, amplifying the storm that had begun to rage in his chest.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained fury. He tossed the crumpled paper onto the floor, watching it roll to a stop near the edge of the table.

The anger came fast and hard, crashing over him like a wave. It wasn’t sadness he felt—not yet. It was anger, raw and consuming. Anger that Amelia had been so cowardly, so selfish. She had left a note, five lines scrawled on a piece of paper, and walked away without looking back.

His fists clenched at his sides as his jaw tightened. She hadn’t just abandoned him—that, he could handle. Their marriage had been strained for a long time, both of them going through the motions more out of necessity than love. But Sarah? She had left their baby.

How could she walk away from their daughter, from the tiny life they had created together? Joel’s thoughts spiraled, his mind racing through every moment he had tried to make things work, every sacrifice he had made to ensure their family had a future.

Was it his fault? Had he pushed her too hard? Or had she been looking for an escape all along?

The questions churned in his mind, but Joel didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on them. Sarah needed him, her cries piercing through the fog of his thoughts. He held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he rocked her gently.

“It’s just us now, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

And in that moment, his anger hardened into resolve. He didn’t have the answers, and he didn’t have Amelia. But he had Sarah, and that was all that mattered.

From the moment Joel heard Sarah’s first cry, the sound pierced through him like a revelation, sharp and clear. In that instant, his entire world shifted. It was as though the pieces of his life, fractured and disorganized, suddenly rearranged themselves around this tiny, fragile being. Everything else fell away—the struggles, the exhaustion, even his own doubts. There was only her.

When he first held her, she felt impossibly small in his arms, her body warm and soft, her head nestled against his chest. She opened her tiny mouth, her cries quieter now but still insistent, and Joel couldn’t help but smile through the exhaustion. Her fist closed around his thumb, her fingers barely curling all the way, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

That was it. That was the moment he knew. Nothing else mattered. Not his job, not his own dreams or fears. Sarah was his purpose. She was everything, and he would do anything—everything—to protect her, to make sure she would always be safe and never want for anything.

He threw himself into work with a ferocity he hadn’t known he possessed. Early mornings turned into long nights, and he pushed through each shift with a singular thought in his mind: This is for Sarah. He dreamed of a better life for her, one where they wouldn’t have to struggle. He wanted her to grow up in a house with a backyard, not in the cramped apartment they currently called home.

But his hours away from home weighed heavily on Amelia. She spent most days cooped up in the apartment, caring for Sarah alone. Joel knew it wasn’t easy for her. He saw it in the lines of exhaustion etched into her face, the way her shoulders sagged by the end of the day.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Joel came home to find Amelia sitting on the couch, her head resting against the back of it, her eyes closed. Sarah was asleep in her crib, the faint hum of the baby monitor the only sound in the room. Joel sat down beside her, placing a hand gently on her wrist.

"You'll see," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Time's gonna fly by, and before we know it, she'll be runnin' around, goin' to school, talkin' our ears off. So fast, we'll wish we could turn back time and have her be a baby again."

Amelia opened her eyes, her gaze tired but sharp. “That’s easy for you to say,” she replied, her tone edged with bitterness. “You’re nobody’s barf towel, Joel. Sometimes I wish she’d grow up faster.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, like a quiet punch to the gut. Joel felt a pang of guilt and tried to see things from her perspective. He knew she was overwhelmed. He knew his long hours left her bearing the brunt of the daily grind at home. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fully understand. For him, those fleeting moments with Sarah—feeding her, rocking her to sleep, holding her tiny hand—were treasures.

“I know it’s hard,” he said after a long silence, his voice heavy with sincerity. “But we're doing this for us, for her. So we can have more. So she can have more.”

Amelia sighed and stood up, muttering something about needing a shower. Joel stayed on the couch, his head in his hands. He was doing everything he could, wasn’t he? But the cracks in their relationship were growing deeper, and he didn’t know how to fix them.

And then, a week later, she left.

Joel didn’t care that Amelia had abandoned him—not really. Their relationship had been hanging by a thread for months, maybe longer. But the fact that she had walked away from Sarah? That was something he could never understand. How could a mother leave her own child?

Everything got harder after that. Joel had to reorganize his entire life. He adjusted his shifts at work, found a nanny he could afford, and learned to function on less than two hours of sleep. Every day was a balancing act, and every night he fell into bed completely spent, knowing he’d have to do it all over again the next day.

He was alone. Completely, utterly alone. His parents were long gone, and his friends were too busy with college and their own lives to offer more than the occasional word of encouragement. Tommy tried to help, moving in with him for a while to lend a hand. But Tommy was still just a kid himself, more often getting into trouble than out of it. Sometimes it felt like Joel was raising them both.

But no matter how hard it got, Joel never wavered. Sarah was his everything, his reason for pushing forward even when it felt impossible. And when he looked at her—her tiny smile, her bright, curious eyes—it was all worth it. For her, it would always be worth it.

Why would Joel want to celebrate his birthday? For years, the date had meant nothing to him. If anything, it was a day he preferred to forget. Even Amelia’s absence, once a source of raw pain, had dulled into something distant, like an old scar that no longer ached. He was better off without her, he often told himself. Why would he want someone in his life who could abandon her own child so easily, without a second glance?

Eight long years of birthdays came and went, each one passing without fanfare. That is, until you showed up.

It was a warm afternoon when Brenda knocked on Joel’s door, Ian trailing behind her with a small red-wrapped package in his hands. You stood next to them, your bright smile lighting up the quiet entryway as if it had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” you asked, your voice full of playful reproach. You’d only been living next door for a couple of months, but you spoke as though you’d known him far longer.

Joel shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Didn’t think it was important.” His tone was casual, almost indifferent, but the way his eyes darted to the floor betrayed the discomfort he felt about the subject.

“Well, that won’t do,” you said with a firm nod, your excitement practically radiating off you. “We have to throw you a celebration.”

Before he could protest, you’d already begun making plans, dragging Tommy—who was lounging on Joel’s couch—into your whirlwind of preparation. In what felt like record time, you had organized a small dinner in your backyard, insisting on inviting the people Joel cared about most. Brenda, Ian, and of course, Tommy, were enlisted as guests, and Sarah eagerly volunteered to help with the preparations.

The two of you spent the afternoon in your kitchen, Sarah perched on a stool as she carefully spread cream over a sponge cake. It wasn’t perfect—some spots were uneven, and the red lettering that spelled “Happy Birthday Joel” varied wildly in size—but the effort was unmistakable. You even let Sarah place the single candle right above the word “birthday,” despite her giggles about it looking “a little crooked.”

In the backyard, you strung up Christmas lights, their warm glow transforming the space into something almost magical. A flowered tablecloth adorned the table, set with colored glass plates and matching glasses. It was simple, yet charming, and as Joel stepped outside to see what you had done, he felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

You stood there, watching him expectantly, your hands clasped together as if bracing for his reaction. Joel scanned the scene—the lights, the table, the cake—and then his gaze settled on you. He felt overwhelmed, unaccustomed to this kind of attention, to the idea that someone had gone out of their way to make him feel special.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice.

Joel cleared his throat, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, his voice betraying a mix of gratitude and awkwardness. “It’s… it’s nice. Real nice.”

What he couldn’t say—what he didn’t know how to say—was how much it meant to him. No one had ever done something like this for him before. Sure, Tommy would swing by with a gift and some good-natured ribbing, and Sarah always crafted him heartfelt gifts, usually paired with a movie night of her choosing. But this? This was different. It wasn’t just thoughtful; it was intentional.

You had done it simply to make him happy, without expecting anything in return. And that was what stayed with him.

A few weeks later, when your birthday rolled around, Joel found himself returning the gesture. He spent the better part of the day barbecuing in his backyard, carefully grilling your favorite dishes and picking up a cake from the bakery he’d overheard you mention. He wasn’t the most expressive man, but he wanted to show you how much your efforts had meant to him.

The party was small but warm, filled with laughter and good food. Joel watched you closely, noting the way your eyes lit up when you saw the cake, the way you laughed with Sarah and Tommy, the way you seemed lighter somehow.

It was only a few days later, during a quiet evening, that you opened up about your own complicated feelings toward birthdays.

“You know,” you began, sitting on Joel’s porch with a mug of tea in your hands, “I’ve never really liked my birthday either.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah? How come?”

Your birthday was always a delicate subject, one you rarely spoke about. The day carried a weight too heavy for celebration.

When you were fourteen, just two days before your birthday, your father passed away after a year-long decline that left him a shadow of the man he had once been. Your relationship with him had never been easy. There was a distance between you, a lack of understanding that made every interaction fraught with tension. He didn’t understand you, and you couldn’t bridge the gap to reach him. So, when his illness took hold, it wasn’t just his body that deteriorated—it was also any chance of finding common ground. Watching him grow weaker day by day, his spirit worn thin, felt like mourning someone you had never truly known.  

When he finally passed, it was strange. The grief was there, sharp and biting, but layered with regret, guilt, and a strange hollowness. Your mother, shattered by the loss, withdrew into her own anguish, locking herself in a grief so consuming that it swallowed her whole. She became a ghost of herself, distant and unreachable, leaving you to navigate the loss alone.  

Somehow, you were left adrift. With your father gone and your mother emotionally absent, the world seemed colder. The rest of your adolescence blurred into a haze of solitude. Nights became long and heavy, filled with tears that no one heard. Birthdays, once a day of excitement, became unbearable.  

“It’s not worth celebrating,” your mother had said one year, her voice hollow. “What’s the point? It’s just a reminder of what we lost.”  

And you believed her. You let the day pass quietly, pretending it didn’t matter. But deep down, it did. Every year, the ache in your chest returned, as if your father’s death had marked you in ways you couldn’t escape.  

When you moved to Austin, Cassie was determined to change that. She insisted on throwing you a party, bringing her friends together and decorating her small apartment with balloons and streamers. She wanted to make the day special, to give you the joy she believed you deserved. But instead of feeling included, you felt like a stranger in the crowd. The forced laughter and cheerful chatter only amplified the loneliness you carried inside.  

Joel noticed it immediately. From the first glance, he saw something in you that mirrored his own quiet pain, his own complicated relationship with birthdays and loss.  

With the Millers, though, it was different.  

Joel had a way of pulling you out of your own head. He didn’t ask if you wanted to celebrate; he simply turned on the music, took your hand, and pulled you into the courtyard to dance.  

“C’mon, don’t make me look ridiculous all by myself,” he teased, his hand warm and steady on yours.  

“I’m terrible at this,” you protested, laughing despite yourself as he spun you clumsily.  

“You think I’m any better?” he shot back, making an exaggerated face of concentration that sent you into a fit of giggles.  

His other hand rested lightly on your waist, tickling just enough to make you squirm.

“Stop!” you laughed, swatting at him, but Joel only grinned, spinning you again until you were both dizzy and breathless.  

The weight in your chest began to ease. Slowly, the familiar sadness faded, replaced by something you hadn’t felt in years—a glimmer of happiness. The music, Sarah’s laughter in the background, and Joel’s insistence on making you smile wove together into a moment so genuine that you couldn’t help but let go, even if only for a little while.

With the Millers, you felt something you hadn’t in years: belonging. Joel, Sarah, even Tommy—they made you feel like you were part of something bigger, something that mattered. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were happy. And for once, your birthday didn’t hurt. 

On the afternoon of his birthday, Joel made it a point to leave work early, a rare indulgence. The day had been grueling, his body carrying the weight of hours spent hauling, lifting, and concentrating through a persistent ache in his shoulders and arms. By the time he pulled into the driveway, fatigue clung to him like a second skin.

But the moment he stepped through the door, all of that began to melt away. The warm, savory aroma of your cooking wrapped around him like a welcoming embrace, teasing his senses and making his stomach rumble in anticipation. From the kitchen, he could hear Sarah's laughter, a sound so bright and carefree it seemed to lift the heaviness in his chest. And then there was your voice—soft and melodic, weaving effortlessly into the rhythm of his home, a sound that had come to symbolize comfort itself.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, letting it all wash over him. The tension in his shoulders began to ease, his mind quieting in a way it rarely did. Home. It wasn’t just the place—it was you, Sarah, the life you all shared within these walls.

As he stepped further inside, Joel noticed something different about you that evening. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but felt instantly. He always noticed you—more than he liked to admit. His gaze often lingered longer than it should, studying the way your lips curved when you smiled, the way your hands moved with quiet purpose, the subtle shifts in your voice when you were excited or uncertain.

Tonight, though, it was as if the world had conspired to make you glow. You wore that dress he liked, the one that clung just enough to hint at your shape without being overdone. The warm light from the kitchen seemed to catch on your flushed cheeks, making your skin look soft, almost luminous. Your hair was tied up, exposing the graceful curve of your neck and the delicate, fine hairs at its nape.

He found himself staring, his fingers itching with the desire to reach out and touch that spot just beneath your ear, to let his thumb trace the softness of your skin. He could already imagine the way it would feel, the warmth of you under his touch. But Joel stopped himself, swallowing hard and forcing his hands into his pockets.

His tongue betrayed him then. A slip—a small comment, laced with more emotion than he intended.

The three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

You didn’t seem to notice, though, your focus elsewhere. But Joel felt the heat rise in his face, a faint flush creeping over his cheeks. He turned away quickly, clearing his throat as if that could erase the moment. Joel hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice soft but heavy with emotion.

I love everything you do. It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a confession, unguarded and dangerously close to exposing everything he’d tried so hard to bury.

If someone had told Joel how that night would end, he would have laughed, dismissed the thought outright. It was unthinkable, a fantasy he’d never let himself fully entertain. But as the hours unfolded, something inside him began to shift—subtle at first, like a whisper at the edge of his mind, then growing louder and more insistent.

But then came the emotions, rushing in like a storm—anger, jealousy, desire, all tangled together in a mess he couldn’t untangle. The anger was irrational, sharp and sudden, a flash of heat that burned at the thought of you smiling like that at someone else. The jealousy felt even worse, a bitter ache in his chest at the mere idea that you might one day belong to someone else, someone better than him. And the desire... it was unbearable. It had been building for so long, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed it until it was too late to ignore.

Something broke inside him.

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

He wasn’t your type. He wasn’t your type. He wasn’t your type? The words echoed in Joel’s mind, each repetition a fresh sting to his ego and a sharper stab to his heart. But your eyes told him a different story. They mirrored his own intensity, and that unspoken connection was undeniable. 

In that moment, he surrendered to an impulse he had fought to suppress countless times before. He kissed you, a kiss laden with every restrained emotion, and carried you to your room. The world around him blurred; it felt surreal, as if he were watching himself from a distance. Every sense was heightened, every touch electric, his entire being focused solely on you.

You were perfection to him. The intoxicating scent of your skin, the soft texture of your lips, the sweet taste of you—all of it was exquisite, overwhelming. When he was finally inside you, he felt as if his heart might explode from the sheer intensity of it. The warmth, the sweetness, the way it consumed him—it was almost too much to bear, almost too beautiful to be real. Every sound you made unraveled him further, pushing him closer to a peak he had thought unattainable. The desire that coursed through you felt almost tangible, as if he could taste it on his lips with every kiss.

As you drifted off to sleep beside him, your face looked so peaceful, so heartbreakingly beautiful, that Joel couldn’t resist. He leaned in, brushing the gentlest of kisses across your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids—each kiss a whisper of affection, as though trying to capture this fleeting moment. Only when the rhythm of your breaths lulled him into calm did he finally surrender to sleep at your side.  

But deep in the stillness of the night, he stirred awake. His emotions, once overwhelming, had quieted; his mind, no longer softened by the haze of passion, now felt sharp and cold. And then it struck him—a suffocating wave of fear.  

What had he done? What had he done? The question echoed relentlessly in his mind, each repetition laced with dread. He had crossed a line, dragging you into his chaos, disrespecting you in a way that made his stomach twist with guilt. He had shattered the bond you shared—a friendship he had held in the highest regard. He had taken something pure and irreversibly tainted it with his own selfish desires.  

Panic surged through him, relentless and unforgiving. How could you ever look at him the same way again? Surely, you wouldn’t want him in your life anymore. The thought of losing you gutted him.  

A storm of thoughts battered his mind as he quietly slipped out of your house like a ghost, each step feeling heavier than the last. The walk back to his own home was a blur of regret and self-recrimination. By the time he shut the door behind him, the weight of what he had done pressed down on him completely. He knew, with a sinking finality, that he had ruined everything.

He had ruined everything. 

And four days later, the dagger in his chest sank even deeper.

Swallowing hard, you tasted the salt of your tears, and it burned your throat like an unwelcome reminder of the turmoil within.

“I’m not sure I can be your friend anymore, Joel,” you confessed, your voice shaking with the weight of your admission.

He shook his head, disbelief flashing across his features as a weak smile broke through the hurt. It was as if he couldn’t quite fathom the words that had just escaped you.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” you asserted, each syllable a battle against the rawness in your chest.

“No, you don’t,” he countered, stepping back just inches, his tone laced with incredulity. The mocking sneer that crept onto his face felt more like a mask than a reflection of his true feelings, and yet, the moisture pooling in his eyes betrayed the battle raging within him.

You regarded him in silence, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken words as you watched his smile fade into something that was almost painful. It twisted his features, morphing into a look of discomfort that hung between you like an unsaid apology. He remained still, his gaze locked onto yours, waiting for you to break the tension with a word or a gesture. The sight of him like that burned inside you, igniting a longing to rewind time, to swallow your questions, to let him live his life free from the weight of your curiosity and the tangled feelings that had blossomed between you. But that wasn’t an option; the reality of your situation loomed large and unavoidable. You had to confront the truth: he didn’t feel the same way about you, and for him, sleeping with you felt like a transgression, a sin, a burden he couldn’t carry.

“Joel, please,” you began, your voice cracking under the pressure of your emotions. A tear slipped down your cheek, salty and bitter, tasting of the anguish that your words carried. “I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I really am, but you’re breaking my—” You hesitated, swallowing hard against the swell of grief that threatened to overwhelm you. “I think this is over.”

"She just needs time," Joel told himself, clinging to the fragile hope that things would eventually mend. But that comforting thought crumbled when he saw how easily you seemed to move on, as if he no longer existed in your world. You carried on with your life without so much as a glance in his direction, each moment of indifference cutting deeper. It felt like a deliberate erasure, and Joel's heart shrank under the weight of it, splintering all over again. Did you truly not want him in your life anymore?  

His decision to break things off with Sienna had come with a strange clarity. Her warmth, her charm—things he had once appreciated—now felt hollow, like they no longer belonged in his life. Joel couldn’t pretend otherwise. He couldn’t lie to her, tell her everything was fine, and carry on as though his heart wasn’t consumed by someone else. She deserved more than being a placeholder for feelings he couldn’t shake.  

In the aftermath of the breakup, Joel thought he might finally find the courage to come to you. To apologize, to face you honestly. He imagined himself laying it all out—his regret, his fear, and the possibility of something more. Perhaps, if you felt even a fraction of what he did, you could both explore the connection that had ignited that night. He had told himself he was ready to risk it all, to bare his soul if you would give him even a sliver of space to do so.  

The breaking point came when Tommy casually mentioned you and Travis. The words were innocuous, but the storm they unleashed within Joel was anything but. Something dark and bitter began to fester in his chest—jealousy, anger, resentment? He couldn’t quite name it, but it clawed at him, a toxic mix that he struggled to contain. It wasn’t his proudest moment. It wasn’t even close.  

“What’s this?” he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Tommy leaned back, watching him with a faint smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Your girl next door gave it to me,” he replied, each word almost too measured. “Said it was yours.”

For a few moments, Joel just stood there, as if frozen, processing Tommy’s words. He looked down, finally lifting the lid and peering inside. There, neatly folded, was his sweatshirt—the one he’d handed you one chilly evening when he picked you up from work. Beneath that was his old Pearl Jam t-shirt, the one you’d borrowed after a swim in his pool last summer. His favorite coffee mug sat tucked in the corner, along with a few CDs, a dog-eared paperback he’d loaned you weeks ago. Each item seemed to carry its own little echo of the time he’d spent with you.

After a few seconds, Joel placed the lid back on the box, sliding it away from him with a muted thud. He kept his expression steady, but his jaw was set, and his eyes remained fixed on the counter.

“When did she give it to you?” he asked, his voice strained but steady.

“A few moments ago,” Tommy said with a shrug, holding back a smirk as he noticed the tightness in Joel’s expression. “Saw her walking back from Dunn’s house, actually.”

Joel let out a dry, sardonic laugh, a smile twisted in disbelief. "Right. Of course."

"Actually," Tommy said, savoring another spoonful of ice cream, "he walked her to the door, all sweet-like. Gave her the whole mushy goodnight routine—kiss, movie shit." His gaze stayed fixed on the bowl, though Joel could see the glint of mischief there, Tommy barely holding back a grin.

Joel’s fingers drummed on the counter, his gaze hardening. “She must be happy then,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t look up, just continued with his ice cream, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Sure she looked that way to me.”

“Like I care,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed hard on the box beside him, fingers curling against the edge as if steadying himself. “I can bet everything I’ve got she doesn’t even like him that much. That guy isn’t worth it, and she knows it.” 

Tommy’s mouth quirked with amusement as he leaned back against the counter.

“Too bad that’s not up to you,” he said, casually pushing Joel’s buttons, almost like he enjoyed watching his brother’s patience fray. “She looked happy. And for what it’s worth, in her own words, she does like him.” 

Later, in the solitude of his room, Joel tucked away the box—the one filled with memories and unfinished gestures. He couldn’t bear to look at it, to confront what it represented. Instead, he tried to distract himself, but the emotions that swirled within him refused to be ignored. But he didn’t. Fear, hesitation, and the unrelenting weight of what-ifs kept him rooted in silence.

What Tommy told him shattered any remaining hope Joel had of making things right with you. Whatever fragile intentions he had to mend the rift between you dissolved in an instant, crushed under the weight of his own assumptions.  

You had moved on, hadn’t you? It seemed so, as if you had turned a new page in your life without a second thought. Apparently, that night with Joel hadn’t meant as much to you as it had to him. The realization struck like a knife, twisting with every memory of that fleeting connection he had held onto so desperately. Anger bubbled up alongside the pain, a raw, bitter cocktail of emotions that left him reeling. He wanted to show you that he could move on, too—that he wasn’t as affected, that he could be indifferent.  

But the act fell apart every time he saw you with Travis. The sight of the two of you together hollowed him out. You looked happy, didn’t you? The way you smiled, the ease with which you leaned into Travis—it was more than Joel could bear. Each moment of apparent joy between you and this other man chipped away at something inside him, leaving him feeling smaller, more fractured.  

Still, the urge to seek your forgiveness lingered. It gnawed at him, the desire to bridge the gap and find some way to fix what had been broken. But every time he mustered the resolve to approach you, his feelings betrayed him. Anger surged to the surface, overpowering the vulnerability he had tried so hard to embrace.  

Instead of mending things, he withdrew, consumed by resentment and heartache. The man he became in those moments was someone he didn’t recognize—someone fueled by a mixture of longing and bitterness, too afraid to confront the truth of what he felt, yet unable to let it go. 

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension. 

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

Later that night, Joel’s fingers entwined with Clara’s, but her hand was cold, and the contact felt unnatural. When she wrapped her arm around his, an almost visceral rejection welled up in him. Her touch wasn’t comforting; it was suffocating.

The pair walked in silence as they left the Hoffmans’ yard. Joel kept his eyes ahead, determined not to glance back. But he couldn’t help himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you resting your head against Travis’s chest, your body cocooned in his jacket. The sight made Joel’s stomach twist painfully.

This was his fault. He replayed the night in his mind, how he’d told you to take off his shirt, how he’d inadvertently pushed you closer to Travis. Regret pressed heavily on him, a weight he couldn’t shake.

“Do you like wine?” Clara’s voice broke the silence as they neared her house.

Joel turned to her, his gaze distant, his mind still lost elsewhere. His entire body felt stiff, as though rejecting even the possibility of being there.

“Actually, I should get home,” he said abruptly, his voice flat.

Clara blinked at him, her expression faltering. Her easy smile gave way to a confused grimace, but Joel didn’t try to read her emotions.

“Oh,” she murmured, awkwardly. Then, with a hesitant laugh, she added, “Why don’t you come in for a bit? We could… have some fun.” Her hand reached for the collar of his shirt, a playful but suggestive gesture.

Joel gently pushed her hand away, the discomfort etched across his face.

"I really don’t feel like it," Joel said, his voice sharper than he meant it to be, the irritation slipping through despite his effort to hold it back. "And if I’m bein’ honest, I don’t like the way you’re always throwin’ yourself at me, especially in front of everybody like that. It ain’t right, and it sure as hell don’t sit well with me."

The words hung heavily in the air, cutting and cruel. Joel knew his tone wasn’t fair—it came from anger that had little to do with Clara herself. But he didn’t care. If anything, it was a chance to end this farce, to kill two birds with one stone.

Clara’s face flushed, embarrassment washing over her features. She stammered, “Then… why did you invite me to come with you?”

"I wanted to tell you in private," Joel drawled, his voice low and steady, each word carrying the weight of his frustration. "I don’t like you, Clara. Not like that. It ain’t fair to either of us. So why don’t you just go on and find someone else, someone who actually wants what you’re offerin’?"

Her lips parted, as though to say something, but Joel didn’t wait to hear it. His feet were already carrying him away, his thoughts full of you. Always you.

He cursed himself silently, the same harsh words looping in his mind. He was always screwing up, always doing the wrong thing. Everything he touched seemed to fall apart, especially where you were concerned. It was as if he was wired to ruin everything.

He was screwing up, screwing up so bad that he kept hurting you. And he knew there was no turning back when that Saturday after the Halloween party, your eyes had locked onto his, sharp and unyielding, cutting through him like shards of glass. Your voice, heavy with pain, lingered in his mind, echoing with all the things he couldn’t fix.

"Do you think what you’re doing is right, Joel?" you asked, your tone sharper than before, slicing through the fragile quiet between you.

His brows knit together, confused, and he tilted his head slightly as if to ask what you meant.

"Do you think you’re accomplishing anything by sleeping with the women in this neighborhood?" you continued, your words rushing out faster now. "I mean, first you sleep with me—oh, the worst mistake of your life—then you sleep with Clara. And what about Sienna? What does she think of all this? You’re a selfish, irresponsible man, Joel Miller, so irresponsible." The words kept spilling, your voice trembling now, laced with both anger and something softer, something that felt like pain. "And as if that wasn’t enough, you’ve ruined us. Completely. And I hate you for that, Joel. I hate you because you’re not the man I thought you were. And i love you so much I—"

Your gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring the edges of your vision and leaving your cheeks hot.

You hated how raw it all felt. How exposed. And worse, how the alcohol that had loosened your tongue was no longer numbing enough to shield you from the reality of what you’d just said.

Before you could stop him, Joel’s hands came to rest gently on your arms. The warmth of his touch made your stomach flip, and it took everything in you to pull away.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking him off and turning on your heel. But you barely managed two steps before your foot caught awkwardly in front of the other, sending you stumbling.

You yelped as your palm scraped against the ground, but Joel caught your other arm before you could fully collapse. The heat of embarrassment rushed to your face as you stood quickly, brushing off your dress and refusing to look at him.

You marched toward your door with renewed determination, ignoring the sting in your palm and the sound of his voice calling after you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. 

But you didn’t stop. Your trembling fingers fumbled with the key, eyes fixed on the lock as if opening the door quickly enough could make him—and everything you’d just said—disappear.

The key slid into the lock on your first try, a stroke of luck you hadn’t expected. You stumbled inside, not bothering to close the door behind you. Maybe it was unconscious, or maybe some buried, foolish part of you wanted him to follow. Whatever the reason, Joel did, shutting the door softly as he stepped in, his footsteps trailing after your clumsy, rushed ascent up the stairs. His hand found your lower back more than once, steadying you whenever your feet betrayed you and your balance faltered.

When you reached your room, his presence pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. Your chest felt tight, emotions boiling over with an intensity you couldn’t contain. The exhaustion—of everything—clawed at your insides, raw and relentless.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, spinning to face him, your palms colliding with his chest in a sharp slap. The sound echoed between you, loud and angry. You hit him again, this time harder, though he barely moved, only stepping back an inch. “Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a complete asshole, and I hate you. I hate you so much.” Your fists clenched, pounding against him now, the blows strong but harmless.

The pain in your eyes, the tremor in your voice—it shattered Joel completely. Every crack in your expression, every unsteady word, drove home the truth he had been avoiding: he had hurt you. Deeply. Irrevocably. And in that moment, the weight of his guilt became unbearable. He felt like he deserved every ounce of hatred and anger you could muster, every harsh word or cold glance. Hell, he deserved worse. He deserved every bad thing the world could throw at him.  

When you lay down on the bed, exhausted and emotionally raw, Joel felt an overwhelming urge to stay. He wanted to be near you, to watch over you, to be a steady presence even if you didn’t want him there. But your words had been clear, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Reluctantly, he obeyed, dragging his heavy feet out of your space. The weight of his body mirrored the weight in his chest as he trudged home.  

Once inside the dark silence of his living room, the self-loathing consumed him entirely. He sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands as the shame and regret clawed at him. How could he have done this to you? How could he have hurt the sweetest, kindest woman he had ever known? He replayed every misstep, every moment he let his anger or fear get in the way of treating you the way you deserved.  

Joel knew he had to make it right, no matter the cost. He had to apologize, to lay bare his mistakes and accept whatever consequences you chose to impose. Even if it meant watching you move on with Travis.  

The thought of seeing you with another man was agonizing, like a knife twisting in his chest. But Joel couldn’t ignore the truth: despite his disdain for Travis, the man made you happy. He’d seen it in your laughter, the easy way you leaned into him, the light in your eyes that Joel himself had dimmed. And wasn’t that what you deserved? Happiness, warmth, stability—all the things Joel doubted he could give you.  

He hated himself for the jealousy that still lingered, for the bitterness that coiled inside him like a serpent. But more than that, he hated himself for failing you. You deserved better. So much better. And if Travis was that for you, Joel would accept it, no matter how much it tore him apart.

But then, when you went to his house...

He would never have imagined the way your lips sought his again, desperate, hungry. Joel could hardly believe what was happening. The feel of your kiss finding him again, so warm, perfect—it was as if the world had tilted off its axis. For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming. Maybe this was all in his head, his mind playing tricks on him because he couldn’t bear the thought of you being gone. It was too perfect, too real. He convinced himself that any second now, he’d wake up and find himself alone again, lost in the hollow ache of regret.  

But no, you were there. Really there. Beneath him once again. The weight of your presence was grounding, pulling him back into a reality where everything felt possible, where maybe—just maybe—he could make things right. Your head resting on his chest, the soft rise and fall of your breath against his skin—it was everything he had wanted and more. For the first time in weeks, Joel felt at peace. His heart beat so strongly in his chest it felt as though it could burst, and for a moment, he forgot all the mistakes, all the pain. Nothing could ruin this. Nothing, least of all him.  

This time, he promised himself, he would do things right. He wouldn’t let fear dictate his choices. He wouldn’t push you away. He couldn’t. Not again.  

But just as quickly as that fragile peace had settled—

Sarah arrived, interrupting the quiet moment with a sudden presence that jolted him awake. The sound of her voice was enough to make him freeze, the peace slipping away.  

Downstairs in the living room, Joel forced himself to straighten, to steady his nerves. His hands were clammy, his pulse racing, but he masked it all. His posture was rigid, controlled, serious as always. Nothing about him would give away the chaos he felt inside.  

You looked between Sarah and him, your gaze flicking back and forth, and Joel noticed the shy smile that touched your lips. His chest tightened, but he couldn’t help but notice the softness in your expression. 

"C'mon, what do you wanna eat?" she asked. "You're staying, right?"

“I… sure, uh, I don’t—I have to do something first, okay?” you said, your voice a little unsteady, a little unsure, but there was a determination in your eyes that he couldn’t ignore.  

Sarah, ever the curious one, tilted her head, her face full of contentment, though it quickly shifted to confusion.

“What?” she asked, a hint of innocence in her voice.  

Joel, feeling the need to regain control of the situation, stood up from the doorframe. He walked over to Sarah, his hand gently resting on her shoulder, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of his daughter.  

“Why don’t you help me pick out dinner in the meantime?” he suggested, keeping his voice calm and steady, just like he always did. It was the easiest way to pull Sarah away, to give you space without making it obvious.  

Without another word, you left his house, your legs unsteady, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts, of questions. Joel watched you go, his chest heavy, knowing that what had just happened was different.

As he watched you leave, he knew one thing for certain: Sarah was going to wait for you for dinner. That, at least, was something he could count on.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymmetrical Symphony - Part 2

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written and GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N.: Thank you for the fav and comments!! This chapter isn't gonna have much Viktor in it, but I'm just starting to estabelish some things and get the ball rolling. I'll try and update more Vik x you as quick as possible. :D

Part 1

• ··········· • ············ •

The world was spiraling around you. Noises of the past, the present, of another version of the world, blurred and mixed into a weirdly misshapen music. You tried to stop it, pause the song to figure out what’s what. Pull a thread to focus on something, to ground yourself. You inhaled air into your lungs and then expelled it. Every time you breathed out, the sounds became less confusing, like an orchestra finding itself following the maestro. In the end, only the quick buzzing of the world around you was left, as it settled down in a place and time.

You dazedly opened your eyes to a bright ball of light right before you and someone’s hand on your forehead. The sudden memory of the Hex Angel standing on top of you, extracting your soul from your body, flooded your senses, and you had to get away.

Quickly sitting upright, you shoved the construct away, watching with dread as the angel fell and stood up with ease. Their hands up in mock surrender, the mask emotionless.

“Calm down.” It said, with the familiar accent of a friend. “You’re safe.”

“Vik-Viktor stop…” You mumbled at the thing while it tilted its head at you. “Please”

It kept coming closer, its movements slow and deliberate, palms up to you as if it were approaching a scared animal.

In the haziness of trying to get away from it as fast as possible, you felt the ground give away under you, and once more, you were snapped back to focus when you landed on something hard.

The sound that left your lips was less than elegant as your back hit the cold, hard floor. Your body is now fully awakened to every scratch, bruise, and wound.

The first thing you noticed, as you tried to will the pain away, was the hard, smooth surface under your fingertips. Ceramics, cold hard ceramics. You turned your head and opened your eyes to a wall of floor-to-ceiling tiles, arranged in soothing colors. 

You frowned at the familiar sense of the place.

Tilting your head backward, the minty-colored fold screen was unsurprisingly standing between gurneys, confirming where you were. Pilltover’s General Hospital.

And by the present company, maybe you had gone back to your time? Maybe forward? It didn’t make sense if they were here while you still looked human... something happened... Did you change anything that made the HexAngels different? 

The sound of footsteps clicking on the floor was enough to get your mind back to the situation at hand. You tried to move, but something was grabbing your extended arm.

Your gaze followed the extent of your arm until it reached a cuffed wrist. Your cuffed wrist. They had cuffed your arm to the bed. You pulled at the restraint, testing it. It rattled but didn’t open, as expected.

“It’s alright…” The Herald’s modified voice scrambled into a warm woman's tone, its footsteps coming closer and closer.

That’s new. You snapped your neck to the voice, inching as far as you could from it. 

The shape that appeared from behind the bed shifted from an abnormally beautiful construct to a tall and thin nurse. 

“What the…” You looked at her face. A smile plastered on her face, hands stretched toward you. “Where am I?”

She gave the expected answer, but she did not understand the depth of your question. 

“Why am I cuffed to the bed?” You asked, not moving from your seat on the floor, your backside becoming cold under the hospital gown.

“Officer Caitlyn wants to speak with you. You were found unconscious in the rubble of the attack.” The nurse went to grab you, and you swatted her hand as your vision layered her hand with a gold claw. She frowned.

“The rocket attack..." You mumbled, and she nodded.

“Quite the spectacle. If it had been in the Lanes, nobody would care.” She whispered, but you heard her.

“People died." You snapped, her eyes locking with yours.

“People die every day.” Her face contorted into a scowl, and you noticed a familiar accent in her speech, hidden behind the effort to sound Pilltovian. She’s from the Undercity.

You looked her in the eyes, and her indifference was palpable. She moved to grab you, but instead, she held her arm out. 

“Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”

You wrapped your free hand on the forearm and pulled yourself up, towering over her.

“There we go.” She patted the bed, and you complied, sitting on it. She stood in front of you, grabbing a tiny silver flashlight from her pocket and lifting it with one hand while the other went towards your face.

Reality shifted, and once again her hand transformed into a golden claw with white fingers. You swatted it away and moved your face out of reach.

“No touching?” She asked, and you nodded, her following your movement a second later. “Very well. But I need to check you.”

You felt the corners of your lips turn up at her sass. With the faint accent, it was like you were back at the Talis Lab.

“I’m fine.” you said, and she rolled her eyes.

“You survived a rocket hit to the head. Trust me, you are fine because we gave you drugs.”

She instructed you to pull your lower eyelids down, pull at your cheeks, and even gave you the tongue suppressor to look at the back of your throat.

"Just don’t touch the face.” 

“Very well, then you have to do it.”

“You seem very comfortable around someone in cuffs.” You told her as she gently peeled the gauze from a wound in your arm.

“People talk. From what’s been going around, you ran into the figurative building on fire. Sure, you knocked around a few enforcers, but sometimes they do need some sense knocked into them.” 

You enjoyed it as her accent became more and more pronounced the more she talked. Memories of good old times flooded your mind when another Undercity crossover would talk your ear off as you fine-tuned your instrument. You knew that accent by heart, even mocking him by mimicking it.

“How long ago did you cross the bridge?” You whispered, not wanting to divulge that information to the world. She raised an eyebrow.

“A few years back, before nursing school.” She kept choking your wounds. “How did you figure it out?”

“The way you speak. I knew…know…knew someone, a friend, a close friend who spoke like that. They were…are…from the other side as well.” You cleared your throat and gave her your best Viktor impression. “If you don’t succeed at first, you must try again, after hiding the evidence, of course."

You both fell into a comfortable silence, her checking your wounds and you reminiscing about the old days.

“That’s pretty good, actually. People here judge on sound alone. I’ve been hiding it for years, and you caught it in minutes.” She grinned.

“It does take practice and a good ear.” 

“You.” She grinned. “Councilor Medarda, Councillor Talis, Councillor Shoola, and Councillor Salo.”

“When was the attack?” You asked suddenly, and she looked up from examining your ankle.

“Two nights.”

“What time is it now?” 

“7 AM.”

“Who survived?”

Your ears drowned with the sound of your heartbeat. Did you go through all of this for this to end up the same way? Were you going to lose your friend again?

"Ah, yes, someone else was found in the rubble.” Your eyes snapped open as she got up from her crouched position. “The other Hextech founder... What’s his face? Lanky, tall, always standing behind Councilor Talis.

"Viktor?” You whispered, and she nodded.

“Yes, that one.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He is alive. For now. The calmness you had from the news was quickly replaced by another violent attack soon.

“Did they announce the remembrance speech day?” You asked quickly.

“I don’t think they even announced the public funeral dates, let alone announce the speech day.” She scribbled something on the board at the foot of your bed. “Well, my job here is done. I hope they go easy on you.”

She nodded, and you nodded back, turning to lay back down on the bed.

You had to figure out a way to stop that speech day. Or stop Mel, Jayce, and Viktor from attending, which would be impossible since Mel would be the one giving out the speech and Jayce was going to follow Mel and Viktor was going to follow Jayce. Or be made to, since these types of events were far from his favorite thing.

Time traveling is complicated, especially when nobody seems to know you.

You frowned. Why did nobody know you? I mean, the enforcers at the hexgate sure, but the ones in the Academy? You were practically a light fixture there, with the amount of time you spent inside.

And then it hit you like a rocket. They didn’t know you because you either didn’t exist or had a completely other life. So there was another possibility to your whole existence in this place. You could have time traveled, yes, but what was stopping whatever did this to you from making you jump through time and space?

What if this was another dimension, another universe, another timeline? What if the gods or whoever was trying to add variants to the timeline and see what got them the best results? 

Your head was about to explode with this new information. Being cuffed to this bed in this brightly lit room was not helping the situation either.

You needed to get out. Without knowing what was the catalyst in this universe for the rise of the Herald, you couldn't stop it. You could warn Viktor; what better way to stop him from himself if he knew the consequences? But what if warning him was exactly what made him go through with it? His magnum opus actually worked for better or worse.

Introducing a single keystroke of a sonata could change the whole tune. You had to warn him, discreetly. Which you couldn’t because you were cuffed to a bed.

Reality moved, and for the first time since it did, you focused on it. It felt like when you’d be in the lab and you could feel a spark of something in the wrong place, waiting for the right circumstance to zap. Another whisper. A soundless gasp reverberated around you. The sound of metal vibrating as it’s struck made waves around you, like a stone that hit the water. 

You managed to decipher, in between the waves, a new rune. 

Whatever powers were drip-feeding you, these runes hadn’t failed you yet. You looked around for a pen, a dusty surface. Nothing. You looked at the hand with the rune scarred into it. Nothing.

You looked at the side table. A glass of water. You tilted it on the table, but as you drew the rune, you watched as it became disfigured. The water wasn’t keeping its shape on the flat surface.

Quickly, you patted the side of your bedding down, making it as smooth as possible. When it was flat enough, you dipped your fingers in the water and drew the rune on the sheet.

Stop the attack. Flick. Nothing.

Did you need it to be broader or more detailed? You tried again.

You flailed your hands around in frustration. The rattling of the cuff on the metal side of the bed echoing around is this wrapped reality. 

Save Piltover. Flick. Nothing

Stop the Herald. Flick. Nothing

"Just unlock, you piece of—"

Growing frustrated, you punched the rune. Something clicked, and your hand was freed.

The world got back to normal, and you inspected your wrist, your gaze shifting from your wrist to the cuff. 

You shook your head to clear it and immediately made your way out of the bed, limping your way out of the six-bed infirmary. Some of the orderlies looked at you sharply, but with the attack they seemed to have their hands full, choosing to effectively ignore you. 

You grabbed someone’s jacket from the foot of a bed and put it on, thanking the gods they had kept your socks on.

The hospital was crowded, and you took that opportunity to make your way towards the exit. You kept your walk brisk and your head down, trying to walk around everything and everybody. Your heart was at your throat. Sneaking was never your forte; the last time you did, your father caught you halfway out the gates of the manor. You sighed, remembering the way he made fun of you more than argued. Footsteps light as a cannonball. You were usually the distraction for the sneaking, being the preferred go-to person for when the boys wanted to sneak a particular piece of equipment into the lab and didn’t need anyone to know. Especially Heimerdinger.

Forgetting your misadventures for a moment, you look up and see the glass doors, and beyond them the street. A couple of more steps. You quickened your pace, breaking into a small, limping run towards the doors.

The fresh air made you stop as it hit you in the face and you realized how damp and dense the air in the hospital was. You took a deep breath and started to make your way towards the sidewalk, looking up at the street, trying to map in your head the easiest way to get to the Academy, maybe even Viktor’s apartment, and if both failed, the Skyward Clinic, the topside private hospital. If any of them was hurt, that's where they would place them.

With your route mentally traced, you turned around to go down the correct route when something—or better, someone—made you stop dead in your tracks.

The Sheriff of Piltover to be, Caitlyn Kiraman, was standing right behind you. One eyebrow raised, arms crossed, eyes red and puffy. The scowl on her face contorting her pretty features.

You are about to run in the other direction, knowing that getting sent to jail would not help in your 'save-Piltover-from-the-Hextech-co-creator-genius-by-saving-said-Hextech-co-creator-genius’ plan when you feel the presence of two people behind you.

“I am not in the mood for games,” Caitlyn said, her voice matching her rigid stance. “If you are well enough to walk, you are well enough to talk. I can bring you in conscious or not. Your choice.”

“Why am I being arrested?” You asked, knowing full well that the trail of unconscious enforcers you left behind two days ago wasn’t exactly lawful.

She simply nodded to the enforcers behind you. They grabbed your arms unceremoniously and cuffed you, shoving you in the back of an Enforcer van.

············ • ············

Groaning, you rest your forehead on the table, the cool temperature of the metal helping the headache. You are sitting inside a concrete room, with your hands cuffed to the table. Caitlyn had left you there to stew.

"I'll be back... eventually." She had spat as she closed and locked the door.

With nothing but time to think, you went through your magic runes. With a limited range of motion, you started by drawing them on the dusty table without any intent for them, pushing them out with a tap of your finger.

Move. Tap. A miniscule part of the table seemed to become liquid, like you had thrown a pebble into a calm river, but nothing shifted or moved.

Unlock. Tap. Both of the cuffs and the door behind you clicked open, and you slowly looked between them.

Before you could get up and walk out, the door slammed open with a very puzzled Caitlyn standing just outside. She looked at the door and then you. Shrugging, you turned back to the table, quickly clicking your wrists together to reclose the cuffs.

“Who are you?” She asked, dismissing whatever thought she had previously.

You answer with your name. First and last.

“Adding ‘identity theft’ to your crimes isn’t going to help you. Who are you?”

Nodding your sighed content. If it’s identity theft, then there is someone with that name. Maybe you’d meet yourself and the dimension would implode. Or they could help you. 

“I would like to speak with my father, Counsellor Rainemour.”

Cailyn raised an eyebrow at your question, setting the folder down and watching you with hawk eyes.

You opened your mouth to answer but didn’t know how to. So, you repeated your name. She groaned and sat down in front of you.

“There is no Counsellor Rainemour.” She stated,coldly.

“But the Rainemours are in Piltover, yes?”

“Enough with this! Who are you? The truth! Now!”

And finally the penny dropped. The reason why it was Caitlyn who was questioning you. She had been such a normal face to talk to, to look at, to bounce ideas with, that it didn’t dawn on you why she was the one talking to you now. The daughter and soon-to-be head of the Kiraman family. She thought you had something to do with the rocket attack.

“Do you know who Jinx is?”

"No.” you lied.

“Do you have anything to do with the attack on the Council of Piltover?”

“Ah… That’s why it’s you. No…”

“Trespassing on government grounds, assaulting several officers of the law, entering a governmental space without authorization, and last but not least involvement in the rocket attack that left several of the councilors dead or injured.”

“Then what were you doing in the council room?”

“I was trying to warn the councilors about it.”

“So you knew about it,” she shot quickly.

“Knowing of a crime and being involved in it are two very different things.” You fired back. “Why am I being arrested?”

You looked at her and made sure she was looking at you, seeing the frown grow deeper as you raised an eyebrow.

Counselor Rainemour liked to argue. He was a lawyer; his whole life was about arguing. Whether it was about Piltover's government or about the ant's right to the sugar in the house. And you loved to argue back. You not only had the patience but also the stubbornness and willingness to argue with your father. You never won, but you also absorbed anything he gave you. Laws, regulations, how the system worked—you were a sponge. If for nothing else, to use it in a following discussion.

“First, I never intended to trespass. I didn't even know I was trespassing. If you don’t know who I am, then I am not in the Piltover's identification system, which means I am not from Piltover. I took a wrong turn.” You leaned back into the chair, the pride and arrogance of a Topsider dripping on every word. You hated to admit this, but sometimes you missed being this person.

“And ended up inside our most complex method of transportation?” She shot back.

“I’m a visitor; how do I know what the inside of the most complex method of transportation in Piltover looks like?”

“You are not a visitor.” She spat and sat down. “It took you 4 minutes and 45 seconds to go from the top floor of the Gate to the Council room. You took shortcuts and straight lines toward the Academy. You are not a visitor.”

You shrugged at her humorless grin. 

“Circumstantial, I may just have a very good sense of direction.” She was about to open her mouth, and you raised a finger. "Secondly, the only officer I assaulted was the one at the gate, and technically it could be considered self-defense. I was confused. He was shoving me. I got scared. He was a very intimidating figure.”

Some part of you was proud to be deflecting all of this; the other knew Caitlyn wouldn’t just forgive and forget. If you got out with even so much as a fine, she would hunt you down.

“What about the other ones?” She gritted her teeth and leaned forward.

“What other ones? I didn’t touch anybody else. Ask them. For all we know, they tripped and fell.”

“Third: "Forcibly" already indicates that it lacked authorization or consent to do whatever you are accusing me of. However...” Now the big finale. “Page 450 of the Piltover’s Government Guidelines, City Emergency chapter, 1st paragraph: any citizen of Piltover is allowed unauthorized entrance to the council chamber if the need to inform the council of a threat to the city is urgent and cannot be delayed. This entrance can be done even if the council is in session.”

You took a little pride in remembering this little snippet. Even if the reason you knew it was not because of your father. In fact, you knew it because Viktor had once made a miscalculation on a hextech concept that Jayce was about to present to the council. So he had burst into the room to try and warn their friend mid-session.

Turns out, saving your friend's face from total academic embarrassment is not a threat to the city.

“You must be really stupid.” At the insult, you narrowed your eyes. "Going on and on with your technicalities, knowing I can use it against you.”

There was one insult that had always made your blood boil. Stupid. You could be called dumb, ditzy, or unintelligent. Anything but stupid. Your Caitlyn knew that; your Caitlyn was the first to punch someone when they did it.

“My father is a lawyer, Miss Kiraman.” Your face turned cold, your tone hard. The shift was enough to make Caitlyn’s eyebrows go up for a millisecond. “He thrived on technicalities. And you can’t use shit from what I just said. You didn’t read me my rights. Nothing I said since you stepped foot in the room can or will be used against me. This…” You pointed between the two of you. “Is nothing more than two friends catching up. Your grief is clouding your judgment.”

For a second, the tension was as loud as a trumpet, and the silence was as thick as a fog. Caitlyn slammed her hands on the table and leaned into it, getting her face an inch away from yours, only to be stopped by someone shoving the door open.

“What are you doing, Miss Kiraman?” An unfamiliar female voice announced from behind you.

············ • ············

Viktor didn’t believe in luck. 

Because if he did, all his accomplishments could have been derived from it. So he just didn’t believe in it much. Sure, maybe finding some coins on the floor was luck, but not much more than that.

Everything he did and does is to make sure nothing is left to luck or chance. Every number on the blackboard, every calculation on his blueprints.

But now, standing in the middle of the destroyed council room, Viktor felt lucky. Extremely lucky.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter One: Blue Hydrangeas- Gratitude

Summary: Your job as a florist has been the highlight of your day for years. It becomes even more exciting when a certain new customer becomes a regular.

Word Count: 2286

Author's Note: Hey guys! My first multi-chapter fic, i'm so excited!!! i don't have a strict posting schedule, but I won't go more than two weeks without an update. please bear with me here because I have no idea what it's like to be a florist. I hope you all enjoy!!

p.s. special shoutout again to @deprivedmusicaljunkie for beta reading, i can't thank you enough!

fic below the cut :)

You were a part of the small minority of people who actually loved their job.

The concept of this was strange to most people — strangers making small talk, men asking introductory questions on dates, even your own parents. Maybe because it wasn’t exactly a career; more so a job that someone has as a way to make rent while getting their degree, which is how you originally began to work at Earth's Laughter Florists. College had been years ago for you now, and yet you stayed behind the counter, making bouquets for customers with a genuine smile on your face. It got to the point that when the old owner decided it was time to retire, she chose you to take over. Of course, you immediately accepted; this job was the best part of your day. While all of your friends were going insane with their office jobs, you… admittedly still went insane from time to time, just in a much prettier workplace.

You had even taken it upon yourself to learn flower language: different types of flowers having different symbolic meanings. It was almost like extra credit. It gave you a new challenge of arranging flowers while keeping both color and symbolism in mind, and helped you create bouquets and arrangements with more meaning. This, in turn, gave your customers a new incentive to buy different flowers for different occasions based on what they meant. More business for you, more smiles on people's faces, and more money in your pocket. Everyone wins.

Another benefit of the job — your favorite part — was that it gave you small glimpses into the lives of other people. Flowers had a multiplicity of sorts. They were so versatile that people bought from you for almost every occasion. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, dance recitals, you name it. It made you more appreciative of others. Every day was a new insight into whatever your customers had going on. And today was no exception.

You arrived an hour before the store opened, as usual. You went into the back and threw on your apron, adjusting your name tag. Thoughts of everything you had to do before opening ran through your head, and you quickly began to busy yourself with everything from giving some flowers new vases of water to following up on an order for a wedding. Your two coworkers came in around a half an hour after your arrival, donning their aprons, saying their hellos, and also beginning their day. When the time finally came, you flipped around the sign hanging from the door, telling everyone outside you were open. You stood behind the counter and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

One of the only downsides of your job was that it required a lot of patience.

It's not like you were just staring at the clock, biding your time until a customer entered. You still had work to get done, mostly tying up loose ends from what you didn't finish before. Your coworkers were occupied with a tall order of arrangements, so they stuck to the back, with the occasional popping in to ask if you needed assistance. Politely, you declined.

Mundane was the word that kept repeating itself in your head as you did your odd jobs around the store. Not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, mundane meant nothing horrible was occurring (even though it meant nothing was occurring). Of course, mundane never does last long.

You had just finished creating an arrangement to put on display when your first customer of the day walked in.

The bell above the door rang, and you quickly walked back over to where you were supposed to be standing, not even bothering to see who had walked in until you were behind the counter.

The first thing you noticed was that he was taller than you had expected, with long brown curls that fell down to his shoulders. His outfit, a black turtleneck, a brown leather jacket, and black jeans, was the right mix of formal and casual; you could tell he had somewhere to be, but with people that wouldn't mind if he laughed a little too loudly.

To top it all off, he was handsome. You couldn't pull your gaze from him if you tried.

He walked forward, slowly looking around at all the flowers on display until his gaze locked onto you. He broke the silence between you.

“Hello. I need some flowers.”

You maintained your composure and brushed off your previous thoughts. You started your usual routine, asking him the same questions to get to know the situation (and him) better.

“What's the occasion?”

“It's my mum’s birthday.”

“Does she have a favorite flower?” You asked. He replied with no hesitation.

“She loves hydrangeas. Blue hydrangeas. She always has.”

His immediate answer brought a small smile to your face. You nodded intently and began to think of all the possible combinations of flowers that would work well.

“You're specific. I like that. That makes my job easier. Usually guys say something like ‘I don't know’ or ‘the purple ones’ or just ‘roses’. It's like some people don't even pay attention.”

“Well, that's all I know how to do.”

“A blessing and a curse, I imagine.”

“More of a blessing, believe it or not.”

“I have a similar blessing, though it seems to be laser-focused on plants of all things.” You joked. “Speaking of plants, let me start on your bouquet.”

You left your spot, walking over to the wall of flowers on display for you to pick from. You stopped and stood next to the man, fixated on the wall as you tried to decide what flowers would go well together, in meaning and in visuals. Mumbling, you thought out loud.

“Alright. For his mother. Blue hydrangeas… that's gratitude. What can go with that?”

The customer tilted his head in confusion, clearly having heard you.

“I don't mean to interrupt, but what's with blue hydrangeas and gratitude?” He asked. Your eyes widened, and you turned to face him as you started your explanation.

“Oh, it's flower language. I learned about it to help me make more symbolic bouquets. Back in the Victorian era, people would use bouquets of flowers to convey messages they couldn't say out loud. Most of the time it was a love confession, though you could also reject someone if you picked your flora wisely. Individual flowers have meanings, too. Blue hydrangeas, your mum's favorite, symbolize gratitude. There was even a change in the meaning based on which side the ribbon was on, or if they were given upside down, and…” You cut yourself off when you realized you’d been talking for much too long, your excited expression dropping. “I’m rambling about something you definitely don't care about. I’m sorry.”

He gave you a confused look, and a small laugh of disbelief escaped him.

“What? Don't apologize. That was fascinating. I don't know if I’ll ever see flowers the same way again. In a good way, of course”

The fact that he was actually invested in what you had to say pleasantly surprised you. People — not just customers, people you actually choose to surround yourself with — would often tune you out after the first two sentences.

You knew this man for two minutes and he was already raising your standards.

“Well then, I’m happy to give you a new perspective. I’ll get started on your arrangement.”

You stepped back to get a better look at the flowers lining the walls of the room. You already had a vague idea of what you wanted, you just needed to put it into action. Hydrangeas were grabbed first, and made the focal point of the bouquet immediately. Other flowers were picked up and put down, a trial-and-error of sorts until you found which ones truly matched.

Occasionally, you looked over your shoulder to find your customer still standing there, spectating you from a few feet away. He watched you with a certain gleam in his eye, one you would attribute to admiration if you didn't know any better.

Once your selections were made, you picked out a plastic sheet and took the flowers into the back, where there was a smaller room with a much larger table surface for a workspace. The wrapping was laid out, and meticulously, flowers were laid down. Rearranged. Shifted around. After a few small touches, everything was in the exact place you wanted it.

You finally finished up, wrapping the flowers in the silver plastic and tying it up with a blue ribbon. You went back behind the counter and held the bundle of flowers up, pointing at each one as you described the meaning of each specifically selected flower.

“There's the blue hydrangeas for gratitude, white roses for loyalty and beauty, and belladonna delphinium for protection and well-being. You're basically showering your mum with compliments with this thing.”

“It's gorgeous,” he replied, the look of astonishment from before lingering on his face.

“As nature tends to be.”

“I mean, you can't argue with that, but the way you’ve arranged them, it's… stunning. She’ll love it.”

His compliment surprised you; it wasn't too often you got such a compliment for a simple bouquet. It caused your heart to flutter in your chest in a way that definitely crossed the border of the employee-customer relationship you had going on. Frightening. Maybe if you kept acting unaffected, it would magically stop.

“Let me ring you up.”

There was no true cash register, and you instead relied on a pen, a yellow legal pad, and mental math for customers’ totals. It took a moment, but you calculated what he owed you.

“That'll be $54.”

He muttered in agreement, and you watched as he reached into his coat pocket. His hand stayed there, fiddling around. After a moment, he reached the opposite hand into the opposite pocket. He felt around for a second, pulling his hands out and placing them on his hips. His content expression was replaced by one that was much more panicked.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s the matter?”

“I…I forgot my wallet back at my house. Do you take any online payment?”

You shook your head.

“No, sorry. We're old school. That's alright though, I can put these to the side and you can run home and get your wallet.”

He let out a frustrated sigh in response, angry more at himself than anything else.

“That's the thing. I live thirty minutes from here and I’m meeting my mum in fifteen minutes, and I have specific instructions to be on time. I might just…”

He stopped his sentence, paused, and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I’ll find something else. Thanks for all your help, though. You have a gift.”

You caught the sincerity behind his now bitter tone, and it made your heart ache. He turned to leave and took a few steps forward. You didn't process that you had said anything until his reaction.

“Wait.”

He immediately stopped in his tracks and turned around, and you realized your impulses led you to call out for him even though you had no plan whatsoever.

Biting at your lower lip, you thought of an idea. You genuinely wanted to help this man give his mother flowers… The fact you found him attractive was merely an added bonus. Besides, the pity you felt for him overrode that. Once the metaphorical light bulb lit above your head, you spoke again, leaning in closer and lowering your voice so only he could hear.

“Okay, I’m not supposed to do this, and this definitely isn't a good business practice, but I can tell you're not just doing this to steal flowers from me, so I’ll make an exception.”

He leaned in as well with a look of intrigue. You continued to explain.

“You can take the bouquet for now, and then within… I don't know, two days, you have to pay me back. I’d just need a name and phone number so I can contact you if you don't show up.”

You snatched one of your business cards from the display and flipped it over so the blank side faces upwards, leaving a pen in front of you so he could write. He picked up the ballpoint, seemingly scribbled for a moment, and then slid the card back over to you. Written in surprisingly beautiful handwriting, you read his name aloud.

“Andrew… Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“I know.”

This caught you off guard. For a second you wondered if maybe you did accidentally give a free bouquet to a shady guy.

“Excuse me?”

Andrew’s mouth went agape as he realized the connotation behind what he said, and he quickly muttered an explanation, flustered. “Oh my god! No. Not like that. You… your name tag.”

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, and you gave him a nod.

“Right. Forgot that was there for a second. Alright, take your bouquet. Happy birthday to your mother. And remember, two days.”

He gave you a gesture showing his gratitude, pressing his hands together.

“Thank you. So much. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.” He said, grabbing the bouquet.

“Hopefully with money in two days,” you joked.

He let out a laugh.

“Money would do the trick. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

You watched as he left, the smile of your face growing as you noticed his appreciation of the flowers you had arranged by the doorway. He paused for a moment before opening the door and leaving, and you caught him humming a tune you'd never heard before.

You hoped he would come back much sooner rather than later.

[muses-of-the-memory]

"Listen." Hector spoke regaining control of his consciousness after the Hurt Incantation had gotten to him, no thanks to Rapunzel. "You're friend is right. Adira is lying to you." Hector said to the princess as Adira started to narrow her eyes at his words. "She... She might have you think she's helping you to find your destiny, but if you go to the Dark Kingdom, you're doomed." Hector warned. The area continued to crumple and Hector falls into the chasm yet again.

"No!" Rapunzel shouted trying out to Hector, but it was too late. "Rapunzel, stay on the path. All our destinies lie within you." Adira said to the princess before she took the glowing spear and jumped into the chasm. "Adira!" Rapunzel shouted seeing her go. She turned her attention to the Lilies, and carried Cassandra to make a break for it out of the Great Tree. Everyone had made it out. Rapunzel took a look at what's left of it, and saw that both Hector and Adira survived, to the princess's relief. Hector's two bearcats then take their master, leaving with him as Adira followed. Rapunzel then turned to Cassandra as she was groaning in pain from the pain on her hand caused by her physical contact with the princess during the Hurt Incantation.

"Oh, Cass. Your hand. Are you okay?" Rapunzel asked with worry. "Yes, I'm fine." Cassandra said gritting through her teeth. "Are you sure?" The princess asked again. "I said I'm fine." Cassandra said, like she was lashing out on her in pain. "But you're hurt." Rapunzel spoke. "I know." Cassandra replied calming down as they saw discarded pieces of armor on the ground. "But it won't happen again." Cassandra spoke as she looked down and Rapunzel looked upon the trail of the Black Rocks. "So, what now?" Eugene asked to his girlfriend as Rapunzel stepped on a black rock pointing her in the right direction. "It's your call, Raps." Cassandra spoke as Rapunzel looked to her friends, and Cassandra had put on a suit of armor and she tosses Rapunzel her handbag she gave her. "This path has been laid out for me. There is no turning back." Rapunzel spoke as she had made up her mind.

"I am going to the Dark Kingdom." She said to her friends.

Continued from here

the next day in the kingdom of Corona, it was a typical normal day, until it ended when the stranger ran passed through the wanted poster that says 'Silent Striker'

"he went this way!" Stan shouted when he and Pete went after him, Mirage and Bella are being prepared to catch him too, the guard captain and the other guard got him surrounded

@muses-of-the-memory

[abluebirdsseaview]

All New part 3

-----------------

Part 1

Part 2

-----------------

A/n: sorry for the wait, and I hope everyone has had a amazing Thanksgiving (if you celebrate)

This is a longer chapter to make up for the wait

Please reblog, like, comment

-----------------

Text messages

You

Heyyyy

I had a really good time tonight

Would love to go out again

But like only if you want to

Drew

I would want nothing more

You looked beautiful tonight

You

Awww thank youuuu

You clean up nice

Drew

You got me blushing

Can't wait to see you again

Text messages with Mads

You

MADELINEEEE

The night was perfect and so is he

Mads

Awwww that's so sweet

My two favs are going to fall in loveee

You

Don't jinx it

I'm just scared about going out

I don't want any drama bc most of my fans are really defensive of tom

And like if I move on fast, people are going to be pissed

Mads

I know you love being chronically online

But you have healed and like the people in your life knows what Tom did to you

You deserve to be happy and not fearful of the public

You

True

I'm still going to try to keep drew and I private especially since this was only a first date

Okay I gtg but ilyyyyy

Mads

Love you more

-----------------

A couple days later

Instagram

tomblyth

Liked by 327,918 users

tomblyth loml

12k comments

User1 well this is certainly a development !

User2 they way I thought I had a chance after the y/n breakup 😔

User3 I just know y/n's gc is going crazy

hole4drewstarkey

Liked by yourinstagram, drewstarkey, and 5,279 other users

hole4drewstarkey drew was asked on the Jimmy Kimmel show if he was open to dating and he blushed and answered definitely WHO IS THE GJRL DREWWWW WHO IS SHEE AND WHY NOT MEEEEEEEEE PLEASEES PLEAK

159 comments

User1 it's me, sorry guys

>user2 me when I'm manifesting

User2 DREW LIKED

>user3 so did y/n.... hmmm

User4 he is so sexyyyy

Instagram DM's

Yourinstagram sent hole4drewstarkey's post

Hmmm open to dating...

Good to know

drewstarkey

Yeah went on a date with a really cool girl last week

Yourinstagram

Lucky girl

drewstarkey

Hold up I just saw the user name and im dying

HOLE4DREWSTARKEY???? killer name

Yourinstagram

I love fan accounts

I started following this one #number1drewstarkeyfan

drewstarkey

Liked by 863,187

drewstarkey missing new york

9k comments

hole4drewstarkey who is behind the camera drew 🤬

>drewstarkey it's a secret

>hole4drewstarkey WTF YOU REPLIED

User1 I'm obsessed with the jacket

User2 thats bae

Madelinecline new york seems to be very popular...

Yourinstagram his favorite drink is a shirley temple btw

>drewstarkey this is confidential information and how dare you release it

Sabrinacarpenter

Liked by 1,278,492 users

sabrinacarpenter the girls are scheming @/yourinstagram

27k comments

Yourinstagram it's killing me to keep this a secret

User1 WHAT IS ITTT5

User2 these queens

Madelinecline the fur coats? I'm obsessed

Yourinstagram

Liked by 973,992 users

Yourinstagram in the city

8k comments

Madelinecline hmmm the fourth pic...

>user1 I feel like Madeline knows things we dont...

User1 the guy in the back of the fourth pic

User2 she's so hot omlllll

Sabrinacarpenter can we try some freaky positions

>yourinstagram how do you feel about wheelbarrow

>sabrinacarpenter yessss 😫

Drewstarkey fire caption

>yourinstagram a genius came up with it

-----------------

Hi friends! If you have any ideas for blurbs or even new concepts, send them in I would love to write them!

Don't forget to like AND reblog

Taglist:

@mads-writes-vibes @xcinnamonmalfoyx @frankoceanluvr11 @willowpains @rafecameronsfan @mytimeiswaiting @aariahnaa @girl-detective16 @mrsjamespotterr @thepopcultureaddict @purplerose291

[atenea585]

I loveeee ur works, could u do 15 with Ben?

💕

Awww, I'm glad you like my works and I hope you continue reading them. Here goes what you asked for❤️

Prompts: “I could ruin you.” “You mean… In a kinky way or bad way?”

Pairing: Soldier Boy/ Ben x Female Reader

Tags/Warnings: Sexual tension, language.

Ben was not one to deny himself the different pleasures in life. He saw something, he wanted it. He wanted to feel good, then he would get it. The same thing happened with women.

Except with you.

No one knew what was wrong with you and him, but everyone noticed how he seemed to ignore you when it came to flirting. Maybe it was because you were too “young” to fit his tastes or that you were simply too insufferable for him to turn around to look at you.

The truth is that Ben saw an innocence in you that he didn’t want to ruin, an innocence that he wanted to maintain. But your attitude did not match that image he had of you.

When you got angry, Ben saw you as an adorable puppy. It wasn’t for anything specific, he just saw you like that. He had created this image of you and nothing and no one could take it away from him. Not even you.

That’s why he ignored your advances.

You wanted Ben, you really did. And it made you angry to think that he ignored you because you were just a little and innocent child to him. You weren’t innocent, at least not to a certain extent. You didn’t know why he saw you like that or why he insisted on not wanting to ruin it.

Damn, Ben, ruin me.

“I just don’t understand why you ignore me.”

“Believe me, darlin’, you’ll thank me later.”

You frowned and put your hands on your hips.

“You know something? Just tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Why do you sleep with all the women in the world, but you reject me as if I had the plague?”

“I won’t talk about my reasons with a damn little girl.”

He turned to leave, but you held his arm. He turned to look at you, and it was obvious that he could easily push you away if he wanted to. But he just sighed and stared at you.

“So that’s it? Am I a just a little girl or too childish for you?”

“Doll…”

“I’m not a kid, Ben.”

He watched you carefully.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” He asked.

“You know what I want.”

In one swift movement, he broke free of your hold with ease and grabbed your arms, making you walk backwards until your back hit the wall, making you let out a surprised gasp.

“Don’t you fuckin’ see it? How can you be so fucking blind?” He said under his breath close to your face. “I could ruin you.”

His fingers digging into your arms firmly, but not painfully. A shiver ran down your spine, his breath on your face was like the air needed to breathe. You felt wetness between your legs. You smiled sideways.

Why couldn’t he understand that that was exactly what you wanted?

“You mean… In a kinky way or bad way?”

He stared at you for a few moments, perhaps thinking that you must be fucking joking or that you had gone crazy.

But at the same time that your innocence kept him away from you, your attitude was what attracted him back.

He looked down briefly at your lips and let go of you, taking a step back to keep his distance and his lust in line.

“You’re fucking insane.” He said under his breath, as if he were spitting venom with every word spoken.

“I am aware of it.” You whispered.

He snorted and shook his head, giving you one last look before turning around and leaving. But Ben couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on his lips as he walked away, his mind replaying the recent moment.

You stayed there, against the wall, your breathing and heartbeat still irregular. You smiled and closed your eyes, remembering his touch and savoring the moment

Please, Ben… Ruin me. You prayed up to this point.

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ANGST #107 “I can’t do this anymore. Sometimes…sometimes I need you and you’re just not there.”

📞 dialling…

Useless was too weak of a word to describe how she felt. Phone playing the voicemail tone she could lip sync off by heart, laying on the coffee table while she hung her head in her hands, tears smeared across her cheeks. 

Hey, it’s Jack. I can’t take your call right now so, uh, leave me a message and I’ll get back ASAP! 

Except he never did reply as soon as possible, ever. He barely saw her anymore as if she’d never existed at all. Y/n spent the nights she usually would be on a cute date with him, alone in front of the TV with a meal for one. It started as a meal for two, cooking for him but the more he didn’t show up, the less she bothered. She’d sometimes attend his games, but after his brother paid more attention to her, she stopped, opting to stay home and watch on the TV, maybe drop a text if they won but it wasn’t like she’d ever receive a reply. 

She ended the call, inhaling deeply and shakily before puny sobs echoed around her living room. Where did she go wrong? What did she do wrong? The sinking emptiness in her stomach consumed her, a numbness to an unsolved problem that couldn’t be solved and she wondered what Jack was running from, or what repulsed him so much that he couldn’t bring himself to step foot near her. So much for being his girlfriend, he wasn’t much of a boyfriend anymore at all. 

Tears came to a halt automatically with three knocks on the front door, the room falling into an eerie silence with nothing but the clock's ticking lurking in the background. She didn’t expect anyone at eight at night and she wasn’t expecting any deliveries either. Regardless, she approached, peering through the peephole and eyes widening. Her heart thumped in her chest and to her ears, stomach twisting uncomfortably and adrenaline clawing away at her. She could have been a coward and gone to bed, or she could move forward with the ball chained to her ankle. 

The door opened slowly, sunken eyes meeting vibrant blue. Jack pursed his lips, his voice hoarse either from hockey or crying, “...Can I come in?”

Y/n nodded, stepping aside and closing the door behind him, gaze following him as he shuffled into the living room, perching on the arm of her sofa. Folding her arms over her chest, she waited. Tear ducts throbbing, waiting to spill and her breathing hitched. He looked like he always did, with a backwards hat, hoodie, jeans, and a guest appearance of a guilty expression on his face. He wasn’t expecting to be let in, he wasn’t expecting her even to answer the door.

“So…I got your call, I was driving so I, uh, couldn’t pick up.” He mumbled, fiddling with his hoodie sleeves. He couldn’t meet her eyes; he didn’t deserve to bask in them like he used to. The woman who stared at him with stars in her eyes was dead and he killed her. 

“Mhm,” she hummed, nodding slowly, almost scoffing, “Were you driving the other times too?”

He knew that was going to come, he felt that arrow through his chest, a weighted feeling that made his cheeks flush. Shaking his head shamefully, his head dropped, and for the first time in a long time, tears welled in his eyes. Maybe it was shame, disappointment in himself but perhaps it was because she was crying, he couldn’t tell, he just felt guilt shaking him to his core.

“I’ve fucked this up…I know. Everyone’s reminded me and I, fuck,” he wiped his eyes with his sleeve, “I know you won’t believe me, but I do love you. Princess, I need you more than anyone and-”

“Jack, I can’t do this anymore.” Her lip trembled, if he could neglect her once, what was stopping him from doing it again? Salty tears trickled down her cheeks, “Sometimes…sometimes I need you and you’re just not there. Where have you been? What did I do? I can’t do all this waiting and hoping that you’ll remember you have a girlfriend. I call, I text, fucks sake, you barely notice when I come to your games. Everyone else can do those simple gestures except you. Sometimes I wonder why we’re still together…” 

Jack stood up, swiftly stepping closer to her but resisting reaching out to touch her, he knew better than to give her affection she didn’t want in that moment. “Y/n, please, can we talk, please let me explain because I can. Not excuses, explanations, with feelings. I want to be with you, I know that I’m sure of that.”

Two sets of blurry eyes locked with each other, her arms crossed, his awkwardly stuffed in his pockets. It was such a shame that the longest conversation they’d had was one on the verge of the end, the last one they’d ever have. She could have told him to leave, that she never wanted to see him again, but she couldn’t do that without closure. It would eat her alive more than anything else.

“Fine. In the morning. Sleep on the sofa.” She murmured, nodding and leaving him to stand alone. He didn’t wipe his tears; he watched her figure disappear down the hall until it was just him and the clock’s ticking. He’d arrived late before; he knew his drill. Lock the front door, turn off the lights, and take his shoes off. Now, the hat lay on the coffee table, the throw blanket over his body and he’d never been more grateful for all the times he slept in her bed.

[authortelevision]

arthur frederick and the new producer: chapter 1 ₊˚⊹♡

words: 3,192 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆arthurtv slow burn, bach and arthur podcast

after lara leaves bach and arthur’s podcast, you become her replacement. after discovering that arthur hates change, it takes a lot for him to warm up to you and become friends. it also takes a lot for him to admit how he truly feels about you.

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Chapter One ₊˚⊹♡

The building doesn’t exactly scream “successful podcast studio.” It surprisingly has a weathered brick exterior and rusted door number that makes you double-check the address on your phone. But this is it, according to the email, Bach & Arthur Podcast – Recording Studio 2.

You try the handle. Locked. After fishing through your bag, you find the key they sent you and slide it into the lock. It groans in protest, but after a sharp twist, the door swings open, revealing a narrow staircase that smells faintly of food.

The email didn’t mention a receptionist or anyone to meet you. It had, however, been clear about the time, 11 am. You’re determined not to be late on your first day.

At the top of the stairs, two doors face you. One has a taped-up sign reading Bach & Arthur Podcast in Comic Sans. You can’t help but smile to yourself. Professional. You knock, just in case, but the heavy door muffles any response.

Pushing it open, you step into a much larger, cluttered room. The recording setup is decent, microphones on boom arms, a grey sofa, with a blue curtain behind it. A black table, in front of the recording situation, is covered in half-eaten food, crumpled notes, and what looks like many cups of tea or coffee or whatever they have been drinking to get them ready.

“Hello?” you call, stepping carefully around an errant cable.

From behind a makeshift partition comes the sound of muffled voices, followed by a thud and a sharp “Ow!”

A moment later, two figures emerge. The first is tall, muscular, and bright-eyed, with a dark mullet that looks like it’s been perfectly combed through. He grins at you immediately, his energy warm and infectious.

“Hey! You must be the new producer!”

“That’s me,” you say, smiling as he approaches.

“I’m Isaac,” he says, offering a hand. “Welcome to our team.”

Behind him, the second figure appears, shorter and thinner but very toned, with brown hair and thick eyebrows. He hangs back for a moment, studying you intensely enough that makes you resist the urge to straighten your posture.

“You’re Lara’s replacement?” he questions, his tone polite but with a slight hesitation.

You state your name, stepping forward and shaking his hand when he finally extends it. His grip is firm, and his voice, when he speaks again, is softer.

“I’m Arthur. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you say. He nods but glances at Isaac almost immediately, murmuring something too low for you to catch. Isaac smirks but doesn’t reply, his gaze flicking back to you.

“We’ll miss Lara, obviously,” Arthur says after moment, meeting your eyes again. His tone is more formal this time, like he’s trying to smooth over something. “She was here from the beginning. But I’m sure you’ll be great.”

“Thanks,” you say, offering a small smile. You’re not sure what you’ve done to earn the slight edge in his voice, but you’re not going to let it rattle you.

Isaac claps his hands together, breaking the tension. “So, how are you with tech stuff? Mic levels, soundboards… all that fun stuff?”

“I can handle it,” you say, glancing at the recording setup. “I’ve been working on podcasts for a while now.”

Isaac grins. “Good answer. See, Arthur? We’re in capable hands.”

Arthur gives a tight smile, then leans toward Isaac and whispers something you can’t hear. This time, Isaac’s grin widens, and he shoots you a quick glance before whispering back.

You try not to read too much into it. People are allowed to have their doubts, it’s not your job to win everyone over on day one.

“Well,” Arthur says after a moment, more to Isaac than to you, “we’ve got a recording in twenty minutes.”

“You’re on it, right?” Isaac says, nudging you playfully. “Check the mics, make sure we’re not awkwardly out of frame, all that stuff?”

“Yes yes, of course,” you say, moving toward the desk.

Arthur watches you quietly as you adjust the boom arms and check the camera height and recording software. You can feel his gaze even when you’re not looking directly at him, and when he leans in to whisper something else to Isaac, you resist the urge to ask if they want you to leave the room.

But as you work, you catch something in Arthur’s expression that isn’t unkind, more cautious, like he isn’t quite sure how to fit you into their established rhythm. It isn’t hostility, just hesitation.

Isaac, on the other hand, seems determined to make you feel at home. “So, what’s the best podcast you’ve worked on?” he asks as you fiddle with the gain knobs.

“Probably Passing Notes,” you say, glancing up. “It’s all anonymous confessions. It’s like set in a classroom kinda thing, so you’d like pass notes secretly. I spent way too many late nights editing out overshares.”

Isaac laughs, the sound loud and easy. “That’s such a cool idea!”

Arthur offers a small, polite smile but doesn’t say much. As the recording time approaches, he leans over to you, his tone soft but unfortunately still professional.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says. “We have a way of… winging things sometimes, but I’m usually good about staying on schedule.”

“Got it,” you say, meeting his deep brown eyes.

Arthur nods once, then moves to the filming sofa, his movements a bit rigid but calm.

As the recording starts, you settle in behind the controls, noting the interest in science between the two of them. Arthur’s laughter is quieter than Isaac’s, but genuine when it comes. And though he glances at you occasionally, it isn’t the skeptical look you feared.

It’s more like… curiosity. A guarded one, but curiosity still.

This isn’t going to be easy. But you’ve made it through worse.

After the recording wraps, the studio settles into a quieter hum. Arthur and Isaac stand from the sofa, their usual post-show energy fading into something less energetic. You busy yourself with jotting down notes from the session, cataloging timestamps for edits, and mentally prioritising what needs to be done before uploading the final cut.

Arthur is already rolling up a spare XLR cable when he looks over at you. “I think that went well,” he says. “Thanks for keeping us on track.”

“No problem,” you say, glancing up from the soundboard.

He nods and places the coiled cable neatly on the desk. “I’ve got an edit I have to send off tonight,” he says to Isaac, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Sure thing,” He replies, giving him a thumbs-up as Arthur grabs his coat from the back of a chair.

Arthur’s gaze flickers to you one last time. “See you next time,” he says, his words careful.

“You too,” you reply, watching as he disappears through the door.

The room feels lighter without him, though not necessarily in a bad way. Arthur carries a weight that seems to press on the space around him, a quiet intensity that isn’t unpleasant, just… noticeable.

Isaac turns to you as you shut down the software and begin powering down the equipment. He leans casually against the desk, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, his tone quieter than it had been all morning. “I just wanted to say, uh, don’t take Arthur too seriously.”

You pause, glancing at him. “What do you mean?”

Isaac shifts his weight, his eyebrows slightly furrowed with a genuine look of concern. “I mean, he’s not trying to be rude or anything. He just… he’s kind of like that. Especially with new people. He’s not big on change, you know?”

You nod, turning back to unplug one of the microphones. “I got that impression.”

“It’s not personal,” Isaac says quickly. “I promise. He really liked Lara, and he’s probably just… figuring out how to adjust to not having her here.”

You hesitate, then smile faintly. “That makes sense. I wasn’t expecting him to roll out a red carpet or anything.”

Isaac laughs softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Yeah, but I know how he can come off sometimes. He’s actually a good guy, I swear. It just takes him a minute to warm up to people.”

“Well,” you say, straightening up and meeting Isaac’s eyes, “I’m not in any rush. I’m just here to do my job and make the podcast sound good. If he comes around, great. If not, I’ll survive.”

Isaac grins. “That’s it man. Honestly, I think he’ll get there. He’s just— what’s the word? Particular. And maybe a little protective of the pod.”

“Protective, huh?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Isaac scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “This whole podcast thing was kind of his baby at first. I just showed up for the jokes. But Arthur? He’s all about the details. He’s, like, scary good at making things better, except when it comes to people.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Good to know.”

Isaac smiles, then gives the desk a light tap. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, seriously. It’s nice to have someone new around. Keeps things interesting.”

“Thanks,” you say, your voice softening. “That means a lot.”

“No problem.” Isaac pushes off the desk and stretches. “Anyway, I’ll let you finish up. First day down, how’re you feeling?”

You look around the now-empty studio, cables half-coiled, the faint smell of their breakfast still lingering in the air. “Good,” you say finally. “I think it’ll be a good fit.”

“Good answer,” Isaac says with a grin. “See you next time.”

“See you,” you say, watching as he slips out the door.

The quiet returns as you finish shutting everything down, your mind replaying the day. Arthur might have been a bit off, even a little distant, but Isaac’s reassurance reminds you it’s all okay.

This isn’t going to be easy. But, somehow, you feel a little more confident that it will work out.

The chill of the November air nips at your cheeks as you walk home, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The sun is already dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of orange and gray. Your breath comes in small, visible puffs as you navigate the uneven pavement, your thoughts circling like restless birds.

Arthur doesn’t hate you. You’re almost sure of that. He’s been polite enough, friendly, even, in that formal way people are when they’re trying not to be unkind. But there’s something in the way he watches you, the quiet whispers to Isaac, the slight hesitations.

He’s not sold on you.

And that’s not a crime, of course. People don’t have to like you. You know that. You know that. But the thought still worms its way under your skin.

What if he doesn’t think you’re good enough? What if he thinks you’re messing up an important rhythm they’ve spent months building? You’ve stepped into something that’s already been established, something Arthur clearly cares about deeply, and now you’re supposed to make it better, or at least keep it from falling apart.

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, kicking at a stray pebble on the pavement. You did your best today, and Isaac was kind, even reassuring. Still, the weight of Arthur’s cold interaction presses on you, and you can’t shake the gnawing feeling that you’re already letting someone down.

It’s not a long walk to your flat, but the cold makes it feel endless. By the time you reach the old brick building, your fingers are numb and your shoulders tense. You fumble with the keys, finally managing to push the door open and climb the creaky stairs to the second floor.

The familiar smell of tomato soup and bread greets you as you step inside. Your flatmate, Emma, is perched on the arm of the sofa, scrolling on her phone with a steaming mug in hand. She glances up as you enter, her light curls bouncing.

“You’re home,” she says lightly. “How was day one?”

You kick off your boots and shrug out of your coat, the warmth of the apartment already seeping into your frozen limbs. “It was… good,” you say, though the words come out slower than you intend.

Emma raises an eyebrow. “Good doesn’t sound convincing.”

You sigh, dropping your bag onto the floor and collapsing onto the sofa next to her. “I mean, I like the job. The studio’s fine, the setup’s fine, Isaac is nice. But…”

“But,” she prompts, her eyes narrowing.

“But I think Arthur doesn’t like me,” you admit, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“Arthur?”

“Co-host. The one people say is like lowkey autistic.” You rest your chin on your knees. “He wasn’t mean or anything. He was polite. But he wasn’t exactly warm, either. And I feel like… I don’t know, like I’m already not meeting whatever expectations he has.”

Emma tilts her head, looking at you. “So, you’re worried you’re not living up to the standards of a guy you just met, who might not even have an issue with you in the first place?”

You groan. “When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she says, setting her mug down. “You just care too much what people think. You’re, like, constitutionally incapable of being okay with someone not liking you.”

You shoot her a look. “That’s not true.”

“Name one person who doesn’t like you,” she challenges.

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Exactly.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I just don’t want to mess this up. It’s a good gig, and I don’t want to make things weird between them, or worse, feel like I’m ruining something Arthur obviously cares about.”

Emma leans back, crossing her legs. “Okay, real talk? You’re overthinking. It’s your first day. If you went in there, did your job, and didn’t, I don’t know, accidentally set the studio on fire, then you’re doing fine. Arthur will come around. Or he won’t. Either way, you’re not responsible for his feelings.”

“I know,” you mumble, though the knot in your stomach doesn’t quite loosen.

“You’re good at what you do,” she says, her voice firm. “And if they hired you, they obviously thought you’d be a good fit. Just give it some time.”

You look at her, her confidence in you unwavering, and manage a small smile. “Thanks, Emma.”

“Anytime,” she says, picking up her mug again. “Now, you want soup? You look like you just walked through a blizzard.”

“It felt like it,” you admit.

She grins. “Then sit tight. I’ll grab you a bowl.”

As Emma disappears into the kitchen, you let your head fall back against the sofa and close your eyes. She’s right, you’re overthinking. Probably.

Still, the memory of Arthur’s quiet glances lingers, and you can’t shake the feeling that winning him over might take more effort than you’d anticipated.

The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the radiator. You lie on your side, staring at your phone on the nightstand, its screen glowing faintly in the darkness. Sleep isn’t happening, not with your brain circling the same thought over and over: Did I mess up today?

Arthur’s neutral expression haunts you. Polite, sure, but distant. Detached. The whispering to Isaac. What were they saying? Are you just reading too much into it?

Frustrated, you grab your phone. Your thumb hovers over the screen. You haven’t texted Isaac before. Your correspondence has been strictly email so far, but he included his number ‘in case of emergencies.’ This isn’t an emergency, not technically, but maybe a quick message would help put your mind at ease.

You hesitate. What if you sound unprofessional? What if you’re overstepping? You chew your lip, then shake your head. Better to clarify now than let it eat away at you.

Taking a deep breath, you open the messaging app and type:

You: Hi, Isaac, it’s your new producer for the podcast. I just wanted to make sure this is the right number?

You hit send before you can overthink it. The message sends, and you stare at the screen, your heart beating a little faster than usual.

The reply comes quickly, too quickly for someone who should probably be asleep:

Isaac: Hey! Yep, this is me. What’s up?

You exhale a small breath of relief. One hurdle down. Now for the awkward part.

You: Thanks for confirming. I hope this isn’t weird to text, but I wanted to ask if there’s anything I can do to help make things feel less awkward with Arthur?

You stare at the screen after pressing send, your stomach twisting. Should you have phrased that differently? Should you have even asked? But before you can spiral too far, Isaac replies.

Isaac: Oh man, you’ve been thinking about that, huh?

You: Yeah a little, I guess. I just feel like there’s some tension, and I don’t want to mess up the dynamic you guys already have.

There’s a brief pause before Isaac’s next message comes through.

Isaac: Okay, first off, you’re not messing anything up. I promise. Arthur’s just Arthur.

You: That’s what you said earlier.

Isaac: Because it’s true. He’s like that with literally everyone at first. Even me.

You blink at your phone.

You: Really?

Isaac: Yeah. When we first started the podcast, it took him, like, three months to stop calling me Isaac during recordings. Said Bach ‘felt too informal’.

You laugh softly, the mental image of Arthur trying to keep things strictly professional easing some of your tension.

You: That’s actually hilarious.

Isaac: Right? It took forever, but he loosened up eventually. He always does.

You hesitate before typing your next question.

You: So, do you think there’s anything I can do to make it easier? Or should I just wait it out?

Isaac’s reply takes a little longer this time, but when it comes through, it’s warm and reassuring.

Isaac: Honestly, just keep being you. Do the job, don’t take his quietness personally, and give him time to adjust. If you try too hard, he’ll probably notice, and that’ll just make things weirder.

You: That’s fair.

Isaac: And hey, if he ever does cross a line, which I doubt, just let me know. I’ll handle it.

You smile at that, grateful for Isaac’s kindness and his willingness to smooth things over.

You: Thanks, Isaac. I really appreciate it.

Isaac: No problem. And don’t stress too much, okay? You’re already doing great. I can tell.

The reassurance settles something in your chest, and for the first time that night, you feel like maybe everything will be okay.

You: I’ll try. Thanks again. Goodnight!

Isaac: Night!

You set your phone down and roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. The knot in your stomach is still there, but smaller now, less overwhelming. Isaac is right, you just need to focus on doing your job and let the rest work itself out.

With a sigh, you pull the blanket tighter around you and close your eyes, determined to get at least a little sleep before tomorrow.

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Chapter Two

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a/n: i hope you guys like the idea of a slow burn !! i’m really excited to continue this story !! they will come out in between my other fics !! LOVE U GUYS <33 and let me know if you want to be tagged in updates !!