#“I ALWAYS KNEW THAT IN THE END NO ONE WAS COMING TO SAVE ME”

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Tall Child.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader (platonic)

Summary: No matter how hard you try to impress him, Agent Hotchner never seems to be satisfied with your work. And it all comes crashing down when you decide to confront him.

Words: 2,7k.

TW: mentions of crime. reader was injured (nothing serious). angst WITHOUT happy ending. hotch being a father figure. soo much angst (yes, again). father and rebellious daughter type discussion. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: He is so ❤️‍🔥daddy❤️‍🔥 but also 💔dad💔 for me, okay?

This was painful to write, so I loved it (I literally wrote it with I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski in the background).

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Anyone who knows you knows that your lifelong dream was to help make the world a better place.

And from your day one at the BAU, you felt like your wildest dreams had come true. You were saving lives, reassuring victims, and helping to bring to justice those who tormented them so they could never do it to anyone else again. You were making a real difference in the world, even if you weren't the caped superhero you wanted to be as a kid.

But, as they say, nothing's perfect. And your job had more contradictions for your mental and physical health than there were fingers on your hands to count. The long and unstable schedule, the few hours of sleep, nightmares about the atrocities you saw, no social life outside the team...and of course, the constant disappointment you felt from Aaron Hotchner, your boss.

From day one, you had worked tirelessly to prove yourself. You craved the approval of your superiors, the respect of your colleagues. The job was demanding, yes, but you wanted to show that you could not only handle it but thrive under the pressure. And you had earned the trust and admiration of everyone around you, except for him.

Agent Hotchner was an enigma to you. There was something about him that both intrigued and intimidated you. He was always so calm, without showing much emotion, without so much as a smile for you. He was a wall you couldn't break through no matter how hard you tried. You had tried so hard to impress him, to make sure he saw your dedication, your work ethic, but you always seemed to fall short. His approval, or lack thereof, hurt more than anything else. You had gotten used to it by now, but it didn't make it any easier.

And now, here you were, in his office, watching him scrutinize your medical diagnosis. He had just glanced at the report from the doctor that had followed you back from the Utah case. Your shoulder, a minor injury, but one that could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t thrown yourself headfirst into the danger in the way you did.

Finally, after several moments of awkward silence, you dared to speak. “What do you think? I am practically at my best.”

Deep down, you knew you were lying through your teeth and that you were not well with an injured shoulder, a concussion, and several bruises, but you refused to say so out loud. You were a brave girl, and he should know.

Hotch looked up from the report in his hand and stared at you. It was the kind of look that made your hair stand on end and gave you a feeling that something was wrong.

“No, you're not.” He sighs and closes the folder before walking over to the desk you were sitting behind. He leans against it as he looks at you, arms folded across his chest. “You disobeyed a direct order during the case. You abandoned your partner.”

“I didn’t abandon Reid,” you replied, your voice sounding more defensive than you intended. You straightened in your chair, wincing slightly as your shoulder protested the movement. “I simply suggested he wait behind me. And it worked, didn’t it? He saved the victim, and I stopped the unsub.”

Teamwork, as you liked to call it.

“It paid off this time,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But that doesn’t excuse disregarding protocol. You put yourself and your partner in unnecessary danger. That’s not the kind of decision-making we can afford here.”

Oh no, here comes the usual chatter you didn't want to hear this time. Normally, you would be quiet, listening and nodding at his every word, but this time there was something different. You just longed for congratulations. Was it really so difficult for him to tell you once that you did something right?

You stiffened in your chair, the ache in your shoulder suddenly more pronounced. “With all due respect, I evaluated the situation and made a hard decision. I’m not some rookie who doesn’t know how to handle themselves in the field.”

Even as the words came out, you felt very nervous. You didn't know if it was the drugs they gave you in the hospital to fight the pain or if it was just your shyness leaving your body completely for no reason.

“I’m not questioning your skills,” he replied sharply. “But you’re not operating at one hundred percent, and that affects your judgment. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for months—longer, maybe. And now you’re injured. You need time to recover and think about this.”

God, no.

“I don’t need time; I need to work,” you shot back, frustration lacing your tone. This job was your lifeline, your purpose. Without it, who were you?

“You know we work as a team. A unit. And when one part of the unit breaks down, there are consequences.” His voice wasn’t just firm; it was unyielding, like a warning. The way he said it almost felt like he was speaking to a child—a reprimand you didn’t want but knew you had earned. “No one is above the team, not even you.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it or the words he used, but it was like the straw that broke the camel's back, and you were tired of putting up with the situation. This was the first time you had made a decision on your own, the first time you had not discussed your ideas with the team only to have them ignored and then spoken louder by someone else. Finally, you had acted, and even that was wrong.

You were tired, fucking tired of being ignored and judged much more harshly than the rest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely audible but heavy with frustration. The ache in your shoulder seemed to flare as if your body was responding to the tension in the room. “And what consequences are you thinking of, sir?” you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm. There was no hiding the venom now. “What’s worse than not being valued even when I do my job?”

His gaze turned hard as if your tone had cut him deeper than any physical injury could. He didn’t take kindly to disrespect, especially from someone who had otherwise followed his orders without question. You saw the shift in him, the quiet fury simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior. If you were anyone else, the conversation would have already escalated. But you weren’t anyone else. You were someone he knew far too well.

“Don’t use that tone with me,” he bit back, his voice low and steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist. There was no mistake now—this wasn’t just about the case. This was more personal. “You are suspended. Your gun and badge on the table. Now.”

Oh, oh, oh.

The words hung in the air between you like a guillotine, sudden and final. The room seemed to close in on you, the breath in your chest catching in surprise. You didn’t know if it was the shock or the disbelief, but your mind struggled to grasp the magnitude of his command. Suspended? Your world was spinning.

You opened your mouth to speak, to argue, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you with nothing but a hollow sound of confusion. “What? Why?”

“Agent, you disobeyed a direct order and endangered yourself and your partner,” he said firmly. “I don’t take your actions lightly. Suspension is not a punishment—it’s a consequence. You need time to heal, both physically and mentally.”

The idea of being sidelined was incomprehensible. The thought of doing nothing—being stuck in your apartment, forced to be still—felt suffocating. No. You couldn’t accept it.

“This is ridiculous. I did my job! I stopped the unsub! Reid saved the victim because I made the right choice!”

You saved a life, even if it meant risking a little of your own. You did save it.

“And what happens next time?” Hotch shot back, his voice rising slightly. “What happens if your judgment falters again because you’re running on empty? What if next time, it’s Reid who doesn’t come back?”

Then, silence.

The thought of Spencer getting hurt turned your stomach and made you question your actions. If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself…His life did matter, a lot.

“Gun. Badge. Now.” Your boss talks again. He gestured toward the desk.

Your fingers trembled, betraying you as you reached for the gun on your hip. The cool metal felt foreign in your hands, like something that had never truly belonged to you. Your mind screamed for you to stop, to stand your ground, to fight this. But your body, exhausted and broken, refused to cooperate.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice cracked before you could get the words out. “I…I didn’t mean…I just…”

Finally, with a shaky breath, you placed your gun on the desk. The thud it made as it landed felt like the sound of everything you had worked for being shattered in front of you. You could feel the sting of unshed tears burning in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

It didn’t matter what you said. It never seemed to matter, not with him. You had tried so hard to be the one who did everything right, to be the one he could rely on, and yet all you had earned was this—this cold, final judgment. He wasn’t just your boss in that moment; he was the embodiment of everything you had tried to prove yourself against. A reminder that, no matter what you did, it still wasn’t enough.

The words spilled from your mouth before you could stop them, the bitter taste of them already familiar. “You think I’m weak, don’t you?” The tone you had intended to be defiant came out more like a desperate plea. “You think I can’t handle this, that I’m just some liability?”

He didn’t flinch at your outburst. His gaze softened, but just barely. “No,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle but firm. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not weak. But you’re hurting, and I can see it. You need time to recover.”

The words hit you like a slap, unexpected and unwelcome. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you tried to fight back the burning in your chest. You refused to let the tears well up, to let them gather where he could see them. Not here. Not now. Please, not now.

“I don’t need time,” you said, your voice sharp, biting. But underneath the defiance was something raw and desperate, a quiet plea that you couldn’t fully suppress. “I need to be here. I need to do my job. I need to save lives.”

The last part came out as a whisper, as though saying it too loudly would shatter the fragile conviction you had left. You felt like you were slipping, like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and all you could do was cling to this one thing—the job. The only thing that made you feel like you mattered.

“The only life you need to save now is yours,” he said, his voice quieter but still heavy with authority.

You froze, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a crushing tide. Your stomach churned, and you fought to keep your composure, to keep from lashing out, even though every part of you wanted to scream. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

A bitter, trembling laugh bubbled up from your throat, unbidden and full of venom. “If it had been Reid or Morgan, you wouldn’t be doing this,” you snapped, the accusation like a raw wound exposed to the open air.

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—anger, hurt, or something you couldn’t quite place. His jaw tightened, his posture stiffening, and when he spoke, his voice was sharper than before, each word deliberate and cutting.

“No,” he said, the firmness in his tone slicing through the room like a blade. “Because they would never have done this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. It slammed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out every other sound. His words rang in your ears, echoing in the hollow space left behind by your crumbling defenses.

They would never have done this.

Your chest tightened, a deep ache settling in your ribs, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unforgiving. He wasn’t just saying you’d made a mistake—he was saying you were the mistake. That you weren’t good enough. That you never would be.

“Is this because I’m a woman?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. There was a bitter edge to them, a question that had been gnawing at you for far too long. “Because Elle is too, and even she has more, or is it because of my age? Reid is younger, and you never doubt him.”

“It’s not about any of that,” he said finally, his voice low and tight. But it wasn’t reassuring. It only sounded like an evasion, like he was brushing your concerns aside, and it made your chest ache all over again. “It’s not about your gender or your age.”

“It’s about me,” you said, the words like glass shards scraping at your insides. “It’s about how you don’t trust me.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost like guilt, but it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his mouth, but the words he spoke next were measured, controlled. Too controlled.

“No,” he said, his voice so steady it almost hurt. “That’s not it.”

You stared at him, heart racing, hands trembling, as the truth wrapped around you tighter than you ever thought possible. His words weren’t just dismissing your feelings—they were rejecting everything you had ever believed about your worth, about why you were here, in this moment, fighting so desperately for something you couldn’t even name.

But this time, it was different. You weren’t going to back down. Not anymore.

“Then what is it?” You whispered, voice breaking, tears finally threatening to spill. “What is it, Hotch? What is it about me that isn’t enough?”

“It’s not about you,” he said, but his voice lacked the certainty it usually held. “It’s not about trusting you…It’s about protecting you.” His gaze softened just enough for you to notice, but it only made the pain worse. “I can’t lose…I can’t let you lose yourself.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You were trembling, your pulse racing in your ears, but now there was only a terrible stillness. You swallowed, trying to push down the bitterness that rose up in your throat.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” you snapped, barely holding back the frustration that bubbled to the surface. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to act like you’re my father, making me follow some imaginary line, keeping me under your control. If you want to raise someone, you already have a baby at home.”

The moment the words left your lips, you saw it—just the faintest flicker of hurt in his eyes. The barest flinch. But it was enough to make you feel the weight of your accusation like a stone, sinking into your chest. The silence that followed was thick with it, suffocating, and you could feel the air growing heavier between you.

“I’m not your dad,” he said, the words low, the icy calm of his voice unmistakable. There was no anger in it, just a hollow, painful truth. But the sting of it was sharp enough to leave a mark.

You blinked, the sharpness of his response cutting through you like a blade. You wanted to fight back, to lash out with everything you had, but something stopped you. Instead, your voice came out quieter, almost hollow as you whispered, “I know…Do you know that?”

And then, just like that, you turned away, your breath ragged in your chest. You didn’t wait for his answer, didn’t wait for anything. You couldn’t stand the ache that had taken root in your chest, the fear that had begun to take shape in the corners of your mind.

And the door slammed behind you.

[bratbarzal]

On My Side (NH13)

Pairing: Nico "I think the hockey gods were on my side" Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy

WC: 6k

part of the On Your Side universe

*This is a bonus chapter set after the ending of the overall fic, and can be read as a standalone if you haven't read the fic, but if you want to understand their dynamic and Poppy's personality a little more, you should!!!

Description: 18+ MDNI, Nico comes home to Poppy after scoring his first ever career hat-trick for the Devils. Way more fluff than smut but Nico is down bad as always.

A/N: You're all a bunch of enablers and that's all I have to say on the matter!!! Hope this fills the void while I continue to struggle with chapter ten lmao there is mention of Baby Cheeto in here but no spoilers for her name. Nico calls her Bug as a nickname, like _____-Bug, Chäferli (little bug) or just Bug for short, but it isn't her actual name. I can't use Cheeto forever lmao. I was literally trying to think of a title and remembered he said the words "on my side" WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HE'S A MASTERMIND he's an oys!truther if I ever saw one! Painfully obsessed with Poppy if you ask me. Also the way Cheeto would rock the heck out of this it's so cute I had to share

Nico Hischier likes to think he’s a patient man.

Finally scoring his first career hat-trick after 8 years in the NHL, after 476 games played with the Devils, would be the ultimate testament to that.

Doing so in the first ever game with his daughter in attendance - on home turf, his mother and Poppy holding her up in the family suite during warm-ups in her little Devils teddy sleeper that he can only just make out from down on the ice, but has his rampant heart beating out of his chest all the same - has him thinking that maybe, after all those years, after all those games, the stars had been aligning for him the whole time. 

And it was that sort of patience he had tried to tune into since the end of the second period, when he knew Poppy had left early to try skip traffic and get their little girl home safe for bed.

It’s what he tries to channel in the aftermath of the game, swarmed by reporters in the locker room, trying to remain polite and professional, not rushing them through their questions or giving half-assed answers - knowing he owes a lot more than that to the organisation that has allowed him to get this far. Trying to save just a speck of energy to give when he finally gets home, collapsing into the warm embrace of the girls he knows are waiting patiently for him.

It’s what he holds onto when he has to take a detour on his way home, dropping his mom off at her hotel and trying not to visibly squirm in his seat as she regales him with stories of how his daughter had captured the hearts of everyone she encountered, swallowing down the slight jealousy that he hadn’t been there to see it and clinging to the fact that he had his own success elsewhere in the night - success that played second fiddle in his own mother’s eyes to the experience of sharing her granddaughter’s first ever game with her, an experience he had to endure twice as she called his father from his car, deep chuckles ringing through the speakers as he tried to get a word in edge ways beyond her excitement.

It’s what has him shaking with anticipation as he almost skips down the hall to their apartment, mustering up the rest of his energy to walk into their home without the weight of the world on his shoulders, leaving any doubt, any insecurity, any lingering self-deprecation at the door so he can bask in this moment with the two hearts that are shaped entirely to fit him into them.

And it’s what has him shaking off whatever disappointment tries to creep in when he sees his little girl asleep in Poppy’s arms, knowing whatever tiny part of her he will ever get will always be enough - even if her big, glassy eyes aren’t looking up at him, even if he doesn’t come home to one of those heart-stopping beaming smiles she has started to give to him whenever he enters the room - her being here, sleeping safely in the arms of her beautiful mother, and him getting to come home to whatever version of them he can, is more than he could ever ask for.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the hat-trick hero.” Poppy’s soft voice carries to him as he makes his way over, dropping his bag on the floor and keys on the counter, heading straight to where she is now standing and pressing a kiss to her waiting lips. “Hi, handsome.”

“She didn’t wanna say goodnight to her daddy, huh?” He tries not to sound too dejected - he’s supposed to be on a high, after all - but after half an hour of his mother unintentionally bragging about all the attention she had been giving to her Gromi all night, he can’t help the slight sag of his shoulders - especially knowing that she’s going to be spending the morning with his mom tomorrow, too.

“Sorry, baby, we watched a little of you on the TV and then she got hangry,” Nico finds himself hypnotised by her still figure, enamoured with the way she exudes sheer calmness. The smile that creeps up on his lips seems to do so by muscle memory - a dopey kind of smile he’s probably had plastered on his face since she came into the world kicking and screaming 2 months ago, a smile permanently etched into his features from probably even before that. “I promise I tried to keep her up, she literally fell asleep on my boob.” Poppy whispers, watching with warm, glittery eyes as Nico takes in the sight of his two favourite people in front of him - Poppy already changed into one of his shirts, settled for the night, and his baby girl all cosy in her little teddy bear onesie, pacifier bobbing between her plush little lips.

“Look at her hat,” he pouts, running a finger along the folded seam of the way-too-big beanie Poppy has perched on top of her head, the knit fabric falling just short of her closed eyes. “That’s adorable.”

“Your mom put it on her before we left,” Poppy chuckles lightly, “Wanted to keep it on until you got home, we had to celebrate the hatty properly.” Her brows raise as if gesturing to the bill of the cap on her own head, one of his, he’s sure - no doubt stolen from their closet as soon as she got home.

“My little good luck charm,” he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek before he lifts himself back up and bends toward Poppy, “Gonna have to start coming to all the games.”

“I’ll let you break the news to her when she wakes up,” she hums as he presses his lips to hers, “She has a very low tolerance for everybody telling her to smile and getting all up in her space, been grouchy all night.”

“Just like Mami, huh, bug?”

“Oh, you think you’ve got jokes now?” Poppy scoffs as she steps back, ready to take their daughter to bed.  “Score your first hatty and you think you’re funny?”

“Always been funny, babe,” he smirks, flicking at the cap sat on her head before he takes it off, flipping it to place on top of his own and following her down the hall. “I’ll prove it to you when I get her first laugh.”

“She’ll be laughing at you, not with you.”

“Better than nothing.”

Nico sits on the edge of their bed as Poppy reaches into the crib to retrieve the sleeping bag in there before she lays it down beside him. He does the work unzipping and readying it for her to place their daughter inside while she rocks her still-sleeping body, and the two of them work in tandem to get her inside before zipping her back up, with Nico softly pulling the beanie from her head and watching her fluffy hair fan out in its absence. 

He runs a gentle hand over her head to smooth it down as Poppy lifts her, and leans into where she offers her up for a kiss before she puts her in the crib. Nico watches with a soft smile etched into his features, the familiarity of it all spreading warmth throughout his chest, his favourite part of every day being this - sharing a goodnight routine in the comfortable quiet, the two loves of his life safe and happy within arms reach.

None of it feels new or daunting anymore, just easy - and despite the constant warnings of it not always being this way, Nico just wants to feel it to its fullest extent; sheer happiness and serenity. 

Poppy returns to the front of him, and he instinctively spreads his legs to accommodate her, palms laying flat against his chest and his hands falling to her hips. She just looks at him for a good few seconds, eyes shimmering with admiration, lips tugged between teeth and a head tilted as her expression flickers into something more intense. 

Her hands travel down his arms, wordlessly, until she grasps at his wrists and pulls him to stand, leaning up to press a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “C’mon,” she whispers while her lips are still against his skin, “Wanna celebrate you.”

As if getting to come home to her isn’t celebration enough.

He follows her back through the hall with their hands clasped together, arms stretched between them so he can watch the hem of his shirt ride up against the backs of her soft thighs, and he starts to feel his throat go dry.

He thinks of all those mornings they would spend in the kitchen together in the summer, his shirts a little tighter around her pregnant belly, riding up against her curves and leaving very little to the imagination when she’d wear just his t-shirt and nothing else.

She’s wearing panties now, he can tell, could see the bottom of them peaking out when she’d leaned over to put their daughter in her crib. But he doesn’t mind inching them off, quite likes the slow pace of unwrapping her like a gift - a well-deserved present for all his hard efforts on the ice.

It’s where his fingers find themselves almost immediately when she stops just short of the couch, spinning and practically launching herself into his waiting arms. He can’t help but chuckle as they collide, large arms wrapping around her frame as she melts into him, hands gripping either side of his jaw to pull him down in a clash of teeth and tongues. He palms at her ass as she presses her hips forward, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties and wriggling under them until his knuckles are covered by the fabric, squeezing at the flesh until she groans into his open mouth. 

He feels deft fingers working between them to rid him of his own clothes, clumsily popping open the buttons of his jacket before working their way up his chest, slipping into the arms and helping him shrug it off. The weight of it drops to the floor with a heavy thud, and when her hands return to his chest for the next item of clothing to be removed, she pushes him back with an exaggerated huff.

“Baby, how many layers do you need?”

“You in some kind of rush, or something?” He chuckles, chasing her lips with a crane of his neck, getting a quick kiss in before she pushes him back again with palms laid flat on his broad chest.

“Your daughter has some sort of radar for when we’re within 2 inches of each other,” she says as her hands slide down, the feel of them through the extra layers he has on still present as she travels past the hard ridges of his abdomen. She grasps tight at the bottom of his hoody, and he lends a hand to tugging it up and over his head, throwing that to the floor, too. “We gotta get a move on before she wakes up,”

“My daughter?” He scoffs, removing his undershirt while she’s distracted, relishing the feeling of a heavy gaze on his chest once it’s fully revealed to her hungry eyes. “She’s really given you such a hard time that you’re disowning her?”

“She isn’t letting me have a hard time at all, that’s the problem.” Her hands reach back out seemingly of their own volition, fingers fanning out across his skin as her stare glides down, the weight of it sliding down his skin to the point he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. 

“That was weak for you.” He teases.

“I’m out of practice,” she pouts, closing the distance once more and pressing her lips to the slightly stubbled skin of his jaw, nipping at the flesh as her ministrations travel across his features, his jaw, his neck, the spot just below his ear, where she mutters, “Wanna show you how proud I am of you,”

“Oh yeah?” He asks as she works at the button of his pants, pushing until they pool at his feet and he can kick them off.

“Mmhm,” she moves her kisses back to his waiting lips, “Been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

“Been waiting to get my hands on you all day,” he mutters back, bending to lift her with hands gripping her ass, “Been thinking about you teasing me in the kitchen this morning,” he starts heading for the couch, mind spinning as she continues kissing him - thinking of all the plans she had been making for the two of them while his mom takes Little Bug out in the morning, finally giving them some much needed, uninterrupted time to themselves. Plans of wasting the morning away between the sheets, sharing showers, having no responsibilities other than paying attention to one another. “Thinking about having you all to myself tomorrow."

“You gonna let me give you a preview?” 

He chuckles as he falls back onto the couch, all grace thrown out the window as they sink into the cushions, her still holding onto him and now straddling his lap, lips stretched into a blissful smile as he looks up at her.

She presses them straight to his, and he can’t bring himself to mind the way their teeth clash at her eagerness, hips grinding down onto his as she settles onto her knees.

He could spend forever kissing her like this, sensual and sloppy, the slight scratch of her nails against the sides of his neck and his grip on her thighs guiding her movements straight onto the aching growth between his legs.

He bucks up to meet her, and their lips part with a wet smack as she groans. 

"Bet you can’t wait for me to shave, eh?” he smiles as he swipes a thumb across the space between her nose and lip, the skin red raw from the scratch of his moustache.

“You know damn well I’d ban you from ever touching a razor again if I could.” She says, breathlessly, slowly thrusting down onto him.

“Tell that to your little red muzzy, you’re giving Luke a run for his money,”

“Hey,” she swats at his chest in feigned outrage, “The kid tried his best!” 

“No more talk about Hughes when you’re sat on my lap,”

“You brought him up!”

“Thought I was getting a preview,” he groans as he shuffles, reaching between them to slip a hand between her legs, tucking his fingers beneath her panties and swiping against her heat. “Jesus, Poppy.”

“Told you I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she pecks at his lips again, raising her hips a little to give him further access to slide his fingers through the almost excessive wetness that’s near enough soaked through her panties. 

He prods at her entrance, two fingers slipping straight in until she’s gasping against his cheek in sheer bliss. His digits move with ease, working his way up to his knuckles as he drinks up her pleasured moans, his chin tilting until their open mouths just press together without kissing, panting against one another as he works her up. 

He pushes the fabric of his shirt up her thighs with his other hand, exposing his handiwork to hungry eyes so he can see the way she glistens between her legs - can see the way his fingers slide in an out of her.

She takes his shirt off, throwing it beside them on the couch so she can see too, looking down for only a moment before she’s throwing her head back.

He’s so hard just watching her that it’s almost painful - straining against the seams of his briefs until they’re tenting beneath her. And she must notice, nimble fingers working him out until he’s thick and hot and heavy in her palm, gripping around him in with her thumb swiping at his tip, hips shuffling until his fingers slip out of her heat and she can move on her knees to hover above his waiting cock. 

He takes a hold of himself while her hands raise to steady herself on his shoulders, and he waits with bated breath as she lowers herself, sinking past her entrance until he’s sheathed entirely, tight, wet walls wrapped around him in a long-awaited embrace.

Their moans fall out in sync, both of them stilling, the only movements between them being the soft rise and fall of panting chests. 

It’s a minute before she starts to rock her hips, leaning back down to distract herself from whatever unease needs to fade away with the press of her lips to his - tongue swiping at his, sucking and nipping at the muscle as she works herself to the point where she can lift herself up a little.

“Fuck me,” he whines out in an elongated groan as she sinks down on him again, tight and slick and warm, and he feels tension in every cell in his body, strung taut to the point where he feels like he could snap entirely in any given moment.

“I’m working on it,” she pouts, “Think I overestimated my talents here,”

“Think you’re very talented,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her jaw as he lays large hands on the dip of her waist, fingers tickling into the arch of her back so her movements are a little smoother, a little more fluid. “So good to me, yeah? Just need a hand.”

He guides her hips into a steady rhythm - up, down, forward, back - until she’s rocking onto him in a mind numbing pace. 

God, he thinks, this is heaven.

It’s been so long since he’s had her like this. Probably all the way back in Switzerland in the summer, and he thinks a lot about this situation mirrors that - trying to stay quiet, trying to feel as much of each other as they possibly can without drawing attention from sleeping parties one room over. 

He remembers thinking, all those months ago, that it wouldn’t be possible to love Poppy any more than he did, then - that he couldn’t possibly feel more for her than he did when he shared that part of his world, and she had embraced it with open arms. She had blended straight into his family, had adapted herself to his routine, had brought new life and colour to what he had always considered vibrant, anyway, but she had changed the meaning of it all.

But she had done the same to life in Jersey. 

Long gone were any feelings of homesickness he used to get - especially around this time of the year. Fully immersed now into his season, summer seeming too far from his reach that he started to forget what home felt like. But not anymore.

Home is Poppy. Home is their baby girl sleeping soundly in the next room. It’s playing one of the greatest games of his career so far, meeting milestones he had been reaching for for so long, standing in the centre of the arena he has built his career in, hearing the rapturous cheers of fans chanting his name, and driving back knowing the love garnered there could never possibly compare to the love waiting for him in his apartment.

He brings her face down with a palm splayed gently across her jaw, fingers reaching back to tickle at the nape of her neck and thumb swiping tenderly at her soft cheekbone, until their mouths collide. He shifts his hips to meet her ministrations, finding a rhythm that has her gasping into his mouth, enough that his tongue can slip past the seam of her lips and press against hers - hot and fervid and eager.

He wonders as the pressure builds if this passion will ever wither. If this need to profess his love for her will ever wain away, if he’ll ever be casual about the way in which she has become the entire centre of his universe.

He hopes not. 

He hopes when he’s 80, he looks over at her and his heart still hammers in his chest. He hopes his mouth struggles to make sense of all the ways in which his brain tries to convey what she means to him - hopes he still stutters around his sentences and feels weak to the very base of his spine at the mere thought of her. 

In fact, he doesn’t hope at all.

He knows he will.

“You feel so good,” Poppy mutters into his mouth, panting against his swollen lips, “I’ve missed this so much.”

“Yeah?” He thrusts up, “You missed being full of me?”

He’s missed this far out look in her eyes, glassed over and almost gone as she nods in response - they haven’t really been able to get to this stage with their quick fumbles and rushed hookups in the last 2 weeks since she got the all clear from her doctor for them to start being intimate again. Sure, they had developed other methods over those first 6 weeks, making good use of hands and mouths in whatever limited time they could find together, but nothing compares to this.

To being attached at every point like they are one.

“You gonna come for me?”

He still remembers her tells, fluttering lashes, trembling thighs, stuttered breaths all combined with the spine tingling way in which she tightens around him, and he manages to time it so they come together, one final burst of energy used to lift his hips just as she sinks down, body slumping into tremors that wrack through the both of them.

He holds her in place for a second, large hands pushing his shirt up her back as he starts to rub circles into her flesh, soothing her back into a softened consciousness - hazy and frazzled but still in tune with every movement he makes. 

Her nose presses into the expanse of his neck, lips pecking at all the sensitive spots she can seek out as they both try to catch their breaths - and he realises she was probably right before, they haven’t had time like this for a while now. 

Still, he’ll take what he can get.

She lifts her hips just enough for him to slip out, and reaches to the small table at the side of the couch where she has miraculously stashed a pack of baby wipes. She takes two out, using one to clean the both of them before she bundles it into the clean one and discards of it back onto the table to be disposed when she eventually gets the feeling back in her legs.

And it’s as soon as Poppy’s legs give way and she collapses into him that they both hear it - a soft wail carrying through the monitor behind the couch. Cries filling the space around them and bursting their bubble with an almighty pop!

“Told you,” Poppy mumbles into his neck, skin sticky with a soft sheen of sweat. “Won’t even let me get a hatty of my own,”

Nico scoffs, snorting out a loud chuckle that shakes where she rests on his chest, and despite her feigned irritation, she feels her cheeks puff out into a soft, unbreakable grin. “Like you’d have lasted 3 rounds.”

“What happened to me being very talented?” She pouts, mustering whatever strength she has left to push herself up, swinging a leg back over and moving to stand, only for him to grasp back at her, pulling her until her back falls into the plush of the couch.

“Talented, Poppy, not super human,” he chuckles, standing from the cushions and tucking himself back into his briefs. “I’ve got her.”

“It’s probably wind, I changed and fed her before she went down.”

He presses one last kiss to Poppy’s head before heavy feet carry him down the hall toward their bedroom, where their daughter’s crib is temporarily positioned until she starts to sleep a little further through the night. He doesn’t bother flicking the light on as he enters, able to follow his muscle memory straight over to where she is without tripping over his own feet, and he lifts her as soon as he can, cooing at her as she cries into his chest.

“I’ve got you, Chäferli,” he mutters as he rocks her gently, large hand completely encompassing where he can feel her back through her sleeping bag. “Daddy’s here,”

He reaches over to shut off the monitor before he ambles over to his and Poppy’s bed, sitting with his daughter still clutched to his chest, little hiccups coming out as his hand tries to work up her wind. 

“Got yourself all worked up, huh?” He asks, so deep into his routine of talking to her about anything and everything that he no longer second guesses it. “My little bug, you’re okay.”

It takes a good few minutes to calm her down, to the point that Nico thinks she might even be hungry and he’ll have to call Poppy in, wiggling a finger between her lips to see if she latches on, but he continues to pat and rub at her back until she burps, and her cries turn into little coos, that turn into soft pants with wide, sparkling eyes staring up at him in wonder. 

He looks down at her in the same way, dark eyes flitting across her every feature. Across the soft but thick head of hair, the crazy long eyelashes, the puffy lips and the little button nose. 

She looks so much like Poppy that he feels his chest ache every time he looks at her - but it’s a good kind of ache, a longing and content kind of ache, that only aches to remind him of everything he stands to lose if he doesn’t work hard enough to keep it.

“Gromi told me you were charming everybody at daddy’s work,” he tells her with a soft smile, the pad of his finger pressing at the tip of her nose. “Says she’s gonna have to show you off around the city on her own tomorrow.”

Tiny fingers reach up to clasp around his, holding on and clutching with a grip he’s sure wasn’t so firm that morning when he had said his goodbyes. 

“Careful, bug,” he tells her, “You hold Papi’s hand too long and he won’t let you go.”

Wide eyes gleam back at him, and he watches in awe as they start to crinkle in the corners. 

He becomes all too aware of the hammering of his heart, and lays her beside him on the bed in fears that the echoing thud of it beating against his chest might disturb her. He curls up beside her, making sure she’s flat as he gets himself comfortable, and just lays there for a good few minutes, watching her as she watches him.

There isn’t a feeling in the world that compares to this, he thinks. He could score a hundred hat-tricks, have a million people chanting his name, and it won’t come close to how adored he feels in this moment, how proud he feels to have played any part in making a little human so perfect and beautiful.

He leans forward, kissing softly at her puffy cheek, careful not to press too hard that she feels the scratch of his moustache, and he relishes the little squeal of what he hopes is delight she gives in return. 

Poppy gives it 20 minutes before she decides to venture through to their bedroom, having cleaned up and busied herself sterilising bottles so they’re ready for Katja to come pick up in the morning. It’s been a rare occurrence lately that Nico has had his one-on-one time with their daughter, him being so busy with training and their trip to Florida - and he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t fess up to the ways in which it gets him down, but she knows he feels like he’s missing a lot. 

She changes so much day to day - discovers so much about the world around her - and as much as Poppy tries to save things for him to see on his own, tries to find the balance between sharing the little moments she gets with him and letting him experience them for himself, she knows there’s nothing she can do to keep that nagging voice at bay.

He’s always been that way, unable to completely silence the thoughts that tell him no matter what he does, it isn’t enough. 

He’d even done it tonight - his first career hat-trick, him being the first Swiss-born player to score a natural hat-trick, a stadium filled with fans chanting his name, dominating a team the Devils hadn’t beat at home in close to 10 years - and it hadn’t been his best performance. 

She would gladly spend the rest of her life convincing him he’s good enough, she thinks. 

Her and their little Bug being the ones who get to welcome him home after a night like tonight? She doesn’t know what she did in a past life to get the Gods on her side like this, but she’d do it again a thousand times over.

As her feet pad softly down the hall toward their room, she listens out for the soft voice she usually has the pleasure of eavesdropping on when she thinks he doesn’t know she’s hovering on the other side of the door. A soft voice that tells their little girl exaggerated stories from his day about her uncles, about his games, about whatever he got up to while he was away and what he brought back for her from his travels. But this time, it’s quiet - the peaceful kind of quiet that wraps around her like a blanket, tranquil and warming as she pushes the door open and steps into the room.

Nico is curled up on his side of the bed, on top of the covers, and his arm is draped gently over their daughter’s sleeping bag, their faces inches apart as soft snores fall from their parted lips. She inches closer as quiet as she can manage, leaning over them and taking in their similar profiles - the gentle slope of their mirrored noses, dark lashes framing closed eyes that are turning darker to match her daddy’s day by day.

If anyone had told the Poppy of last November that this is where she would be now - that this is where she’d be with Nico - she never in a million years would have believed it. 

He has transformed her life in such little time that she can barely remember the before. Can barely remember a night she fell asleep in any other bed, by any other side, or woke up to anyone else. Can barely remember feeling anything close to this kind of happiness, this kind of content.

It’s like he’s introduced her to a whole new level of feelings. Ones she struggles to describe, like there’s no word in the English language that could possibly convey what he means to her.

Maybe his language has a word for it. Something that she’s never heard before, but just sounds right. Like she knew it somewhere much deeper than her brain allowed her access. She’ll have to ask him, tomorrow - when they finally have a morning to themselves and she can work up the energy to crawl out from under the sheets with him.

A part of her wishes she could take a snapshot of this moment - could send it back in time to the Poppy who never thought this kind of life would ever find her. The Poppy who was drifting, coasting, floating, afraid of landing on her own two feet and having to drag them for the rest of time through unfamiliar territories. The Poppy who pushed down her ever expanding adoration for the man currently cuddled up to their entire life in the bed they share, who convinced herself he could never possibly feel the same way, and wasted years of her life when she could have had this.

But another part of her thinks, what’s the point?

She has him, now. 

She’ll have him forever.

She allows herself to watch for a minute as they take deep breaths in sync, all the post-game tension in Nico’s body long melted away, before she quietly shuffles over to the bathroom to get herself ready for bed. 

She manages to make her way back over in the dark without stumbling, by some miracle, and reaches over to pick her baby girl up without interrupting her sleep, standing beside her crib and rocking her a little just to make sure she’s still fully drifted off - relishing the feeling of soft puffs of air falling into her neck as she cradles her.

Nico must wake at the loss of contact, instincts kicking in immediately when he can no longer feel the little body that had been resting under his protective arm, and when Poppy looks back over, she can see the reflective glint in his eyes as he watches her - soft and adoring and tooth-achingly sweet. 

Instead of putting her down, she bounces gently on her feet back over to Nico’s side of the bed, sitting beside him as he shuffles up, and the two of them just watch their daughter as she sleeps. 

For all the times they have been warned that this bliss is temporary, that it’s just a phase, Poppy can’t see it ending for as long as Nico looks at her like this. Like he has the entire world sat in front of him. 

“She was smiling at me before,” he whispers as he repositions himself, legs spread so that Poppy can sit between them. “Was trying to get her to calm down, and she was just looking straight at me with those big sparkly eyes and she smiled right at me.”

“She was doing it a little when we got home, earlier.” Poppy whispers back, hoping he doesn’t mind her raining on his parade a little to tell this story, “We just caught your interview on TV after the game, and there was this close up of you, and she smiled so big, Nico. She never smiles like that for anybody.”

“That’s ‘cause you snitch on her and tell everyone it’s gas.”

“I don’t want anyone else thinking they’re special.”

“But I am?” He asks, reaching to swipe the back of his finger softly against her cheek, the soft moonlight sifting into the room reflecting off of the ring on his finger, the quick glimmer enough to catch Poppy’s eye, to distract her so much that she can only hum in response, lips curving into a tender smile. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, the tranquility of the room a stark contrast to the way her heart erupts into thunderous applause for him - akin to that of the stadium full of fans earlier that night. Thousands of voices chanting his name, singing his praises, cheering him on for all the glory he brought to their night. He brings that to Poppy, tenfold, every day. “You’re really special.”

He leans over their sleeping daughter to press a loving kiss to Poppy’s lips, careful not to disturb the little angel between them, and Poppy kisses him straight back, fervent but fleeting.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” she mutters into his mouth, careful not to invest too much of herself into another moment they’ll swiftly get interrupted from. 

“You gonna show me in the morning?” He mumbles back, their lips still touching, noses pressed together, his hand still cradling her face. She nods, and he feels her cheeks round into his palm. “Gonna give me that hatty you promised?”

“Gonna give you whatever you want.”

“Another baby, Frau?”

She scoffs, swallowing down the fizzing feeling at the back of her throat the nickname. 

“Ask me again after your next hat-trick.” 

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: No one is crazy about him atm, me included, so this is strictly for my readers and my readers only. I don’t condone his behavior at all -Just let me finish out this fic please. Don’t come for me. I’m only a girl with a google doc whose spent hours upon hours and days on end on this fic

Chapter 12 - 'Monaco’ | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

You crawled into Trent’s bed that night, the weight of the party and the fading liquor settling over both of you like a heavy blanket. The room was still, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets as you burrowed into him, pressing your cheek to his chest. His arm wrapped instinctively around you, holding you close, and for a moment, it felt like nothing in the world could intrude on this quiet, safe space. But then, like a sharp snap, reality crept in. Thoughts you’d been pushing aside bubbled up, tugging at your peace.

“T…” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. He hummed, ready to listen, tired albeit. “Are we ever going to tell people?” You felt him tense slightly beneath you, his hand stilling on your back. You bit your lip, already regretting the question. It wasn’t that you didn’t love the secret moments with him—those were some of the happiest of your life—but lately, the lines between private and public were blurring and not in the way you’d hope.

“Baby,” he started softly, his tone careful. “We gotta think about this.” His hesitation sent a small pang through your chest. Trent wasn’t just stalling for the sake of it, though—you could see the storm of thoughts swirling in his eyes. The things Noah, Aiden, and Bailey had said earlier at the party lingered in his mind, mixing with his own worries about how this would affect you, him, and everyone around you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, trying to meet his gaze. Your voice was light, almost naive, but you were desperate for clarity.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, pretty girl or that we won’t ever but you know what’s wrong,” he said, letting out a soft laugh as he looked at you with a smirk full of sympathy. “You’re not the one who’s gonna get your ass beat.” It clicked immediately, and you couldn’t help but smirk back. 

“Oh,” you murmured knowingly. Trent nodded, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm.  Your heart swelled at the tenderness behind his worry. “I’ll protect you though,” you teased sweetly, your lips quirking into a grin.

“And that’s well nice, but I don’t believe you for a second,” he shot back, shaking his head playfully. “I’ve seen you try to fight Jack. Not exactly convincing.” He cupped your cheek. You laughed, leaning up to kiss his jaw. 

“I’d try for you, though,” you whispered, your giggles subsiding into a softer, more earnest tone. The room fell quiet again, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Trent sighed, his hand shifting to cradle your cheek still, his thumb brushing softly over your skin.

“Soon, baby, okay?” he said, his voice steady and filled with promise. “I want you. I want you all the time. I don’t want to hide this way. His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the ache of uncertainty in your chest. You nodded, leaning into his touch as his lips found your forehead. Until, he spoke again. “But we’ve gotta find a way to do it right. I don’t want to hurt people.” He told you and while you understood, it broke your heart. He was hurting you, why didn’t he consider that. But you bit your tongue trying to be rational and understanding. 

“Okay,” you murmured, letting your eyes drift closed. You trusted him—how could you not? And for now, that was enough.

“Baby… Pretty girl… you gotta get up for me,” Trent murmured against your skin. His voice broke softly through the stillness of the room, warm and tender, but his words held a weight that didn’t belong to the intimacy of the moment. His lips brushed against your temple, an apology in the contact before the words even came. Trent looked at you with a pout loving how comfortable you were with him, how cuddly you were. It broke his heart but he had to do it. 

“No,” you mumbled, eyes still shut as you pulled him closer, clinging to the drowsy warmth of his body. “I want to stay with you, baby,” you murmured, your voice tinged with sleep and longing. His hesitation was immediate. You felt the shift in him before he spoke again, his arm loosening its hold on your waist ever so slightly. 

“Baby…” His sigh was almost imperceptible, his tone soft but guilty. “The lads are coming over soon.” Your heart sank. It was a familiar refrain—too familiar. The safety of the morning evaporated, leaving behind the sharp edges of reality. You stiffened in his arms, the weight of his words sinking into you like stones.

“Right,” you said quietly, voice brittle and void of emotion as you sat up too quickly, the ache in your chest making your movements feel heavy. “Got it.”

“Y/N…” Trent tried, his voice laced with regret, but you were already pulling yourself out of his arms, the warmth he’d provided replaced by a cold, creeping frustration. You threw the duvet off with more force than necessary, scanning the room for your clothes.

“No, it’s fine,” you snapped, your voice clipped as you grabbed your shirt from the floor. You yanked it over your head, your movements rushed and jerky, the tension crackling between you both. “Lads coming, so I’ll just—what? Link out? Like usual?” He let out a heavy breath, his hands running over his face and then his hair, visibly exasperated but more at himself than you. 

“It’s not like that,” he muttered, his voice soft, almost pleading. You froze, your back to him, before spinning around, eyes blazing. 

“Then what is it like, Trent?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels exactly like that. It feels exactly like every other time you’ve made me feel less important than everyone else is to you. You pick them over me.”

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly, stepping toward you, his tone filled with frustration and guilt. “You know how complicated this is. You know what’s at stake. It’s not like I’m doing this to hurt you.” He muttered as guilt ransacked him. You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed your jeans, the tears already burning at the corners of your eyes. 

“I’ve been patient, T. I’ve understood. But tell me—when does it stop being complicated? When do you stop hiding me like I’m something to be ashamed of?” His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenching as he struggled to find the right words. 

“It’s not like that,” he said again, but this time, his voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. “You’re being careful about us too. Don’t act like it’s just me. You know it’s not like that.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back, slipping your skirt on with trembling hands. “Because all I see is me sneaking out of your bed every time someone knocks on the door. All I feel is this constant push and pull—like you want me, but only if no one else can see it.”

“That’s not fair,” Trent countered, stepping closer, his eyes searching yours desperately. “You know how much I care about you.”

“Do I?” you whispered harshly, your voice breaking as you looked at him, the man you loved, the man you’d waited so long for. “Because it doesn’t feel like it, T. It feels like I’m the thing you’re too scared to fight for.” His hand reached out, brushing your arm gently, but you pulled away, the distance between you widening like a chasm. He flinched at your retreat, the rejection cutting him deeper than he expected.

“Baby, please,” he said quietly, his voice shaking. “Don’t walk out like this. Don’t do this. We’ve done this.” He said in a more irritated tone than he meant. You looked at him, standing there with heartbreak etched into his features, and it only made the pain sharper. 

“Don’t ‘baby’ me right now,” you whispered hoarsely, the tears threatening to spill as you grabbed your bag.

“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice breaking as he stepped toward you again, but you were already at the door, your hand on the handle. “I’m sorry I forgot some lad’s from the team had planned to come over. If you want to stay, that’s fine but it makes less sense for us to out ourselves to people before we sort everything out and tell the people closer to us. Why would we tell them before…” his words were course but then his tempter faded out. “Jack… please wait…” He whispered.  You paused for the briefest moment, your heart warring with your pride. 

“I’m tired of waiting, Trent,” you said softly, almost too quietly for him to hear. Then you pulled the door open and walked out, the slam reverberating through the room like an echo of everything left unsaid. Trent stood frozen, staring at the empty space where you’d just been. His hand fell limply to his side, the weight of your absence suffocating. He sank back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands as the silence swallowed him whole. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of it was. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to chase after you. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he didn’t know how to fix the cracks that had been growing between you for so long.

You left Trent’s house in tears, your chest tight with a swirl of frustration and heartbreak. He wanted to chase after you but he didn’t have it in him. He didn’t want to upset you but to a certain point how many times would he have to tell you both of you were doing the same thing. He was just protecting what you had. But you felt hurt. Why did he tell you to come home with him if he was going to kick you out. The walk to your car felt endless, your legs shaky as the cold air stung your skin. You couldn’t shake the ache in your heart, the overwhelming confusion. How could something so right between you feel so wrong when it came to the rest of the world? You wanted him, and he wanted you, but you both stayed trapped in this unspoken fear of making it real. Of bringing it to life. 

The drive to Layla’s was a blur. By the time you arrived and knocked on her door, the tears were streaming freely down your face. Layla opened it immediately, her expression softening with concern the moment she saw you. Without a word, she pulled you inside, guiding you toward her couch like she’d done so many times before.

“Okay, sit down,” she said gently, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder as you dropped onto the couch. “What happened?” She asked softly. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out in a rush of anger and sadness. 

“Maybe I should just stop it all. It’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid.” You rashly told her explaining nothing.  Layla sat down next to you, her brows furrowed. 

“Erm… okay, but before we decide anything drastic, maybe you need to take a breath.” She grabbed your arms firmly, grounding you. You shook your head, your tears falling harder. 

“Lay, it’s so good. When we’re together, god fuck! It’s so perfect.” You dropped your face into your hands in frustration. “But then it’s so bad, and it happens so fast. I can’t do this anymore,” you sobbed, your voice cracking as you clung to her like a lifeline. Layla sighed, pulling you into her lap, her hand gently stroking your hair. 

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice soothing, “you two have to talk. This can’t keep happening. You can’t keep living like this—it’s not fair to you. You need to figure out what you both want and make a plan because seeing you like this upset? It’s really fucked up.” She looked at you,  her heartbreaking seeing you like this.   

“I don’t know how to talk to him,” you admitted, your voice muffled against her shirt.

“Why not?” she asked, her tone patient but desperate for you to fix it.

“Because what if I don’t know…” You frowned at her pleading for help. She just waited patiently for you to get to the realization that you knew what you wanted. It was obvious you did. You were just scared but that didn’t make it any less true. You wanted Trent. “What if he doesn’t want the same thing I do?” you said, your voice trembling. “What if I tell him I want more, and he doesn’t? What if this is all I get—sneaking around, hiding, pretending it’s not as big as it feels?” Layla’s brows knitted together in frustration, but her touch stayed gentle. 

“Have you told him you want it? That you want more?” She looked at you earnestly. 

“No,” you hiccupped with a sniffle. “I don’t know how to say it. And if I do, and he doesn’t feel the same…” You trailed off, shaking your head as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Y/N,” Layla said, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at her. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared, but you’re never going to know unless you say something. Even after all these years of so much being said in the silences… now you have to say something. He won’t know unless you do. And here’s the thing—I don’t think Trent’s playing with you. He’s not that kind of guy. But last night at the party?” Her expression darkened slightly. “That fucking bothered me. The way the boys talked about you, like you’re some kind of game or joke to him. It pissed me off, and I know it pisses you off that he lets it go on but he can’t stand up for you if he doesn’t know you want him to. So say something, ask him to stand up for you.” You nodded slowly, your chest tightening at the memory. Layla exhaled deeply, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Look, I get it’s complicated with Jack and everything, but that’s not an excuse anymore. You’re not a secret he should be ashamed of—you’re someone to be proud of. If you say something then it’s on him. He needs to step up. He needs to stop hiding you. You both need to make changes for this to work.”

“Why is he okay with it?” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Why is he okay with hiding me?” Layla pulled you close again, wrapping her arms around you tightly. 

“I really don’t think he is, babe. I think he’s scared too. But the only way you’re going to know is if you ask him. If you tell him how you feel and what you want. Otherwise, you’re going to keep hurting like this, he’s going to keep hurting you when I’m sure he doesn’t want to and you don’t deserve that.” Her words settled over you like a weight, and for the first time, you let yourself think about the possibility of laying everything bare. Of telling Trent exactly how you felt, no matter how terrifying it was.

Days had passed in silence, the kind that echoed loudly in Trent’s chest. Every time he reached for his phone, his fingers hesitated over your name before pulling back. He didn’t know how to fix this—not yet, at least. Summer loomed just around the corner, promising sunshine and indulgence, but the thought of his upcoming holiday to Monaco filled Trent with dread. It should’ve been exciting—yachts, the Grand Prix, endless parties. It was the kind of trip he used to count down to. But now? Now it felt like a prison sentence, especially with Jack coming along. Jack had planned the holiday with Trent, Noah, and a few other boys months ago, hyped about a well-deserved break from football. Trent knew exactly what it would be like: adrenaline-fueled days watching the races and wild, booze-soaked nights in Monte Carlo’s clubs. It had sounded perfect back then—a dream escape. But now? Now Trent could hardly stomach the idea. He didn’t want to be trapped on a yacht or in some overcrowded club, pretending everything was fine while Jack hovered nearby. Jack, who had no idea that Trent had been sneaking around with you for months. Jack, who’d likely kill him if he found out. Jack, who’d likely kill him if he found out he had made you so upset. And there was you. You, who hadn’t spoken to him since you’d left his house in tears. The image of your tear-streaked face haunted him, a gnawing ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. He hated himself for letting you leave like that, hated the way he’d made you feel like some dirty secret. His own pride aside, he didn’t like that he made you cry so much lately. He ran a hand over his face, sinking back into his couch. What was he supposed to do? How could he fix things with you while being stuck on holiday with your brother? Trent stared at his phone again, heart pounding as he opened your messages. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. ‘We need to talk.’ He deleted it. Too formal. Too cold. ‘I miss you.’ No. Too vague. He wanted to say more than that. His mind raced, trying to find the right words, the ones that could pull you back to him. But every time he started to type, the fear crept in—the fear that maybe he’d already lost you for good.

The moment Jack’s name lit up your screen, you put on your best casual smile, trying to steady your nerves. As his face appeared, you leaned back, feigning an air of indifference.

“Hey, you! How’s Monaco?” you asked lightly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. Jack grinned, clearly in high spirits. 

“It’s unreal, honestly. Sun’s out, the cars are insane—it’s all proper vibes here.” He shoot you a genuine toothy grin that reminding you so much of your mum it hurt your heart.

“Nice,” you replied, trying to sound detached as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Race is tomorrow?”

“One more,” he said, glancing over his shoulder briefly. Your ears strained to pick up any faint sounds of Trent in the background—his laugh, his voice, anything—but all you could hear was the ambient hum of a busy room. Jack went on about the plans for the day, but then his tone shifted, a greedy grin spreading across his face. “Oh, and there’s this party tonight. Noah’s got some links here. Meeting up with a few girls.” Your stomach sank like a stone. 

“Really?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. Jack raised a brow at your tone. 

“Yeah, it’s nothing. Just a bit of fun. Monaco’s full of, uh… opportunities,” he said with a laugh. You forced a tight smile, even as your heart twisted in your chest. Jack was waiting for you too call him out for being rude but to no avail… he was confused. 

“So lots of girls for you lot,” you said flatly, the edge in your voice betraying your attempt at nonchalance. He nodded. “Good,” you replied sharply, eyes narrowing as you fought to keep your emotions in check. Jack paused, his expression shifting as he caught onto your mood. 

“What’s with you?” he asked, half-laughing, half-confused.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, your voice pitching higher.

“Y/N…” Jack gave you a look. “C’mon, don’t be like that. It’s jokes. Not serious. They’re just lads going out, let them live. Stop judging.” He fell into a teasing smile. 

“I’m not!” you yelped, the words coming out too fast and too defensive. Jack shook his head, still smiling but clearly baffled. 

“Alright, whatever you say. I gotta get ready. Try not to stress so much, yeah?” The call ended, and you sat there, the silence in your room deafening. Your chest felt tight, and your mind raced with thoughts of Trent, of the girls, of everything unsaid between you. The distance between you both felt insurmountable, and for the first time, you wondered if it was even worth trying to bridge it.

Jack wasn’t stupid. He’d always been the first to sniff out secrets, and lately, something was off. It wasn’t one thing—it was a pile of little things that didn’t add up. You were distant, emotional even, on edge, and while you brushed it off as work stress, Jack wasn’t buying it. Then there was Trent. Once the quiet playboy, he suddenly hadn’t looked at a single girl since they landed in Monaco. Noah had been ribbing him about it for days, and Trent, usually quick with a smirk or witty comeback, just shrugged it off and stayed moody. It wasn’t like him. The real clue began two days before they left for Monaco. Jack had been doing laundry, trying to pack light, when he came across something unexpected—a business card. It was from a high-end restaurant, the kind of place you didn’t just stumble into. Jack’s brow furrowed as he turned it over in his hands. The name nagged at him.

“Where have I seen this before?” he muttered to himself. And then, flash forward to last night, he heard the name again… he and Trent were at the same end of the dinner table with Noah. They were all talking about random spots back home they’d eaten at lately. Trent had mentioned going to the exact restaurant. It took a moment to put two and two together but even when he did, he dismissed it. Jack didn’t want to think much of it other than it was odd—Trent was always out and about, meeting people, living the life of a big time footballer. But now… now it didn’t make sense. Who had he gone with? Trent was apparently seeing a new girl, the one Noah had mentioned. Maybe he went on a date there but then why did the card end up at your house. Jack tried to brush it off, but the pieces were starting to connect in his mind. Trent’s unusual moodiness, your strange behavior, and now this shared thread. No way, maybe it wasn’t from your clothes, maybe it had gotten misplaced, something lost amongst all the traffic of friends in the house. But if it was yours… who had you gone with? It all didn’t make sense.  The realization crept in slowly but undeniably, like a puzzle falling into place. Jack sat back on the couch, staring at his phone in his hand, replaying moments and conversations. Surely not. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing. 

A day or so on, deep in your doom scroll, and in your thoughts, you sat cross-legged on Layla’s couch, while she painted her nails beside you. As you pulled down on your screen, your Instagram refreshed, and there it was: Trent’s latest post. A full photo dump from Monaco. Your stomach dropped the second his name appeared on your screen, but it wasn’t until you saw the pictures that the scream escaped your mouth.

“What the fuck! Oh my God! What the actual fuck,” you yelled, nearly throwing your phone at Layla in shock. She jumped, smudging the fresh coat of polish on her thumb.

“Jesus, Y/N! What?” Layla exclaimed, wide-eyed as she tried to figure out if you were upset, angry, or just losing your mind. You shoved your phone in her face, almost shaking with emotion. 

“Look at this! LOOK at him! Is this some kind of sick joke? What the fuck is this?” The photos were ridiculous. Trent looked good—too good. He was wearing a pair of Prada dungarees, sunglasses, his smile lazy and effortless. Every shot was like a knife to your chest. Him walking around the grid with your brother and Noah, then laughing over drinks. A candid of him on a boat, the Monaco skyline glittering in the background. Another of him standing in a garage, tanned and glowing. Layla took one look and winced. 

“Oh. Wow. Yeah, okay… that’s obnoxious. I mean… what did you expect? It’s Monaco. He’s literally built for a place like this.” She shook her head in faux disbelief because she really could believe it. You groaned, running a hand through your hair, nearly tearing it out in frustration. 

“He looks so good, Layla. So good. What the fuck. And all I can think about is how many girls are probably seeing him right now, in real time, in person. Girls who probably feel the exact same way about him as I do. He never posts but of course he posts this. Fuck off!” You yelled annoyed. You collapsed back onto the couch, clutching your phone like it might explode in your hands. “Is he seeing girls while he’s there? Jack did mention Noah had ‘links.’ What if he’s flirting with them? What if he’s—” 

“Stop,” Layla cut in, her tone sharp but kind. She grabbed your phone out of your hands and set it on the coffee table. “You’re spiraling.” You stared up at the ceiling, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m not spiraling,” you argued weakly. Layla gave you a look. 

“You screamed like someone set the house on fire because Trent posted a couple of photos. You’re spiraling.” She smirked.

“I hate this,” you muttered, your voice breaking. “I hate not knowing what he’s doing, who he’s with. I hate seeing him like this, looking like that, when I can’t even talk to him.” Layla sighed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

“Look, I know it sucks. But you can’t let a stupid Instagram post drive you crazy.  “Millions of people follow him babe but he wants you. You’ll talk to him when he gets back, okay? Just… try to focus on something else in the meantime. And if he is being an prat over there? Then he’s not worth your time, Y/N.  Then he wasn’t worth the risk to be honest. Simple as that.” But it wasn’t that simple. Not for you. Because no matter how much it hurt, all you could think about was how much you wanted him.

When you went home that night and you lost your jealousy but you fell into desperation and vengeance. You were so angry Trent seemed fine. In fact he looked better than fine. You cried on your bed as you pulled out your phone. You stared at Josh’s name. And then in a state of delusion and heartbreak you hit send. You started bawling immediately.  You felt sick, why did you just do that. Why were you so sure? You slammed your phone down on the bed, curling into yourself as sobs wracked your body. You felt your phone buz almost instantly. 

‘My my my… look who it is. Crawling back so soon?’

Your tears blurred the screen, but you could still see Josh’s mocking message, taunting you for your impulsive decision. You hadn’t thought it through—hadn’t considered the consequences of reaching out to him. You only wanted to feel something, anything other than the aching pit Trent had left in your chest. The second you hit send, regret swallowed you whole. Now it was all spinning out of control.Panicked, you grabbed your phone and called Layla. She answered on the second ring, her voice groggy but alert as she heard you crying.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?” She hurriedly asked, scared. 

“Layla,” you choked out. “I did something so stupid. I—I texted Josh.” There was silence on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath. 

“You what?” She yelped. 

“I don’t know why! I was upset, and I wasn’t thinking, and now he’s replied, and I don’t know what to do!” you wailed, your voice cracking. Layla groaned in frustration.

 “Y/N, why would you—why would you even think that was a good idea? You know he’s not worth your time! You said you were going home to sleep not going to text a fucking sociopath!”

“I know, I know! I just—God, I felt so angry, and Trent’s off in Monaco with all these girls, and I thought…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. It sounded ridiculous even to you.

“You thought texting Josh was the way to get back at him?” Layla snapped, exasperated.

“I don’t know what I thought!” you cried. “I wasn’t thinking! And now I can’t unsend it, and he’s already replied, and it’s just… stupid! I’m so fucking stupid, Layla!” You cried. Layla let out a long, calming breath on the other end. 

“Okay. Okay, first of all, stop calling yourself stupid. You made a mistake, but you’re human, alright? And second…” She paused, considering. “What exactly did Josh say?” You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat before you read her the message. Layla let out a noise of pure disgust.

 “Ugh, of course he did. He’s such a tool.” She rolled her eyes but you couldn’t see. 

“What do I do now, Lay?” you whispered, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline.

“You don’t do anything,” she said firmly. “You don’t reply, you don’t engage, nothing. You made a mistake, but you’re not doubling down on it. Block him if you have to.” You sniffled, tears still running down your cheeks. “But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” Layla interrupted. “You’re not talking to Josh. You’re upset about Trent, and this isn’t the way to handle it. You need to focus on yourself, Y/N. Not on trying to make Trent jealous or trying to prove something to anyone.” Her words hit like a slap in the face, but you knew she was right. Still, as you stared at Josh’s message on your screen, you couldn’t shake the sick feeling in your stomach. The damage was already done.

The guilt was suffocating, gnawing at you every second. You hadn’t texted Josh beyond that one reckless moment, but the damage to your conscience had been done. You felt sick—physically ill at the thought of what you’d done, even if Trent didn’t know. The boys’ holiday was finally over, but instead of feeling relief at having Trent back, you were consumed by dread. Jack was hosting one of his infamous movie nights, and you knew there was no escaping it.

“Y/N, come on down!” Jack called from the living room. “It’s your favorite—you love this one!” You groaned quietly, staring at yourself in the mirror. Your face had lost its color, your eyes dull from days of crying and restless nights. You didn’t feel like facing anyone, least of all Trent. But Jack was persistent, and if you didn’t show, he’d come up to drag you downstairs himself. You hesitated at the living room door, anxiety twisting your stomach. The boys turned to greet you as you entered.

“Hey, Y/N!” Noah grinned, lifting his beer in your direction.

“Hey,” you mumbled back, trying to avoid anyone’s gaze. But then you saw him—Trent, sitting on the couch, quiet and reserved. His usual easy smile was gone, replaced by something you couldn’t quite read.

“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, electrifying second. You froze, unable to respond. Your heart ached at the sight of him, at how badly you wanted to talk to him, to tell him everything and fix whatever was broken between you. But the weight of your guilt, of what you’d done and the way you’d left things kept your feet rooted to the spot.

“Come on, sit down,” Noah said, patting the space between him and Jack. You reluctantly made your way to the couch, sinking into the cushions and folding your arms protectively over your chest. The room felt stifling, and your awkwardness bled into your every movement. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, but you could feel Trent’s gaze on you. You tried to act normal, but the tension was unbearable. Every time Trent shifted in his seat or glanced your way, your chest tightened. Your emotions boiled under the surface, threatening to spill over. Finally, the pressure became too much. Your eyes began to well with tears, and you couldn’t stop them. You risked a glance at Trent, and his expression nearly broke you. He looked… pained. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You couldn’t handle it. 

“I… I have to take a call,” you lied abruptly, your voice shaky as you stood up. Without waiting for a response, you darted upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. The second you closed your bedroom door, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. Tears streamed down your cheeks as guilt, regret, and longing consumed you. You hated yourself for getting mad about him waking you up before his friends came over, about what you’d done, about how you felt, and about how hopeless it all seemed. Downstairs, Trent’s eyes followed you until you disappeared. 

“Been so fucking weird lately”Jack nudged him, frowning

“I don’t know,” Trent lied, though the weight in his chest told him otherwise. He could feel the distance between you, and it was killing him.

Trent came upstairs not long after you fled, lying to the boys saying that he was running to the toliet, his heart racing as he hesitated outside your door. He glanced down the hallway, ensuring no one was paying attention, then knocked softly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely audible through the door. The moment you heard his voice, it was like a dam broke. A choked sob escaped your throat, and before you could stop yourself, tears were streaming down your face. Trent pushed the door open gently, stepping inside and closing it behind him. “C’mere,” he cooed, crossing the room in a few strides and pulling you into his arms. His warmth, his scent—it was all too much, and you dissolved into him, your face pressed against his chest. “Baby, please don’t be upset,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt. “I don’t like making you cry.”  You shook your head, your words tumbling out between sobs. 

“I just want you to want me.” You cried. Trent’s arms tightened around you as he let out a shaky breath. 

“Please, baby, I do. I do.” He paused, his mind racing. “I’ll go down right now and tell them. Do you want that? Tell Jack everything?”

“No,” you whimpered, your voice small and raw.

“Baby…” he said softly, caution in his tone. He leaned back slightly, cupping your tear-streaked face with both hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Talk to me then. Be honest with me. Please.” He begged you. Asking the very thing Layla was telling you could help resolve it all. 

“I just want more than this,” you admitted, your voice cracking as more tears spilled over. Trent nodded slowly, his thumb brushing away your tears with careful precision.

 “I know. I know you do. We’re gonna do it, I swear.” He told you softly but surely. You looked up at him, the desperation in your eyes like a knife to his chest.

 “I just want you to like me.” Your words hit him harder than you could have imagined. His lips parted as if to argue, but instead, he pulled you back against him, his hand cradling the back of your head.

 “I do,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I really, really do, so much. Please don’t cry.” He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, swaying gently with you in his arms. He wanted to fix it all, to wipe away the hurt he’d caused, but your arms hung limply at your sides, and it shattered him. “Can you give me a cuddle, please?” he asked softly, his voice almost breaking. After a moment, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding you together. Trent let out a low hum of appreciation, resting his chin on your head. “I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m so sorry.” And in the quiet of your room, you both held on, trying to find comfort in each other even as the weight of everything unsaid loomed heavy between you. Trent went downstairs when it started to get suspicious. And then, after a long twenty minutes of regaining your composure upstairs, you finally mustered the courage to come back down. You moved through the hallway, hearing muffled laughter and the sounds of the movie playing in the cinema room. As you came to the doorway, Jack called out.

“Hey, can you grab me a drink?” He yelled. You stopped in your tracks and turned, your tone sharp. 

“Get it yourself.” You quipped. Jack gave you a look, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. Before you could keep walking, Trent’s voice broke through the tension, smooth and casual. 

“Actually, Y/N if you’re up, mind grabbing me a water?” You froze, his request catching you off guard. There was no way you could say no to him right now, not after everything. 

“Fine,” you mumbled, trying not to betray the softness creeping into your voice.

“Of course!” Jack and Noah mocked in unison, bursting into laughter. You shot them a glare, your cheeks burning. 

“It sounded like more people wanted something after Jack said something, so I thought I’d be nice,” you argued, though even you knew it was flimsy.

“Right, right,” Jack teased, rubbing it in. “You’ve never been this “nice” to us. Where’s our special treatment?” 

“Bro, we’ve never bought her a car. It’s just not gonna happen.” Noah added jokingly 

“She lives in my house!” Jack yelped dramatically trying to justify why you should be ‘nice’.  He was kidding because if he really took a moment you did everything for him. Rolling your eyes, you flicked their ears as you walked past them. 

“Idiots.”  You muttered strutting to the kitchen.  When you returned with the drinks, you handed them out silently, ignoring their smug grins. You settled into the empty seat next to Noah, which happened to be just at the end of the couch where Trent was sitting. As the others turned their attention back to the movie, you felt a gentle tap on your leg. You glanced down to see Trent’s foot nudging you, and when you looked up, he shot you a wink. A tiny smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, and you reached over to squeeze his foot lightly. The brief exchange felt electric, like your own private conversation in a room full of people. No one else noticed, already engrossed in the film. But for the rest of the evening, the space between you and Trent felt charged, his occasional taps a quiet reminder that you weren’t as distant as you feared.

The air felt thick with tension as you sat at the end of the couch, acutely aware of Trent’s eyes lingering on you. Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, though you tried your best to ignore it, keeping your focus on the film.

“You look cold,” Trent said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet. Before you could respond, he pulled his jumper over his head and tossed it at you casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Yeah, put some clothes on, sheesh,” Jack, ever ready to tease you, quipped as he glanced at you in your tiny tank top. His joke made you shrink slightly, but your gaze quickly fell to the jumper in your lap. It was that jumper—the one you’d borrowed just the other day when you went to the beach. The one you had wanted so badly to keep, but knew you couldn’t. Yet, now it was here, draped over your legs like a gift. The other boys erupted into playful jeers as you hesitated, examining the jumper. Noah, of course, couldn’t let it slide, teasing and pinching at you like an annoying older brother.

“Oh, look at her blushing now,” he teased.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, waving them off as you pulled the jumper over your head. The scent of Trent enveloped you instantly—warm, clean, and entirely him. It felt like a secret hug, his presence wrapped around you even when he was sitting a few feet away. For the next half hour, you fidgeted in your seat, feeling distracted by the way the jumper clung to your body and how Trent’s foot occasionally brushed yours. Eventually, you stood, brushing your hands on your thighs. 

“I’m actually tired now and done with you lot so I’m going up,” you announced, pretending to be annoyed as you turned to leave.

Once upstairs, you shut your door and immediately grabbed your phone. Your heart thudded as you typed, 

'Thank you, T xx. Come give me my goodnight kiss pls'

You hit send before you could overthink it. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on your door. You opened it to find Trent standing there, his lips tugged into a small, bashful smile.

“Can’t say no to you,” he murmured, stepping inside and pulling you into his arms. You tilted your head up, your hands resting on his chest.

 “Good. I’d hate for you to start now,” you whispered before he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss that made your heart ache and soar all at once. But in the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom, the kiss between you became hungry and unrelenting. His hands moved over your body like he couldn't get enough, fingers curling into your hips, tugging you closer, as though even the sliver of space between you was too much. You clutched the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to your level, your breath hitching as the intensity of the moment consumed you.

"T," you murmured out of breath, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Your chest rose and fell as you steadied yourself, your lips curling into a mischievous smirk. "You like movies so much, maybe we should make one." His brows furrowed slightly, the intrigue written all over his face. 

"What are you on about?" he asked, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he tried to gauge if you were joking. Before he could process it further, you moved quickly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. 

"What're you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with both curiosity and amusement. But there was also a flicker of heat in his eyes as he began to realize where this might be going. You opened the camera app, thrusting the phone into his hand with a cheeky grin. Trent looked down at you, bewildered yet intrigued, as you began kissing along his jawline, trailing down to his neck. He tilted his head back, letting out a soft groan, the sensation overwhelming him.

"You're mad," he muttered, but his voice was thick with desire, his free hand gripping your shoulder as you sank to your knees before him. Your hands moved deftly, undoing the button and zipper of his trousers, your eyes locked on his. 

"C'mon," you teased, your voice sultry, "just press record." His lips parted as he stared down at you, caught between disbelief and complete surrender to the moment. And so he did. He stared through the screen watching you take his hardening cock out. Your eyes darkened staring up at him as you let a line of spit fall from your lips onto his pulsating cock. He winced. You placed your thumb over his slit leaking pre cum. You massaged over it hard and he groaned as you continued sliding your hand down his base. 

“Baby” he said the pet name as he took a few seconds watching the scene unfolding in front of him in two fold; one viewing on the screen reflecting the scene back at him, the other in real time. “So fucking good f’me” he whispered trying to bit back a groan. This was so beyond risky. He needed to be quiet. Giving him head while all his mates were just downstairs. Your mouth perfectly wrapped around his shaft, as it was meant to be there around him. The motion of your head bobbing up and down had him in awe trying to suppress his moans. He reached to grab your hair with vigor, guiding your movements as you hollowed your cheeks around him, the corners of your eyes now shining with tears as he gagged you with his length. “You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth baby” He cooed as you moaned at the compliment. You could feel your pussy flutter at the compliment. You stared at him through your lashes as you decided to take him deeper, hitting the back of your throat.  He fucked your face, his cock hitting deep in your throat with every thrust. You were drooling at the corners of your mouth gagging on him trying to breathe through your nose when he grabbed onto your face.

“Going to be a good girl and take all of me? Swallow for me?” He could barely get the words out when your tongue swirled around him as you nodded. He released into your throat coating it in his cum. He grunted at the feeling. You lazily continued sucking him until you milked him of everything. Finishing by gently kissing the head of his cock as you sat back onto your heels.

"Did you like filming me?" you asked with a cheeky smile, your voice breathless, your chin was slicked with trails of his cum and your spit. Trent’s hand with the phone was trembling a little and it made you smile, a small visual you did a good job.

“God baby … fuck. Yeah, I did.” Trent exhaled trying to regulate his breathing. “You’re so good f’me” he cooed. You smiled again as s he stopped the recording and pocketed his phone before he reached out pulling you up to him by your arms. He kissed your temple pulling you into his chest more as he breathed heavily. You smile continued to grow against his chest. 

There was an international break. Trent was away and it was hard on you even if he was only down south. You just wanted to be with him but instead you found yourself with the person you wanted to be with least. The person you were having the hardest time being around lately… your brother. The sun was dipping low, casting a warm, golden light through the car windows, but the atmosphere inside was anything but serene. You sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly against your chest as if to shield yourself from the tension swirling around you. Jack was at the wheel, one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel while he animatedly recounted his Monaco stories, his voice filling the car with a steady hum. The air was heavy, though, and you felt like you were balancing on the edge of a knife. The soft rumble of the car engine mixed with Jack’s voice should have been comforting, but every word he said seemed to jab at the precariousness of your situation. Your heart raced, your palms felt clammy against your thighs, and the suffocating weight of the secret you carried seemed to double with every mile. The car smelled faintly of Jack’s cologne and the remnants of takeaway coffee he’d tossed into the cupholder earlier. You stared out the window, trying to ground yourself in the passing blur of countryside, but it wasn’t working. Jack’s voice kept pulling you back into the moment, into the conversation you weren’t sure how to navigate.

“… and so he was literally mobbed. All these little lads were losing their minds trying to get a picture so Trentski took one with each kid cause he’s Trent but then we were late for the boat...” Jack’s salad of words, you assumed was a story, continued on but you started to pay more attention when you heard his name. The car ride became a minefield of emotions. You tried to focus on the passing scenery, but Jack’s words stuck like thorns in your chest.

“That’s sweet though. I miss him a lot,” you had said, without thinking. The second the words left your mouth, you felt Jack’s sharp gaze on you.

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. Your stomach sank. The heat of embarrassment and panic crept up your neck as you tried to recover, your voice scrambling for an excuse. 

“What?” you echoed back, feigning innocence. “I feel like he’s usually around, and now he’s away.” There was a tense pause, the weight of his doubt palpable in the confined space of the car. For a moment, you wondered if he was piecing it all together, but then Jack’s suspicion lingered for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly before he shrugged and leaned back into his seat.

“Hmm,” he muttered, his suspicion fading. “You never miss me like that,” he snapped, though there was a teasing edge to his tone.You were already in freefall, the tension in the car mounting when Jack’s teasing words finally shattered through your fragile façade.

“You wouldn’t know if I missed you… you’d be away,” you quipped, trying to deflect, but your voice wavered ever so slightly. Jack laughed, a sharp sound that made your stomach churn.

 “Fine but Jesus, you’re actually so embarrassing for him. He hasn’t even been around much lately,” he teased, and though his words were light, they landed like stones. You forced a laugh, your heart racing as you tried to mask your discomfort. But Jack wasn’t done. “What are you going to do when he gets married, huh? You know he’s seeing someone, right?” He cooed teasingly. The ache was instant, spreading through your chest like wildfire. You rolled your eyes at him, feigning indifference. 

“Shut up, Jack,” you muttered, hoping he’d drop it. But the words haunted you. He’s seeing someone. It shouldn’t have mattered—it didn’t make sense for it to hurt the way it did because you were that someone. But it did. What if you weren’t that someone though…The thought of Trent with someone else, giving someone else the tenderness he gave you in secret, made your stomach twist. The car fell into an awkward silence. You stared out the window, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything else that might betray you. Jack, oblivious to the turmoil in your chest, hummed along to the music, his earlier suspicion forgotten. But you couldn’t forget. The weight of the lie you were living, the secrets you were keeping from your own brother, felt heavier than ever. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to push the ache down. And yet, you couldn’t shake it. The guilt, the longing, the fear—it all churned within you as you gripped the edge of your seat, praying that the drive would end soon. Jack laughed again, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you. You turned your gaze back to the window, hoping the conversation would end there, but the weight of his words lingered like an unwelcome guest. The rest of the ride was spent in suffocating silence, your hands gripping your thighs tightly. You kept your face turned away, willing the tears that threatened to prick at the corners of your eyes to stay hidden. The secret you carried felt like it was suffocating you, the walls of the car closing in as the miles ticked by. And as Jack laughed at his own jokes and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, you felt the crushing weight of the lie you lived—both to yourself and to him.

In the dressing room at St. George’s Park, Trent sat on the bench, lacing up his boots while the chatter of the England squad buzzed around him. They were talking fixtures, rivalries, and upcoming games.

“Man United’s coming up, yeah?” one of his teammates said, tossing his training top aside. “Should be a good one, mate. They’re in decent form.” Trent nodded, keeping his focus on his boots. 

“Yeah, big game. Away as well.” He chirped nonchalantly. His teammate glanced at him with a grin, reaching to find Trent’s competitive edge.

 “Don’t you have some personal stakes in that one? Doesn’t your best mate’s sister date that Josh lad?” Trent froze for half a second, his jaw tightening. He kept his head down, hoping his reaction wasn’t noticeable. The mention of your name made Trent’s stomach twist, even as he tried to focus on tying his boots. The casual comment about Josh left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t stop himself from snapping.

“Nah, bro. She’s not with him. Fuck that kid,” Trent shot back, his tone sharp and unfiltered. The group of players exchanged quick, surprised glances. His reaction was louder than it should’ve been, and he instantly regretted it.

“Woah, relax, mate,” one of his teammates said, chuckling lightly. “Only a match.” he said, holding up his hands with a laugh. Trent sighed, leaning back on the bench and rubbing a hand over his face. He could feel their curiosity thick in the air. Trent’s mood simmered, but he tried to play it off, reaching for his water bottle. He hated that people still thought there was anything between you and Josh. It made his blood boil. The teammate sensed some tension but was unwilling to drop the topic. 

“I thought you were seeing that Jess girl anyway,” another chimed in, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction—or maybe just stir the pot. Trent frowned, confused. 

“I don’t even know Jess like that. Where’s everyone getting this information from?” Trent asked frustratingly.

“Jess, mate! Megan’s friend. I saw them out in Manchester the other month.” His teammate grinned as if he was solving some puzzle. “Sorry, I just thought you were with her, and I thought Y/N was still with Josh. So… if that’s not true…” He raised an eyebrow, clearly fishing for more information. Trent felt the possessive heat rising in his chest.

“No!” Trent snapped, but it came out too quickly. He shook his head, trying to sound more composed. “No, bro. Just stop chatting nonsense about Jack’s sister, yeah?” Trent said firmly, his voice more serious than it had been all morning. The group fell quiet for a beat before one of them laughed awkwardly, trying to defuse the tension. But Trent’s mind wasn’t in the room anymore. He was thinking about you, about how much he hated keeping this secret, about how much it hurt to hear your name in someone else’s mouth, tied to someone else’s life. He was done holding back. Something had to give. The thought of you with Josh, of anyone else thinking they could have you—it made his blood boil. Trent didn’t want to share you anymore. Not with rumors, not with anyone. He was ready to let the world know. For the first time, caution didn’t seem worth it.

After training, Trent sat alone in his room, his phone in his hand, the tension in his chest making it hard to breathe. The conversation in the dressing room earlier had stirred something deep in him, a gnawing need to reach out to you. His friends’ comments had irritated him, but what really got to him was how much he hated keeping you in the shadows. He hated the uncertainty, the idea that you might not know how much he truly cared. He stared at your name on his screen, the familiar pang of longing hitting him harder than usual. He swiped at the screen, hovering over the call button. His hand trembled slightly as he pressed it, his heart racing as the line rang. You picked up on the third ring.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice cautious, like you knew something was coming.

“Hi, baby,” he replied, his voice immediately dropping into something warm and gentle. It was so full of emotion that it caught you off guard. “What are you doing?” He asked sheepishly.

“Not much,” you answered, frowning at his tone. “Why? You okay, T?” You cooed gently. 

“I just…” He paused, trying to gather the courage to say what he felt. His hand ran over his hair as he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees. “I miss you.” The simplicity of his words stopped you in your tracks. 

“What?” you whispered, caught between suspicion and disbelief.

“I miss you all the time,” he confessed, his voice heavy with longing. “Everything, baby. I miss it all; your smile, your laugh… the way you look at me like I’m the only one who matters. I miss having you in my arms.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it made your heart ache.

“T,” you murmured, your voice shaky.

“I know this might seem out of the blue,” he continued, pressing forward. “But I’ve been sitting here thinking, and I can’t stop. I don’t want to wait till I’m back. I need to see you.” His vulnerability was disarming. You had heard him sweet before, but this was different. His words weren’t casual or playful; they were raw, unfiltered.

“What’s going on?” you asked softly, trying to piece together the sudden intensity.

“I just… I need you,” he said, his voice breaking a little. You couldn’t believe how sad he sounded. “Come down to London tomorrow. Please. I’ve got the day off, and I want to spend it with you. I want you. No hiding, no excuses. Just us.” Your breath hitched at the desperation in his voice. You tried to stay logical, reminding yourself that traveling down to London wasn’t exactly practical. But the way he sounded—like he was holding on by a thread—made it impossible to refuse.

“T, baby, I don’t know,” you said hesitantly, your emotions warring with your logic.

“Please,” he pleaded, the word coming out softer, more vulnerable. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just… I miss you so much, baby. I just want to hold you and talk to you without feeling like we’re running out of time.” The raw emotion in his words broke down your walls, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek. You were scared—of what this meant, of what it might change—but you also wanted him just as badly.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Yeah?” he asked, hope lighting up his voice.

“Yeah,” you repeated, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tears in your eyes. “I’ll book a train for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, relief flooding his tone. You could practically hear the smile through the phone. “I can’t wait to see you. Promise me you’ll text me when you’re on the train, yeah?”

“I will,” you replied, your heart pounding. As you hung up, you sat back on your bed, your phone still clutched in your hand. A mix of excitement and anxiety churned in your stomach. You opened the train app, booking your ticket with shaky hands, all while replaying his words in your head. The thought of seeing him again, of being close to him, filled you with both hope and fear. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like things might finally be moving forward. And as much as it scared you, you couldn’t deny how much you wanted it.

The moment you stepped into the London hotel suite, you felt like you’d entered another world. The soft glow of dimmed lighting reflected off the rich wood paneling and modern gold accents, creating an atmosphere of intimate luxury. Plush furniture, sleek and inviting, filled the spacious room. A bottle of champagne sat chilling on the marble bar, a silent invitation for celebration. Trent was already there, waiting for you. He leaned against the doorway to the bedroom, his casual outfit—just a fitted black t-shirt and joggers—looking comfortably him. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and a warm smile spread across his face as he opened his arms.

“Come here, pretty girl” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection. You crossed the room to him, slipping into his embrace, his arms wrapping tightly around you like he never wanted to let go. The scent of his cologne enveloped you, clean and intoxicating, and you melted against his chest. He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his fingers running gently through your hair. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his breath warm against your temple. You leaned back to look at him, your hands resting against his chest. 

“I missed you,” you replied with a pout, your voice soft but full of emotion. He cupped your face gently, his thumb stroking your cheek as he studied you, like he couldn’t believe you were really there. You slipped in comfortable silence after that, the weight of the week melting away in his presence. The city buzzed far below, but up here, it was just the two of you in a cocoon of peace. The night unfolded gently. Trent ordered room service, insisting on your favorites. You laughed as he fed you little bites, both of you teasing and playing but never breaking the intimacy of the moment. You fell into the shower later on, taking the meaning of hot and steamy to new heights with him until the early morning creeped in. 

You found yourselves sprawled across the massive bed, wrapped up in each other and the sheets, talking about everything and nothing. His fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as he listened to you, his gaze never wavering. In the quiet hours of the early morning, you lay tangled together, his arms strong and steady around you as he held you close. The faint sound of the city below hummed through the glass, but you felt safe, cherished, and completely at home.

“Wanted to be with my girl,” Trent mumbled against your skin, his voice low and lazy as he held you close. The sheets of the hotel bed cocooned you both, your bodies tangled in the soft warmth of the early morning.

“Your girl, huh?” you teased, a smug grin tugging at your lips as you felt his arms tighten around you.

“Yeah,” he murmured with certainty, his words melting into the curve of your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Always have been.”

“Yeah?” you challenged playfully, your voice light but carrying just enough curiosity to coax more out of him. “Even with my ex-boyfriends? Still yours?” You teased him with a smirk. A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrating against your skin.

 “They didn’t exist,” he muttered, his tone laced with stubbornness. You giggled, running your hands slowly up his back, feeling the smooth expanse of his muscles beneath your fingertips.

 “No? That’s funny because I’m pretty sure they did, T.” You cooed as you ran your hands up and down  on his warm bare skin. 

“They didn’t,” he insisted, his voice firmer now, though you could hear the hint of a smirk creeping into his tone.

“You’re delusional,” you laughed softly, your fingers playing with the short coils on the top of his head. 

“No, baby,” he said, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His gaze was so intense, so full of conviction, it made your breath catch. “You’ve been mine. Always.” He confirmed as if almost a command. His words carried a weight that left you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just being playful—he was staking his claim, and you could feel the raw emotion in his voice.

“Okay, T,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. But Trent wasn’t finished. His fingers trailed down to the delicate Van Cleef butterfly necklace resting against your collarbones. He toyed with it for a moment, his thumb brushing the charm before he spoke again.

“You knew,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin. “You wore this necklace. There’s no way you didn’t think about me with other guys while you had this on.” Your eyes widened, a warm flush creeping up your neck. You opened your mouth to respond, but he smirked, cutting you off before you could say a word. He was right though. “My baby… You used to come home from dates,” he continued, his voice low and teasing now, “and still be all over me.” His smirk widened, and you could feel the curve of his perfect, plump lips against your skin. The memory of those days—of how tangled everything had been, how impossible it had felt to stay away from him—flooded your mind.

“You’re so smug,” you murmured, but your cheeks burned as your hands slid up his back again, seeking some sort of grounding.

“And I’m right,” he teased, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw. You sighed, a mix of exasperation and surrender. 

“God, you’re impossible.” You feigned a sigh.  

“But you wanted me,” he whispered, his voice softening as his kisses slowed, becoming tender instead of playful. “And I wanted you… and now look how good, baby, hmm?”  You couldn’t argue with that. Instead, you pulled him closer, your arms wrapping tightly around him. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his temple. “It’s good.” And in that moment, with his warmth surrounding you and his words echoing in your ears, you felt it—there was no one else. There never had been. 

Reflecting back, the memories played like a reel in your mind, each frame more bittersweet than the last. You could still picture the way you used to come home from dates. Your heels clicking against the floor, your shoulders slumped, and frustration practically oozing from your pores. Jack always seemed to be holding court in the living room, his friends sprawled across the couches and floor, a casual chaos you didn’t have the energy for.

“How was it?” Jack would ask, his voice tinged with mild amusement as he glanced up at you.

“Shit, if you’re back already,” Noah would add with a grin, never missing the chance to tease. And then there was Trent. Always there, perched on the couch, looking entirely too smug for someone who hadn’t said a word yet. His eyes would meet yours, dark and knowing, and just before you could make it out of their sight, he’d send you a wink. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it was enough to halt your steps and make your stomach twist. You’d plop down on the couch with a dramatic grunt, trying to deflect their teasing, but you never could escape Trent. Not really. The teasing would persist, Jack and Noah laughing and throwing out half-hearted insults, but Trent’s presence was magnetic. He didn’t join in. Instead, he always found a way to tether you to him, his touch subtle but undeniable. A pinch at your side that made you jump, a squeeze on your thigh that sent warmth crawling up your neck, or even a gentle swipe at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that felt misplaced—but only because it wasn’t meant to. And then there were his words, deceptively kind but maddeningly ambiguous.

 “Not the right one,” he’d say softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. You remembered wanting to scream every single time. You wanted to tell him that you already knew. You’d known for what felt like forever. The right one wasn’t out there, somewhere in the endless sea of mismatched dates and wasted time. The right one wasn’t a stranger you had yet to meet. The right one was him. The right one was sitting next to you, his knee brushing yours, his smirk curling at the edges of his lips, and his fingers ghosting over your skin like he was leaving breadcrumbs for you to follow. And you did. God, you followed him every time.

But Trent never went further, and neither did you. So, you’d sit there, your heart in your throat and your mind spinning with all the things you couldn’t say, while he acted like he hadn’t just unraveled you with a look, a touch, or a single maddening phrase. And you hated it. You hated how much you wanted him and how deeply he had you tied in knots, yet you couldn’t hate him. You never could. Because every time he touched you, every time he said something that felt like a breadcrumb but never a full map, you hoped. You dreamed. And you stayed.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 13 xx

[icarus-lee]

there's no one else, Liebe

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ he's finally turning around, coming home to you. -- when he sees his ex attending his big game, everything comes crashing down on him.

charac. kaiser x fem!reader wc. 900+ no trigger warnings, slighttttt angst + comfort, this kind of kaiser off-field>>>

Michael Kaiser, was a name that everyone knew, except for you. His only name that ever felt familiar to you was Mihya, not Michael, not Kaiser.

In every shade of blue, it was him that spoke to you. You had to give it to him, courting was the last thing you’d expect from the world’s rising star in football. From his monthly bouquets to weekly car rides that lead to no destination. You were with him, regardless. It was an aimless drive, with no target and no point equivalent.

When the weight of the world sits on your man’s shoulders, you are the only person who could give him an only escape. Hickeys in the back seat became normal. Marks left from the night’s blessing became a badge of how good you were to him. You said to yourself “Maybe this is what loving a man like him takes. Yes, he takes, and he takes while I leave with nothing.”

You loved him because you knew that no one else did from his past. Right, his goddamn past. It sometimes gives you the haunting what-ifs of his actions. When he pushes you away from a heated kiss, when he suddenly decides to leave you there in his bed after things get heated. You affirm to yourself, “Maybe it’s just his trauma speaking?”

And just when you decided to let go of your end of the rope. It was now he who needed your saving.

That’s where you find yourself right now, in his big game. The Neo-Egoist League was nearing its end with its final match against Bastard and PXG. And you sat there, with the big screens flashing your ex-suitor’s familiar blonde-blue hair, laser-sharp eyes, and with a scowl that could easily be wiped away by your smile.

Yet what you never expected was how the cameras pan to your section of the crowd, giving you that special spotlight. It was as if those moments were needed just for Kaiser to see you once again. This time, in a different light. You were now just an ordinary bystander, and he couldn’t stand that thought. He didn’t know what got to him at that moment, but something ignited in him.

Two consecutive goals in the 82nd minute. It was a product of you, a product of your presence. The cameras notice that he’s looking at something beyond the field. After scoring his final goal, he was sure, he was goddamn sure of himself that what he saw was you. He ran, and ran. Yet just when he found your spot, that was when you'd already left.

Wow, its the first time in a while that he’s called you by name. It was always Liebling or Schatz, but never your name. The very same name that he'd hoped to put a ring on someday. But those were naive dreams, weren't they? A wasted Mrs. Kaiser.

You could only crack a bittersweet smile. He’s looking for me, you thought. Yet your stubborn heart persisted with your thoughts. You don’t want him to come home to you anymore. He never had a home that could shelter him the way you did, you were sure of it. It was ironic how he’d search for you in the crowd.

But you know to yourself that you’ve walked away from him many months already. Coming back only meant tearing down the walls you’ve hastily built—a foundation bound to still be vulnerable from his touch.

You didn't dare turn around. Not until a hand was there to strongly grip your vulnerable wrist. It was cold and dry, just like the winter that he left you with. How could he catch up with you leaving the stadium? In this crowded street, where snowflakes fell hard to the concrete. You could see it in his eyes that he begged for someone, not for something. And that was you.

“Can we talk? ” He started, with sweat dripping down his temples as he controlled his panting. He was still wearing the same jersey he had for the game, and it was that same jersey that he chose over you, over this whole relationship.

Your stern expression, partnered with your silence, had suddenly eroded his strong resolve. “Please” was all that he could say. He was on his last straw, begging not to break by the force of your deafness. But who’s to say that you weren’t also breaking? And what is it now, with him? You didn't know if you were talking to the same Mihya many months before—the Mihya that willingly left your shared apartment, never to look back again.

“Why…now? Michael, why now? "You asked, pulling back your wrist that he desperately gripped; to your surprise, he had already loosened it.

“Don’t try to be a stranger to me y/n, that’s all I ask."

You scoff, “That’s all you ask? I should be the one telling you that. Go on, celebrate your big game, get intoxicated, get yourself off with some other woman.”

He takes another step forward, and you slowly see his own nonchalance cracking away with each word he lets out. “Maybe love does come first before soccer. Because I know damn well that my feet won’t drag me here if I was over you, huh? ”

And that was your last straw. “You’re full of bullshit-“

“I fucking know I am y/n. I’m not used to gentleness, I don’t know how to hold a heart and not break it, love is something alien to me. I bite and I don’t fucking know why.”

“Michael.”

“You know you don't call me that.”

You take a hesitant pause, “….. Mihya”

“Liebe” He called out instantly, desperate to say it out loud for your ears to once again reach.

He continued, “I wanna come home, but this time, I’m choosing to stay.”

kaiser's character is definitely vulnerable to love and relationships, and he often makes irrational decisions when it comes down to it, a very grand contrast to his dominant personality on the field.

[shycroissanti]

IRINA GONSHIRA🌌💙

✨️A "little" about her✨️

Answering @yaegxr 's ask💖

AAAA I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKE HER!!🥹💖

Well, I don't have the complete story yet (because I'm not associating my OCs with Demon Slayer anymore exactly because now I'm focusing on a totally original story - but I can still write a little about this version of it), and also my blog is still a bit messy, but nothing stops me from writing now!!

Starting with the basic information!!

Name: Irina Gonshira

Age: 19 years old

Height: 1.70m

Birthday: August 23

Family:

Yuliya Gonshira - mother

Masato Gonshira - father

Liliya Gonshira - younger sister

Dmitry Gonshira - cousin

History:

Irina has always been a cheerful and determined girl. She comes from a rich and powerful family (Yuliya is one of the best demon hunters, and Masato is a very famous architect/engineer there)

Inspired mainly by her mother, since she was little, Irina had the dream of being like Yuliya, strong and able to protect everyone around her, so she starts training from a very young age, which irritated her father, who did not support her (and this generates conflicts throughout the story).

At a certain point, Irina meets Kishin, an orphan boy who was bullied by almost everyone in the orphanage where he lived, but the worst of all was Kenta, another orphan boy. Irina saves Kishin and soon the two become very attached to each other, creating a very strong friendship. And at the same time, creating a huge rivalry with Kenta.

Later, around the age of 15 to 17, Irina's life would become total chaos.

First, Yuliya had to leave for an extremely important mission, leaving her entire family behind. Since then, Irina has never heard from her mother again.

Soon, she suffered the comet incident (comic) , where a comet hit her in the middle of the forest while she was walking at night. She almost died, but the comet's energy kept her alive and changed everything in her body and mind. Irina feels more energetic and much more outgoing, even becoming much more impulsive and noisy. This energy is great for keeping her strong and ready for anything, but it is also very dangerous, because if she cannot control her feelings properly, Irina feels a strong burning sensation throughout her body, which hurts her a lot (in other words, she has "super powers" that help her and at the same time destroy her).

Another thing that happened is that her beloved friend, Kishin, turned into a demon (he had no other option, he became a demon against his will - comic ). Kishin knew that Irina's dream had always been to be a demon hunter, and now that he was one, he believed that she would hate him and that they could never be together again, so he tried to avoid her all day, because he didn't know what to do, he didn't want to end his beloved Irina's dreams.

While this was happening, at Irina's house, Masato was already tired of everything, having lost his wife (who in truth Masato didn't even care much about Yuliya at that point) and because Irina was a great disappointment to him. So Masato came up with a plan to get rid of Irina. He told her that she should leave and go on a supposed mission far away from there so that she could be part of the Sunlights (in this case, the Sunlights are like the Hashiras, but in the Sunlight Force universe). Irina believed her father without hesitation, so she left home soon after, and finally went looking for Kishin, because she couldn't leave him like that without telling him. Irina was already sad about everything that was happening, so she finally found Kishin, and her world fell apart completely.

Kishin was desperate. He tried to do everything, promise her that he would never do anything like the demons do, and he, heartbroken, said that he could leave and live in isolation if she wanted. At that point, Irina breaks down, her sense of reality was completely altered. She always heard Yuliya's stories about how all demons are evil and must be defeated, but seeing her beloved Kishin like that, she could never do something like that (and even more so because she noticed that Kishin was still the same guy she always loved), so Irina hugs him and promises that they will stay together, that it doesn't matter if he was a demon and she wanted to be a Sunlight, she dreamed of protecting those she loves, and she loves him, so the two stayed together and nothing would separate them.

So since Irina needed to go on the "mission" that Masato had told her and Kishin could no longer live there, the two left the city, and thus the various adventures that I have been writing about have happened.

Now some fun facts!

Irina's favorite food is tamago sando.

Irina is afraid of onions.

She loves collecting rocks.

She likes to cook, but she often burns all the pies she makes.

Sorry, I guess I got excited to write about her xD But still, you can always find more stuff about her with the tag #Irina Gonshira or check out my other blog @shycroissanti-comics , there are all the arts and comics I've ever made :D

Sorry if I wrote a lot of things wrong (〃ﾉωﾉ)

And please consider helping me by reblogging thisﾟ+.(*´pωq`)ﾟ+.💖💖

[fishysaltine]

Honestly I’ve always seen Bloodbath (or the kill Zara quest) as Illario’s final desperate attempt to be swayed form his plan. It kind of reminds me of Solas and Varric’s note of him in the beginning of the game “he just needs someone to give him a different option”

Like Illario is genuinely upset about this whole thing. He thought Lucanis was dead, and we see that he was such a chronically depressed alcoholic yapper after Lucanis’ death that even though he did give the hit, he at least regretted it or it didn’t sit well with him. (I have no doubt Zara manipulated him to some extent into it, since she has her eyes on Lucanis after the Wigmaker job anyway, but neither Zara or Illario are actually explored in game). But when Illario is taking us to the boat, he makes note of saying Catarina didn’t tell him because “I would have tried to save him.” The way he says that line is in a COMPLETELY different tone than anything else he says. It’s stern and to the point, not condescending like after Illario takes out Zara and talks down on Lucanis, telling him he’s a danger and liability.

If Illario knew Lucanis was actually alive, he probably would have killed Zara earlier. And Zara obviously KNEW THIS because she didn’t tell Illario Lucanis was ALIVE for that very reason. Illario never knew about Spite. He never planned for the Ossuary. He never meant for that to happen! Zara knew that whatever Illario and she had going on would never even be close to the bond Lucanis and Illario have, and Illario would put that over power every single time.

Almost every single time.

Because he knows what he did, and he still goes out for coffee with Lucanis and the weirdo rando that saved him. And then he tries to convince Lucanis to stay away from Zara, because he knows that Zara is capable of and how not only she can, but has hurt Lucanis. (She turned his big brother into an abomination!)

WAIT A MINUTE WHO ELSE DOES THAT? Lucanis does! Except Lucanis is more direct about it. Says that Zara might come after him. Illario tries to convince Lucanis she’s in fuckass land, get him out of the situation ENTIRELY involving Antiva, the Anntam, First Talon. Yeah, there’s probably a selfish motivation, but in Wigmaker Illario is so fucking scared Lucanis is going to essentially fling himself off a cliff, there’s a genuine “heyy can you take a holiday? Can you stop being passively suicidal for me, your little cousin? Can we stop with the ‘death is my calling’ shit?”

Of course Illario can’t just go “uhh I’ll take care of it dw bro” because to Lucanis the beef with Illario and Zara isn’t merely as personal as he (and Spites) beef with her. They really just want to protect one another and get their dues.

Illario killing Zara wasn’t so much for him. I mean she kind of played him, but whatever, it didn’t necessarily affect Illario in anyway, it was for Lucanis. A way to try and appease the guilt of something that he never intended to happen to his older brother. That’s why Illario wants to be there during Bloodbath. “It’s Crow business” aka ‘WHY ARE YOU TAKING WEIRDO RANDO 1 & 2 OVER ME? I deserve to be at your side, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and back, why won’t you let me anymore?’

So Illario meets Lucanis and his rando friends on the rooftop. Lucanis asks him what he’s doing there- and Illario says he wants to go. He’s so desperate to go, to prove his alliance to his big brother cousin. But that’s not all. Lucanis has been gone for a year, and then left immediately. Killing and missions, being Crow’s is one of the main ways Lucanis and Illario bond.

Illario has never felt good enough. For his grandmother, for Lucanis, for anyone. That’s why he started this mess. Zara tells him Lucanis doesn’t think he’s good enough, he never will be, until he does the most Crow thing ever and cuts him out of the family line. Then finally, maybe, when his cousin’s eyes are glassy and corpse empty, will they be filled with approval.

But Lucanis is right here (with two randos)! And Illario asks him to involve him, just looking for that smidge of approval. And Lucanis says no. Ok. Cool! Maybe he just wants you safe. Fine, whatever. But you’re capable- at least you think you are.

So you ask the damning question. “You think I’m not good enough?”

And your cousin, your big brother, simply says: “Are you?”

While surely a good natured jab from Lucanis as siblings do, had Lucanis’ answer been anything even close to praise or more concern, I think Illario would’ve been fine to step out of the way. ALL he needed was Lucanis’ mild assurance/approval. Just a ‘oh no, you’re good enough. I just don’t want you getting hurt is all’

But he doesn’t say that. He simply feeds into the very insecurity that sent Illario to selling him out, the very one that Zara told him but he never quite believed until the words came from Lucanis’ mouth. ‘You’re not good enough to stand by my side anymore.’ And potentially ‘I’ve replaced you with rando 1 & 2, I don’t need you anymore’

So then he doubles down. No more playing nice cousin or big brother little brother. If Lucanis doesn’t want Illario by his side anymore- fuck it, Illario doesn’t need him. Lucanis saying Illario isn’t good enough isn’t just a blow to his ego, or self confidence/self esteem, it’s a flat out rejection. So he takes the kill from Lucanis, and essentially tells him to get the fuck out of dodge or else, and then tries to strong arm first Talon.

Lucanis never quite gives Illario “the different option.” Illario throws their bond away not because he necessarily wants to, but because he thinks Lucanis’ threw it away first, and that he’s just folding onto a frayed rope (not even mentioning how Illario crosses out Lucanis’ name in the family line, showing how he just… almost doesn’t exist. He’s gone to Illario. Illario’s so hurt by everything he just wants Lucanis gone at this point, come hell or high water.)

Lucanis quite literally says that the only way Catarina would be proud of Illario is if he kills her, and if that extends to Lucanis, so be it.

[misspelledwordswizard]

Good morning, afternoon or evening. I saw that your requests were open and I wanted to take the opportunity to make you one with one.

We all know that Time and Twilight are related in some way. So, my request was about how Time and Twi would react to finding out that reader is their descendant with some family and obviously platonic fluff

This is so cute! I believe both would be like "girl dad mode on" hehe Thank you for the request, I hope you like it <3

I had been in the group for a short time. I’m not sure how I ended up here, or why, I just know that suddenly I was having to hang out with nine heroes from Hyrule who all had the same name. Okay, I can handle a little adventure, I may be a farm girl, but being a hero has always been a dream of mine, it’s in my blood. Literally. 

From the moment that strange group told me their names, or rather, name, and explained that they came from different times, I was already sure that I was related to at least one of them. Well, at least I know that I’m descended from a hero named Link who saved Hyrule. 

The only problem is that I have no idea which of them I’m related to, especially when they all look so similar and the timelines are so confusing! That’s why I decided to keep this information to myself until I knew for sure. 

— Oh, Malon sent hugs to everyone. – Time said, as he read the letter recently delivered by the postman. I’m still curious about how he does it, but I’m more interested in the name unknown to me. 

— Malon? Who is this? 

— Oh, that’s right, you haven’t met her yet. Malon is my wife. – The Old Man answered me, with a somewhat proud smile on his face, he must love her very much. 

— Oh, and she’s the owner of the LonLon Ranch, back in the Old Man’s era! – Wind added, this fact might be nothing more than a curiosity for most, but it ended up meaning more than that to me. 

If Time is married to the owner of a ranch, it’s likely that his descendants inherited it, and over time it may have become my family’s ranch. Could the Hero of Time be my ancestor? 

— Oh, and maybe you’ve already come to this conclusion too, but Twilight also comes from a ranch, it’s not for nothing that we call him Rancher. – The Champion completed, and only then did I realize the obvious. 

But then, which one of them is my ancestor? I could try to find out more details about it, but it would take too long if I did it that way, so I decided to open my mouth, maybe they can help me. 

— Well, then it’s likely that I’m a descendant of one of you two. 

All eyes turned to me, I think the two in question almost broke their necks with that move. Was that really that surprising? Soon everyone was around me, curious. 

— Why do you say that? – Time was the first to ask. Fair enough. 

— Well, I always knew I was a descendant of a Link, I just didn’t know which one of you, and since I come from a ranch too, I think it’s quite likely. 

— Why didn’t you say so before? – Twilight asked, I figured this question would come. 

— I didn’t want to create expectations, or else I might upset everyone and not get any answers. But I still don’t know which of you two are my relatives. 

A silence settled in as everyone looked at each other, as if they were deciding what to say. They knew something. 

— Hm, how can we say this? – Warriors began. – Both of them! 

I blinked in confusion, many doubts swirling in my mind. Both of them? But they were quicker to answer them. 

— It turns out that I am a descendant of the Old Man, so either you are a descendant of him and my ancestor, or a descendant of both of us. – Twilight explained, and then things began to fall into place. Indeed, there were doubts in my family as to whether we were descendants of one or two Heroes, with this the answer becomes clear. 

— In that case, I’m almost certain that both of you are my ancestors, I really wasn’t sure if I was descended from one or both of you. – I explained finally, reaching the final conclusion. Wow, a descendant of two Links, who would have thought. 

They both looked at each other for a moment, they even seemed to be talking telepathically, but it seems that their choices of actions were mutual, because in the next second I was being crushed in a hug by two strong men. I can’t breathe, it’s definitely a hug worthy of a father. 

 I was finally released from the grip and able to breathe again, which I did dramatically, drawing laughter from some of the boys. 

— I can hardly believe this, is this how you felt when you met me? – The Rancher asked Time, with a smile on his face. 

— Hm, basically. Oh, Malon will love meeting you! I’ll write to her about it. – The old man seemed happier than I had ever seen him in the short time I had known him. 

I myself was still processing all of this. I had not just met one of my ancestors, but two of them? Before I knew it, I was smiling like an idiot. It was like I now had two more dads. Even if one of them was almost my age, which was a little strange. 

— Oh, when I can, I want to show you the family books about you, so you can check the information! – I said excitedly and they happily agreed with me. 

— The food is ready! – Wind said, drawing their attention. 

— Come, sit near us, we have a lot to talk about! – Twilight said, guiding me by the hand to the rest of the group. 

— Yes, little one, tell us everything about you and your family. – Time completed, resting a hand on my shoulder comfortingly. 

Who would have thought I would have such a cool family walking with me all this time. 

[viajandopelomar]

Rhys fcked over all of Prythian for one twinkle city. Tamlin fcked over all of Prythian for one person. Both‘s goal was to align with the enemy but secretly spy on them to end them. How are they different?

I guess the only thing that‘s different is that the one person trade is a bigger deal than the city trade. The fandom conveniently forgets that Tamlin was trying to find a way to end Hybern, just like Rhys tried to end Amarantha, and only focus on the fact that he traded Prythian for one person. The fandom only acknowledges the fact that Rhys saved his own, favorite city, nevermind that he caused trauma all over Prythian, 2/3 of his own court included, under Amarantha‘s command.

How different are these 2 exactly? I‘ll always laugh when I come across the „Stop comparing me to him, I‘m not him!!“ scene from Rhys, Denial is a river in Egypt…

MY FIRST ANONYMOUS MESSAGE 🥹

First of all, I think the levels at which they fucked Prythian were different. Rhysand massacred people from all courts, all of them. Massacred families. Whereas Tamlin's actions were limited to the spring, but obviously had consequences beyond the territory, and I also think it's valid to wonder how everything would have happened if Feyre hadn't implanted false memories in the sentinels and manipulated things, you know? Like, would the spring have stayed in the state it's in? Would Tamlin have been able to find out more about Hybern and the war wouldn't have seen so many losses? I think it's a valid question.

About the exchange between territory and city, Feyre and the alliance with Hybern... The people of the spring didn't seem so opposed to Tamlin's intentions. You realize that they still remained loyal, and still welcomed Feyre even when she was the reason for the alliance. Because THE WHOLE COURT WANTED FEYRE BACK, everyone thought she was under torture and abuse in the night court. Everyone welcomed her and trusted her lord, even the fairies from other lands. They all hoped that Tamlin had more behind his intentions. On the other hand, Rhysand had always been hated by everyone outside Velaris, even though he was raised and grew up in Illyria and had fought in the war with them.

Rhysand lived in the camps for around two hundred years and never, at any time, did he get anything but scorn, even though he was the crown prince. The plot never delved into this detail, but I also think it's worth thinking about.We also have the legions that Rhysand hunted down for allying themselves with Amarantha. Those males were hunted down and killed for doing the same thing as Rhysand: allying themselves with the enemy so that their family would survive. But only Rhysand is right, so he hunted and killed them all even when he knew about the war with Hybern beating his ass, and that's never mentioned again either.

Rhysand allied himself with Amarantha after she had decimated half of the excavated city, and then he went and decimated the other territories (if it had been written by another author, perhaps another lord would have allied himself with Amarantha just to destroy Rhysand. But they just kept their heads down) while Tamlin sheltered refugees and fugitives and gave them jobs. Tamlin also only sent his sentries to the human lands at their own insistence, and Rhysand claims he was annoyed that he took so long, he was also pissed that Tamlin didn't give in to Amarantha like he did.

Here's how I understood it: Rhysand was angry that Tamlin protected his own and didn't send them to their deaths, and he was angry that Tamlin didn't want to prostitute himself.

The main difference for me is that Tamlin's people trusted him and were with him until Feyre entered their minds. Rhysand confessed that he enjoyed destroying Amarantha's enemies and is still hated by his people even when he claims to have protected them (he was hated before too).

I also want to point out that in ACOSF Cassian tells Nesta that Emerie came out of a terrible UTM place (I won't remember the exact words, but he said something like that) where the lesser fairies were kept. So in the end Rhysand didn't protect them that well and it was all down to Velaris.

I use a translator called DEEPL, so apologies if anything is confusing.

[annaphoenix1994]

Aftershock

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

A swift knock on General Herschel Shepherd's oak door disturbed him of his duties. With an irritated and curious "Come in!", Shepherd was pleased to see Station Chief Kate Laswell. Shepherd knew she meant business when she came to speak with someone one-on-one, but the news he was prepared to hear was not what he was in the mood for. "Laswell." He greeted, setting his pen aside.

"General Shepherd." She nodded, presenting herself in a respectful stature.

"Boy, do I know that look," He sighed, sitting back in his chair. "Are we at war?"

"You would be the first to know, sir."

"Damn right I would. Now talk to me."

She sighed, nodding before presenting her digital tablet to him, zooming in on an artificial map. "We have a hit on Ghorbrani's second in command."

Shepherd chuckled in disbelief, taking the tablet in his hands. "Hassan Zyani. Quds Force Major."

"He's taken up the mantle for Iran."

"Supplying terrorists."

"Money, weapons, intel."

"Well, he's ambitious."

"He's dangerous, sir. He wants retaliation for the Ghorbrani strike. He's planning something."

"We can't take him in Iran."

Laswell leaned over his desk, using her index finger to open a new page on her tablet. "He's not in Iran, sir. He's on the ground in Al Mazrah."

"What the hell is he doing in Al Mazrah?" Shepherd scoffed.

"There is only one way to find out, sir."

"Well, let's get him."

"When?"

"What time is it now?" Shepherd cocked a brow as if he were challenging her.

"Who do we send?"  

»»-------¤-------««

Are you kidding me? I'm helping take out a hit on a wanted terrorist and having to babysit, too?

I had been on holiday for the last seven months, pushing my body to its limits while training as I was a highly respected Lieutenant on my Task Force, which consisted of three other men: Captain Price, Sergeant Garrick, and Sergeant MacTavish, and only one managed to really get under my skin. 

I sighed at the familiar name, knowing that this was definitely going to be an interesting mission. Soap always found ways to get under my skin, taking advantage of the fact that he had the backbone to actually aggravate me, knowing I wouldn't do much about it because I let it go through one ear and out the other. The only thing I could do was shoot him a death glare and spew hateful comments, but neither seemed to faze him, like he was pleased with how well he could piss me off. I haven't seen Soap since 2020 when we and Captain Price were assigned with Shepherd to carry out a hit on one of our most valued targets: Vladimir Makarov, which ended up being a bust. We caught him, but Soap lost his composure and nearly shot him in the helo after our target misled us.

Fortunately for Makarov, he got to live to see another day, but that still wasn't good enough. The Russian rat could eat shit for all I cared, and I wish that Soap would've pulled that trigger, regardless of Price's command to stand down.

Maybe one day.

Soap jumped down from the back of the truck, smiling and nodding at me before approaching me, "Let's get ourselves a win, yeah, L.T.?" He questioned, playfully fist-bumping my shoulder. "I'll save you a seat, sir."

Of course, we'll get a win, Soap. We always bloody do, at least when I'm a part of it.

"Fucking hell." I sighed, watching him walk away through my tired eyes. I hadn't slept in almost twenty hours, and it was starting to take its toll on me if I didn't make myself move.

Plenty, but it'll do me no good to tell you about it. 

»»-------¤-------««

»»-------¤-------««

I had the pleasure of leading Bravo Team while Alpha Team kept close by. We cleared a structure completely before taking on heavy enemy fire, causing one of our cover-fire helos to go down, resulting in unfortunate casualties. There were many questions as to if we were to move ahead and secure the crash site, but I made it clear that if we did that, we were compromising ourselves, so we needed to push forward and clear the closest buildings before securing the crash site.

There were more snipers than I was expecting, but Soap and a Marine did me proud by taking out the snipers effortlessly as me and the other men on the ground could proceed with clearing the next building. Hassan was everywhere – like a God to these ignorant bastards. It was disgusting how someone could blindly lead a band of loyal followers.

Eventually, all enemies were neutralized. All except for one – Hassan himself, and I was sure he got away when we secured the crash site. Soap questioned if we shouldn't have helped the downed helo in order to catch our target, but I made a stern statement that all actions have consequences, and this was a prime example.

We secured a perimeter around the complex to make a last-minute attempt to search for Hassan as all of us didn't want to go back empty-handed. When a Marine used a heartbeat sensor, he informed us that there was movement detected in what looked like a vacant warehouse. "L.T., that warehouse has a lot of windows on the top floor. Broken glass, too."

"Yeah, that's where a lot of enemy fire was coming from." I shrugged.

"Detecting over a dozen heartbeats in there, sir," A Marine informed me, flashing the screen of his heartbeat sensor at me. "I'm willing to bet he's in there."

"Maybe not. Regardless, we need to neutralize it. Might be something worth finding. Spread out. I'll take point."

"I'll be right behind you, L.T." Soap said.

"Keep up, Soap."

"I always try to, sir."

The warehouse erupted with enemy fire when we forced entry, most of the bastards wearing armor and relying on frags and flashbangs. They were definitely protecting something, and I was going to find out what it was. I was a man on a mission, and nothing was stopping me. These bastards couldn't even come close to the force that I was.

"Ghost! All clear!" Soap shouted from his cover position.

"It's not clear until I can confirm, Sergeant," I grumbled, moving up and taking cover against a shipping container. "Sergeant Miller, ensure the upper level is clear."

"Yes, sir. My sensor isn't detecting any more heartbeats. Brooks, watch my six."

"On it."

"Hopkins, keep that door secure."

"There's no movement up here, sir!" Miller shouted from the upper level as me and the rest of the Marines moved up to secure a position near the shipping container. It was suspicious that a single shipping container was laying in the middle of the warehouse, a flat trailer and few crates nearby. What was in this thing?

"What the fuck is this?" Soap grumbled, opening the door to see a discharge station – the same one I had seen prior to when I was assigned to Al Mazrah with General Shepherd and his PMC group to conduct a missile strike on General Ghorbrani seven months prior to this. Why do they have something like this?

"It's all in English!" I scoffed in disbelief, stepping in to view the discharge station closer, confirming my suspicion.

"Al-Qatala's got some serious shit in here." Miller commented, keeping his eye on the rear entry point of the warehouse, his rifle aimed.

I could've scolded Soap for the curious pull he did to one of the levers, and perhaps I should have, but for once in a long while, I was too stunned to speak. Soap and I stepped back as we looked up towards the sound of hydraulic cylinders in action, watching a massive unit moving into a firing position. Fucking hell, we definitely have a problem now.

"Ballistic missiles." I sighed.

"It's a mobile launcher, no?" Soap asked.

"These'll go a thousand miles..." Miller commented.

"Yeah, at least."

"How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?" Soap cursed, walking towards the side of the container to climb the stack of pallets to get a better look at it.

"7-6, get us through to Laswell."

"Roger. Standby."

"Uh, Ghost... Take a look at this." Soap said, breaking my focus when he looked down at me, moving to the side before I saw an American flag painted on the side of the unit itself. Bloody fucking hell, these were stolen missile launchers. But how?

»»-------¤-------««

"All right, clear the room," Shepherd stated, entering the conference room of the Pentagon. His face stayed stationary with defeat, frustration, and anger. His employees looked at him stunned, each of them jolting when Shepherd raised his voice for urgent response. "Now! Everybody out! Let's go!"

Laswell stayed behind, standing at the foot of the table, eyeing her laptop as she looked as confused as he was. She knew she was about to get an earful for something that he could blame her for if he wanted to, even though it slipped through everyone's hands, not just hers. 

"Iran is in possession of American missiles." He said, confirming what Ghost had told him from the mission.

"American missiles in AQ's hands."

"Hassan has been passing out our ballistic missiles like it's fucking Halloween and we didn't know about it?" He shouted.

"Gives Iran plausible deniability," Laswell replied.

"Oh, plausible deniability my ass – Iran's all over this. I wanna know how many they have and where they intend to use them!"

"If Hassan is moving missiles, then he has a smuggling partner."

"Well, then I would advise you to figure out who that is."

"Give my team two hours with those missiles, sir. I will know everybody who's even breathed on them."

"Negative. I want them destroyed!"

"General, there's valuable intel there."

"This is an intelligence failure, Laswell! It's not gonna be a tactical one. There will be 500 enemy soldiers on that site by sunrise. We need a win fast!" He stated, leaning for his radio. 

A few moments pass by...

"Amsterdam..." Laswell said.

"What the hell's Amsterdam got to do with this?"

Laswell breathed a laugh, "It's a smuggling hub. Ports and canals are insecure. Iran has friends there. We do too..."

"Who?"

"The Captain," she said with a slight smirk, pulling up Captain Price's file. "He's tracking an AQ cell in country as we speak."

"Well, that's the first good news I've heard all day."

"I'll link up with him and handle this myself, sir."

"Kate Laswell back in the field?"

"I want this done right."  

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @lya-dustin!

Threads Tag List: @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Part 15 - Sneak Peek

They had ridden back at speed from the training grounds. Gil-galad had sent runners ahead of them to begin assembling the council, but the room was still empty as he and Linnea walked in. The large table was strewn with maps and scrolls from previous meetings, although someone must have been notified of their approach. The lanterns had been lit, and water and wine had been laid out on the sideboard.

He paused at the head of the table, resting his hands on it and suppressing a sigh. But Linnea could tell he worried; she always could, and she came up to his side, leaning against him and covering one of his hands with her own.

"Meleth nín,” she murmured.

He turned, kissing the side of her head gently. “We knew it would come,” he said softly. “We have had ample time to prepare. And yet, so has our enemy.”

“Oropher asked,” she reminded him. “You were unsure that he would.”

She was right; he had been wary that the Woodland King would hold to the agreement they had forged. He spread the scroll out to read it again, the message written in Oropher's own hand.

High King,

The enemy presses against our southern borders with a great force. We have them held at the edge of the Greenwood for now, but your aid is necessary to maintain our defense and mount a counterattack. I look forward to your speedy arrival.

Simple and direct, as was Oropher's way. Yet his message told them nothing of the numbers they were likely to face, the disposition of the enemy, or their equipment and arms. Perhaps Oropher did not consider those details important; Gil-galad did not like to think about the alternative, that he had deliberately withheld information that might have given Lindon pause before coming to assist. Or perhaps he was being uncharitable - Oropher might simply have entrusted Arondir with the information.

It made no difference, in the end. He would hold to his word.

He left the scroll and crossed to the sideboard, pouring water for himself and Linnea. She joined him, taking the second glass in hand; they were both still in their training attire, having taken no pause upon arrival and coming straight to the council chambers. The refreshment was welcome, as were these few moments alone.

Inside him, he felt the ósanwë tremble, as if it were a candle flame sputtering in a passing wind. And he did not have to consider long to know its cause - they had had five years of relative peace. His hand had not taken up Aeglos save for training.

This would be the first time he had ridden into battle since they had wed.

"Linnea,” he said quietly. “Melethel. Rîn vuin.”

"I know,” she whispered. “As King, you must lead. And doubly so now, else Oropher might take offense were you to send someone else to command in your stead.”

Her eyes were cast downward, and he smiled softly at her, reaching for her chin and tipping it up so that she had to look at him and see it.

"We shall go together,” he murmured. “Let this be a show of Lindon's strength as well as the Woodland Realm. You shall be with us, you and the Pilino Tarí.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Ereinion…”

He could feel her surprise, and again, it was not hard to know its source. She had expected to have to press him to include her and her company; he had been protective of her from the very moment they had met. And indeed, that great beast inside him that she had first awakened was even now growling at the idea of her being put in danger.

"A sword is not forged to be left in the armory,” he said. “And you have not trained all these months for me to leave you here, awaiting news.”

He could see that he had pleased her. She took no pleasure in the thought of battle; her nature was not formed of such stuff. But she was pleased by his respect for her, and the sober look in her eyes said that she understood the responsibility he was sharing with her.

"Thank you, my love,” she said softly.

They were still alone. And there were no warning sounds from outside that they were about to have company, no approaching footfalls or crunching of leaves. It was safe to slide his arms around Linnea and to draw her close to him.

"You fear for me no more than I fear for you,” he whispered. “Do not think that I am not tempted to keep you safe in Lindon. But I would not dishonor you so, my queen.”

He dared not speak of his other reason. It felt as fragile as the thinnest cobweb, spun overnight and sparkling in the morning with fresh drops of dew. But that vision of Linnea with child, the one that had not yet come to pass - it wrapped itself around his heart, soothing the beast in him, saying no, there is no danger, this still lies before you.

Perhaps she knew. She had not seen it for herself; it was not as close for her as it was for him. But perhaps it was in her mind as well.

Her hand reached up, cupping his face and drawing his head down. He smiled again as their lips met; five years ago he had wondered if he would ever get used to such, the sheer joy of a kiss. And even with what they were about to face, he was pleased to reaffirm that no, he was not used to it.

Complete chapter coming soon! Happy WIP Wednesday!

Tagging @morganas-pendragons and @stellar-solar-flare

[losergender]

whatever you do, don't imagine luke castellan to "sun-bleached flies"

[visceralprayers]

" I don't know what about my face made you start a conversation, but I can assure you that you're barking up the wrong tree, " he breathed in frustration, turning away from the person attempting to chat him up at the bar. he polished off the rest of his whiskey and waved a hand for another.

[hella1975]

can i talk my shit about enji and touya as god and jesus again or are u just here to party

[cherrymangos]

whaaaat i'm actually drawing??

[theclearblue]

Every time Sun Bleached Flies by Ethel Cain comes up on my playlist I think about Yukimiya Kenyu and take real psychic damage every single time

[apricotzel]

curse of strahd is crazy i almost just chewed a hole in my wall bc i thought too hard about doru