#I tried to make something as quickly as possible

[tswkento]

a.n.: kento has a hard time getting it up.

“kento? is something wrong?”

“no, i– i just need to– give me a second, love.”

nanami didn’t know what else did he need to get hard.

there was a beautiful woman laying right under him, his woman, the love of his life, fire of his loins — you. that alone should be enough, but you were also wearing nothing, laying on your tummy with your legs crossed and your head turned to the side so you could watch him. your body was literally the most perfect thing he’s ever seen in his life, every part of it a sight for his sore eyes and every touch of it a soothing pressure he never wanted to not feel.

it’s also fucking sexy because it belonged to you; all pliant and needy, patiently waiting for him to fuck you stupid. and the thought of it always made him so hard it physically hurt to be in any kind of clothing, without your touch to accompany his aching cock, but right now he was as soft as he was at a work meeting and nanami had no idea what was wrong with him.

at first he didn’t even notice he wasn’t hard because his mind was so clouded, the familiar fog settling behind his gaze as he licked and sucked on your pussy lips, took his time thoroughly swirling his tongue over your clit and playing with your cute little hole. he was so focused on your pleasure, he always is, that he didn’t even think about any possibility of this thing happening.

he guessed that yeah, maybe he could’ve noticed the issue when he was pressing his mouth against yours, adamant on swallowing every wanton, languid moan your let out, enjoying the feeling of your tongue gliding against his while your eager hand stroked him over the thick fabric of his slacks. the weight of your soft hand always worked easily if it was meant to make him go crazy, so the thought of being anything other than hard didn’t even cross his mind.

about 10 seconds ago you had that sultry expression that always made him want to stuff you full, but now you looked more concerned than anything. and nanami kind of panicked.

he sat back on his knees, thighs spread as he stared down at his crotch, and his rapid breaths began to drop, mind fully catching up to the reality where he couldn’t get it up.

soon you appeared in his line of sight, knees directly touching his as your palms settled on the meat of his thighs. you ducked your head to find his gaze and blinked at him patiently while he loudly exhaled air through his nose, trying not to look at you. ashamed.

“nanami? are you alright? talk to me.”

kento gave you an unsure glance whilst desperately trying to keep his face blank.

“i can’t, ” he couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud. “i’m not– well.”

your eyes travelled down where he was so stubborn on staring and you pulled back slightly, taken aback by the realisation. you brought a hand to your lips, teeth digging into your nails — an action nanami was too familiar with to not understand that you were getting nervous, the thoughts of not being enough invading your beautiful mind. thankfully, kento could actually get a grip and think about you for a moment as he quickly cupped your face to make you look at him.

“don’t even think about that.” nanami muttered, the sternness of his tone enough to pull your out of your head. “you are fucking amazing.”

“i can suck you off or– or maybe if i touch you more–”

nanami’s mind was crowded with thoughts of how precious you looked just now, stupidly thinking that there was an issue with you when the real problem lied within him. glossy eyes staring up at him, a desire to help burning in your irises as you tried to inch your hands closer to his crotch once again, a blind attempt to bring some fucking life into his member that decided to be inconveniently dead tonight.

it was in no way your fault and he needed you to know that, to understand that, because there is no way you’re going to be fine with that overthinking mind of yours, so nanami just quietly shushed you and gently removed your hands from himself, getting off the bed to take off his clothes. his underwear understandably stayed on.

he crawled back onto the bed, tugging you higher along with himself, and wrapped his arms around you after sensing your mood going down. you still kept a wary look on your face, ready to do anything to make him feel better and nanami really appreciated that, more than you could ever know.

“i’m sorry.” he said, voice barely audible in the silence of your shared bedroom, but his next words came out clearer. “for making you think that you’re not enough.”

you inhaled sharply before sliding out of his grip to move a little higher than him, gently bringing his head to rest on your chest as you pressed light kisses on his forehead.

after rolling over to situate you on your back whilst he was still comfortably settled on your torso, the sigh of relief that nanami let out was hard to conceal because he was right where he was meant to be: holding you impossibly close, with his body between your legs and his face on your pillowy chest.

and he wanted to forget what happened a few minutes ago like a fucking nightmare yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. was there some kind of nerve damage? was there something wrong with his brain, did it not register anything that was going on? your lips on his pulse point, your teasing fingers on the tip of his cock, your whines and cries that were his favourite sounds in the whole world. there’s no way his brain didn’t catch onto any of that.

your fingers threaded through his soft tresses, lightly scratching his scalp as he involuntarily groaned, thoughts turning into mush in an instant.

“do you think we should schedule you an appointment at the clinic, kento?” you tilted his head up and he nodded, a little dumbly, before frowning and lifting his head up.

“do you think it’s necessary?”

“i wanna know that everything is okay in here,” you tapped your index finger against his temple before grinning shyly, “and down there too.”

nanami chuckled, pressing a kiss against your chin, “okay, my darling.”

and then you started talking about an article you read about erectile disfunction, impressing him with the amount of detailed information you managed to grasp from it despite the fact that it was very much useless for you. it turned into you scolding him because stress is one of the reasons and work stresses him out and “maybe you can finally take a lengthy break, ‘namii” and nanami thought that yes, he could in fact be civil and get a paper from the clinic that could make his boss get off his back for at least a week and spent that free time on making up for what he couldn’t do tonight.

[jjenthusee]

Home Date

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: A sudden injury leads to Jason facing a glimmer of his past, but it unintentionally leads to the people who care for him most realizing they didn’t have to worry at all. That you were there for him.

Warnings: injury, but not very descriptive

Word Count: 1.2k

“Jay, it hurts so bad.” You exhaled, squeezing your eyes to get yourself to focus.

“I know, Sweetheart, but we have to move you. I need someone to take a look at ya.” Jason gently cusped your face, rubbing at the edges of your jaw. “Please. We can reschedule the date.”

He kneeled in front of you, his hair long enough to touch the top of his eyelids as he looked up to you.

You winced as you leaned forward, trying to minimize the pain by pressing a hand onto Jason’s shoulder. The smallest movement shot pain up your leg.

Jason grabbed onto your forearm, pressing into your skin to remind you he was there.

“I don’t know what happened. I heard a ‘pop’ and now I can’t move my leg without it hurting.” You were shaking at trying to hold yourself steady, standing at an awkward position. “I can’t move—Jay, I don’t know what to do.”

You gripped his shoulder harder and fear looked into Jason’s eyes as he watched you panic.

Jason looked up at your wincing face, calculating all the routes he could take and what his next steps could be before he felt his face calm and his grip on you strengthened.

With a calm acceptance, he spoke.

“I’m taking you to the manor.” Jason kissed your temple. He wasn’t willing to take any chances.

With painful steps and many breaks leaning into Jason’s weight did you make it into a car to drive off to the one place Jason had been avoiding.

He didn’t like the drive, how it reminded him of so many things, but you were a priority and he was scared shitless at facing something he wasn’t ready for.

It was like flashes in Jason mind.

Knocking on the door, the confused face from Alfred before he saw the person Jason was clutching so desperately. How Jason didn’t want to look around because the chill on his skin was enough of a reminder.

While at the manor, Jason paced back and forth into the cold, sterile building, holding his breath as he tried to think of all the possibilities.

Does he need to grab anything on his way back? Did you eat before this? How long would he be in the manor? Should he pick you up some clothes?

“—Jason.” Bruce’s husk voice filled the hallway.

Jason’s pacing immediately stopped. Like his body ingrained the commanding voice from his Robin days more than his mind.

He had buried the memories as far down as he could, but once an animal learns a trick, can he ever forget it?

“Alfred said you can come back in.” Bruce held the door open, waiting.

Jason had been chased out earlier, constantly overlooking and trying to get verbal confirmation that you were okay. The pestering had Alfred giving him a stern look that had Bruce ushering him outside.

It was awkward.

The long thirty minutes had Jason’s skin crawling. He held his posture straighter, hoping the extra height over Bruce would somehow ease his mind that he was tougher, stronger than the young boy who once walked these halls.

“We’ll make sure everything is fine—“

“That’s why I’m here.” Jason sternly interrupted Bruce’s attempt at comfort as he held a glare, feeling his hands tense the longer he was separated from you.

He had to make it obvious that that was the only reason why he crawled back, the reason for all the blocking and erasing of his presence at every moment.

Silence.

It was always lingering in the manor and Jason hated every second of it.

Until he heard the sound of your voice, faint and coming from the open door Bruce still held.

Jason quickly forgot all his hatred and awkwardness when he walked up to your side. Trying to make sure you were still there, physically.

With one hand resting on your head, rubbing and feeling the warmth of your skin did Jason finally breathe. He could feel his body release some of the strain.

Alfred gave the run down, what to avoid, how to proceed if the pain gets worse. But all it came down to was some rest and monitoring.

Jason took mental notes of everything. Creating a plan in his head took all his attention to even notice the subtle looks from Bruce and Alfred at the sudden appearance of the stubborn, angry son.

The looks of wonder at watching the changes of Jason in real time, how tender yet protective he was of you. How he was willing to suddenly appear when he verbally reminded everyone how much he hated being there.

You grabbed Jason’s hand.

“Breathe, Jay. We can go home.” You whispered, enough to catch his attention.

Despite the recovering pain, you could only worry for the man losing his mind but trying his hardest to keep it together for your sake.

With a soft gaze and the feel of sweat on your brow, Jason knelt to make his face level with yours.

You felt the brush of his breathe on your cheek. In that moment, you were happy he was listening to your words.

With a small smile, you rubbed his hair, clearly messy from him grabbing at it constantly, but you tried to make your own protective cave with your body and arms to cradle Jason’s head. Giving him the space to breathe and calm his mind in his madness that he tried to still.

You tiredly glanced at your two audience, they saw how trusting Jason was of you and how you showed your own calm determination to protect the broken man in your arms.

Maybe it was the drowsiness or your own blurry glare, but you could have sworn that the older broody man, strangely an aged copy of Jason, had a subtle smile before he walked away, disappearing into the darkness.

After the medication kicked in, you don’t remember how you got home, but the realization of a new change of clean clothes and the smell of food was enough to know you were safe again, that Jason was safe.

He always knew you so well that in the next blink of your eyes, he appeared at your side of the bed.

He was always good at that, knowing you more than yourself.

In a small kiss on your cheek, Jason rubbed his face onto yours, basking in the physical touch.

“I made food. I want you to at least take a couple bites.” Jason softly spoke.

You felt his hair tickle your head and you couldn’t help but smile.

“It smells great.” You rubbed back.

“It might hurt, but I’ll help you walk to the couch.” He suggested.

You groaned at the thought of moving, the memories of the pain coming back.

“We can watch movies, watch the sunset, and maybe take a nap?” Jason tried to coax, grabbing your hand to kiss your fingertips.

“Fine, but I get to pick the movie.” You mindlessly watched Jason kiss each of your fingers.

In slow motions, you were making your way to the living room as Jason tried to make it as painless as possible.

It wasn’t the planned date you expected, but home dates with Jason were always your favorites.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymmetrical Symphony - Part 2

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

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

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

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

Part 1

• ··········· • ············ •

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned at the familiar sense of the place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just don’t touch the face.” 

“Very well, then you have to do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It does take practice and a good ear.” 

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

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

“Two nights.”

“What time is it now?” 

“7 AM.”

“Who survived?”

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

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

"Viktor?” You whispered, and she nodded.

“Yes, that one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stop the attack. Flick. Nothing.

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

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

Save Piltover. Flick. Nothing

Stop the Herald. Flick. Nothing

"Just unlock, you piece of—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

············ • ············

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You answer with your name. First and last.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But the Rainemours are in Piltover, yes?”

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

And finally the penny dropped. The reason why it was Caitlyn who was questioning you. She had been such a normal face to talk to, to look at, to bounce ideas with, that it didn’t dawn on you why she was the one talking to you now. The daughter and soon-to-be head of the Kiraman family. She thought you had something to do with the rocket attack.

“Do you know who Jinx is?”

"No.” you lied.

“Do you have anything to do with the attack on the Council of Piltover?”

“Ah… That’s why it’s you. No…”

“Trespassing on government grounds, assaulting several officers of the law, entering a governmental space without authorization, and last but not least involvement in the rocket attack that left several of the councilors dead or injured.”

“Then what were you doing in the council room?”

“I was trying to warn the councilors about it.”

“So you knew about it,” she shot quickly.

“Knowing of a crime and being involved in it are two very different things.” You fired back. “Why am I being arrested?”

You looked at her and made sure she was looking at you, seeing the frown grow deeper as you raised an eyebrow.

Counselor Rainemour liked to argue. He was a lawyer; his whole life was about arguing. Whether it was about Piltover's government or about the ant's right to the sugar in the house. And you loved to argue back. You not only had the patience but also the stubbornness and willingness to argue with your father. You never won, but you also absorbed anything he gave you. Laws, regulations, how the system worked—you were a sponge. If for nothing else, to use it in a following discussion.

“First, I never intended to trespass. I didn't even know I was trespassing. If you don’t know who I am, then I am not in the Piltover's identification system, which means I am not from Piltover. I took a wrong turn.” You leaned back into the chair, the pride and arrogance of a Topsider dripping on every word. You hated to admit this, but sometimes you missed being this person.

“And ended up inside our most complex method of transportation?” She shot back.

“I’m a visitor; how do I know what the inside of the most complex method of transportation in Piltover looks like?”

“You are not a visitor.” She spat and sat down. “It took you 4 minutes and 45 seconds to go from the top floor of the Gate to the Council room. You took shortcuts and straight lines toward the Academy. You are not a visitor.”

You shrugged at her humorless grin. 

“Circumstantial, I may just have a very good sense of direction.” She was about to open her mouth, and you raised a finger. "Secondly, the only officer I assaulted was the one at the gate, and technically it could be considered self-defense. I was confused. He was shoving me. I got scared. He was a very intimidating figure.”

Some part of you was proud to be deflecting all of this; the other knew Caitlyn wouldn’t just forgive and forget. If you got out with even so much as a fine, she would hunt you down.

“What about the other ones?” She gritted her teeth and leaned forward.

“What other ones? I didn’t touch anybody else. Ask them. For all we know, they tripped and fell.”

“Third: "Forcibly" already indicates that it lacked authorization or consent to do whatever you are accusing me of. However...” Now the big finale. “Page 450 of the Piltover’s Government Guidelines, City Emergency chapter, 1st paragraph: any citizen of Piltover is allowed unauthorized entrance to the council chamber if the need to inform the council of a threat to the city is urgent and cannot be delayed. This entrance can be done even if the council is in session.”

You took a little pride in remembering this little snippet. Even if the reason you knew it was not because of your father. In fact, you knew it because Viktor had once made a miscalculation on a hextech concept that Jayce was about to present to the council. So he had burst into the room to try and warn their friend mid-session.

Turns out, saving your friend's face from total academic embarrassment is not a threat to the city.

“You must be really stupid.” At the insult, you narrowed your eyes. "Going on and on with your technicalities, knowing I can use it against you.”

There was one insult that had always made your blood boil. Stupid. You could be called dumb, ditzy, or unintelligent. Anything but stupid. Your Caitlyn knew that; your Caitlyn was the first to punch someone when they did it.

“My father is a lawyer, Miss Kiraman.” Your face turned cold, your tone hard. The shift was enough to make Caitlyn’s eyebrows go up for a millisecond. “He thrived on technicalities. And you can’t use shit from what I just said. You didn’t read me my rights. Nothing I said since you stepped foot in the room can or will be used against me. This…” You pointed between the two of you. “Is nothing more than two friends catching up. Your grief is clouding your judgment.”

For a second, the tension was as loud as a trumpet, and the silence was as thick as a fog. Caitlyn slammed her hands on the table and leaned into it, getting her face an inch away from yours, only to be stopped by someone shoving the door open.

“What are you doing, Miss Kiraman?” An unfamiliar female voice announced from behind you.

············ • ············

Viktor didn’t believe in luck. 

Because if he did, all his accomplishments could have been derived from it. So he just didn’t believe in it much. Sure, maybe finding some coins on the floor was luck, but not much more than that.

Everything he did and does is to make sure nothing is left to luck or chance. Every number on the blackboard, every calculation on his blueprints.

But now, standing in the middle of the destroyed council room, Viktor felt lucky. Extremely lucky.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa

[sheerfreesia007]

Love Creases

Pairing: Lee Felix x Reader

Word count: 2,118

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You find a way to show Felix that you love him through your origami hobby and he’s absolutely giddy with love over it. What happens when he decides to show his love through origami as well?

Felix walks into his apartment after a long day in the studio with Chan and Changbin, he tiredly trudges through the door and Seungmin who’s in the kitchen heating up some food looks over to him with a soft smile. Walking further into the apartment Felix drops his bag by the door before toeing off his shoes and making his way into the kitchen.

”Your lady came by earlier and dropped off some food for us.” Seungmin told him fondly as he watched his food spin in the microwave. Felix grinned widely at the mention of you before he opened the fridge and saw the containers you had packed away for them so that they didn’t have to cook. After he had told you that he and Seungmin would be living together, you had made it your mission to always provide them with home cooked meals. After that one time they tried cooking together and nearly burnt the house down. You didn’t trust either one of them in the kitchen and Felix figured it was a win-win situation for everyone, they didn’t have to cook and possibly burn their apartment down and you knew that they would have food to eat and wouldn’t starve.

”She’s too good to us.” Felix says amused as he looks over at Seungmin who nods his head knowingly before eagerly opening the microwave once it beeps that his food is done.

”Oh, she also went into your bedroom before she left. But she wasn't in there for a long time.�� Seungmin said softly before he took his container of food into the living room and plopped down on the couch to begin eating while watching his television show. Felix nodded his head at his friend before shutting the fridge and beginning to head to his bedroom curious to see what you had left for him. 

When he entered his bedroom he easily spotted the sunflower tote that turned into an almost care package between the two of you. It had started as a way for you to keep all the little things that reminded you of him whenever you had to spend time away from him. But it had quickly turned into a care tote that the two of you swapped between each other normally filled with things that you loved and things that symbolized you in the other’s eyes. Walking quickly over to his gaming chair he starts to unpack the tote and smiles fondly at all the things you had packed inside. There were snacks that he loved, a new gaming magazine featuring one of the games he loved to play, a new chicken figurine that you had found somewhere, and even a new outfit for Bbokari.

He happily began to put all the things you had gotten him away in their rightful places and began to grab the sunflower tote before he noticed something sitting on his desk. There sitting on the corner of his desk was a little origami chicken, he cooed at it as he gently picked it up and turned it around and around in his hands. As he turned a third time in his hand he noticed the little written note on the tail of the chicken on one side, open me. 

Gently and carefully he does manage to open it and sees your handwriting on the inside of the origami paper and he grins bashfully as he reads the words. Everyday you bring me joy and happiness. I hope I bring the same to you. I love you. And your name was signed at the bottom making him sigh dreamily at the sweet loving gesture you had given him. He pulls his cell phone out and snaps a quick picture of the note and sends you a text thanking you for the gifts, food and cute little origami chicken as he giggles happily at all the love he was currently feeling from you.

When he’s done texting you he tries to refold the origami chicken but finds that with all the creases in the paper he can’t figure out how to refold it. Frowning softly in frustration he turns back to his phone when it chimes with a text message notification hoping that it’s from you so that he can ask you how to refold the chicken. When he sees that it’s from Chan he huffs at his friend before swiping the message away and pulling up your contact and pressing the call button. It only takes two rings before you’re answering.

”Hey Sunshine!” You greet him sounding a little winded.

”Hi love, where are you? Seungminnie said you came by earlier but you didn’t stay.” He greets you and pouts slightly at not seeing you when you came over. He hears your softy chuckle and he feels his heart start to lift in his chest.

”I’m out with my nieces right now. I’m on babysitting duty tonight.” You tell him and he smiles at your words. “I couldn’t stay Sunshine, I had to go pick the girls up from school and now we’re in the grocery store getting ingredients to cook dinner with.” You tell him happily as he hears your nieces in the background making kissy noises.

”Can I come crash your sleepover?” He asked hopefully and you chuckled softly at his eager question.

”Miss me that much?” You tease him and he laughs softly in response.

”Always miss you sweetheart. Also I need your help.” He confesses quietly and you burst out laughing at his confession.

”What do you need help with babe?” You ask goodnaturedly and he smiles bashfully.

”Can you help me refold my origami chicken?” He asks quietly and your laughter fills his ears through the phone making him smile.

”So you liked the little chicken?” You ask him curiously and he huffs softly.

”Of course I loved it. It’s adorable when it’s all folded and it hides a special love note just for me.” He gushes shyly and you coo at him. “I love the little secret surprise inside him but I’d like to keep him folded and I can’t figure it out on my own.” He admits softly as he stares down at the unfolded piece of origami paper.

”Alright Sunflower, meet us at my apartment and I’ll refold the chicken for you. Then you can stay for dinner and a sleepover.” You tell him happily and Felix grins widely before he starts to pack an overnight bag.

*-*-*-*

The next week he finds a cute little elephant sitting on the corner of his desk waiting to greet him after he returned home from a trip to Paris for a photoshoot. He grins widely and happily chuckles as he rushes to his desk already pulling his phone out of his pocket. He snaps a couple of pictures of the elephant before gently opening it to read your note that you left for him. I am so proud of you reaching for and achieving all of your dreams. I love you so much and can’t wait to see what’s next in store for you. 

His heart swells with love for you with your sweet words and his grin consumes his face easily. He then pulls out the book that he had ordered last week and begins to look for the  directions on how to refold the origami elephant. At the sleepover with your nieces two weeks ago they showed him your origami book that you had and used for whenever you folded origami figures for them. He had made a mental note of the book and sneakily ordered it while you weren’t looking so that he’d be able to refold any origami that you gifted him with.

He concentrates avidly as he begins to refold the elephant and when he successfully is able to refold it he cries out triumphantly. Standing from his desk chair he then takes the elephant and places it on his shelf right next to the chicken from last week. He grins happily as he eyes his little duo of origami before sitting back down in his desk chair and grabbing his phone to send the picture of his origami elephant to the group chat with the guys to brag about his awesome girlfriend.

*-*-*-*

The next few weeks you manage to sneak in a swan, a dinosaur, a unicorn, and a llama into his bedroom and Felix is nearly overwhelmed with the love that you pour into your little army of origami figures. Every week that there’s a new figure left on his desk for him he feels his heart skip a beat before swelling to almost double in size. He loves every figure that you leave for him and he looks forward to them now each week but he’s been working on a surprise for you too and he’s eager for your visit today so that he can show it to you.

Tonight he’d begged Seungmin to go spend the night at one of the other guys’ apartments so that he can have a nice cozy date night in with you. He had even bribed the younger man with leftovers from your dinner if he left early in the day and didn’t come home til tomorrow. Seungmin had reluctantly agreed but only because of the promise of leftovers and the fact that he didn’t want to hear what Felix sounded like having sex again. When you show up laden with grocery bags Felix eagerly helps you bring them in before putting them away in the fridge and you give him a confused look but he smiles at you lovingly as he grabs your hands.

”Before we start cooking I want to show you something.” He tells you softly before leading you towards his bedroom You raise an eyebrow at him and he laughs softly at your look before shaking his head at you. “Not like that. Stop thinking dirty thoughts.” He chastises you softly as he pulls you into his bedroom. He then moves behind you and places his hands on your shoulders to guide you to his shelf where he’s been storing all his origami figures that you’ve made for him.

”Oh Felix!’ You coo out softly and he grins at your reaction as you both gaze at his shelf full of origami figures. He wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his face into your neck making you hum in response.

”I love all my origami figures you leave me. They mean so much to me, especially the notes inside. I love you so much and I don’t think I can ever tell you that enough.” He confesses softly to you as he brushes his lips against your neck. You’re enjoying the affection from him as you lean back into his chest and he hums softly while still brushing his lips against your neck, your eyes are still traveling along the shelf looking at each of the origami figures that you had made for him and smile as you remember the process and note held within each one. But then your eyes land on the last origami figure and you furrow your eyebrows slightly, it’s a little neon green frog. You lean forward while still staying in Felix’s arms as you reach and gently take the frog from the shelf.

”I didn’t make this one.” You say softly and Felix giggles proudly from behind you.

”No, I made it for you.” He whispers against your skin and your body flushes with a warmth that starts in your stomach and travels up to your chest settling where your heart sits. You see the little note that says open me in Felix’s handwriting and begin to gently and carefully open the origami frog. As the page is slowly revealed to you your eyes quickly dart over the words written there and feel your breath escape you in a gasp. You are my entire world and I promise to cherish every moment with you. Tears fill your eyes and you set the page down on his desk carefully before turning in his arms to cup his cheeks and press your lips lovingly to his.

Felix smiles into the kiss as he reciprocates it while tightening his arms around your waist pulling you in close to him. The two of you stay like that pressed flush against each other lazily kissing with your arms wrapped around each other. When you both are in desperate need of air you slowly pull away.

”I love you.” You whisper to him and Felix grins while nudging his nose against yours cutely.

”I love you too.” He whispers back and the two of you bashfully grin at each other.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

[thinkinonsense]

Rotten

dofp!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: boot riding, dom!logan, spitting, slight hair pulling, bratty!reader

a/n: something short for now but the semester is over after next week so all december expect more frequent posts from me. gonna focus on the bewitched and sweet temptations mini series plus the new one im working on with worst!logan x camgirl/of fem!reader :)

"i only got a few more papers to grade, princess."

one of the greatest lies ever told, you think to yourself as you sit on logan's lap while he grades essays. two hours turn into four and before you know it, half the night is gone already.

"c'mon baby..." you whine, kissing his neck and leaving little marks, then watching them disappear. "the rest can wait until tomorrow."

deep down logan almost feels bad but he can feel you softly rubbing your pretty blue lace panties on his thigh.

"told ya' only got a couple left to grade then im yours." he says, paying little attention to you as possible.

a sigh of annoyance escapes your lips. slowly you rock yourself back and forth to gain some sort of pleasure from him.

"quit it, sweetheart." logan says sternly, smacking your ass rather roughly.

"fine." you huff, rolling your eyes over his shoulder.

a beat passes before you slowly kiss your way down his body, leaving a glossy trail down his abdomen and v-line until you're settled on the ground in between his thighs under the desk.

logan tries his best to ignore you. he really does but god, it's so hard when you are resting your head on his lap, inches from his bulge.

"what are ya' doing down there?" he asks, raising an eyebrow down at you. sweet doe eyed angel, peering up at him as if it were nothing.

"just resting here until you're ready." you said, biting back the smirk daring to appear.

he's not sure why he trusted you to keep your word. especially when he's spoiled you rotten over the years, always giving into your needs.

steadily, you wrap yourself around his left leg and take a seat on the front of his leather boot. cheek pressed against the inside of his thigh as you resume your grinding from moments ago.

"fuck lo..." you moan, sinking your nails into the material of his jeans; grabbing fist fulls near his calf.

a small puddle of slick leaks from your panties onto the leather, making it easier to move. quickly, you remove the lace and sit your bare core on his boot. a loud moan spills from your lips at the feel of cool leather on your clit.

"f-feels so, ahh!"

logan watches your head tip back, too fucked out to be care about how much of a mess you were making on his shoe. the essays were long forgotten by now, instead he is busy watching you attempt to get off.

"tell me how it feels, princess." logan says, big rough hand gripping your jaw. his hazel eyes were now unrecognizable, dark and blown out with lust for you. "that bratty cunt of yours is just weeping for me, huh?"

"yes, lo! it's s-so fucking good." you struggle to keep eye contact with him, which only spurs him on further into this game. "need you to fuck me, lo. please, wanna ride you."

logan tsks, shaking his head and leaning in to rest his arms on his thighs. inches away from your pretty face.

"rotten girls don't get to ride."

without warning, logan begins to tap his foot up and now. the front rubbing your button just right. soft bounces and lewd noises flood logan's bedroom.

under his cold looking exterior, logan was struggling inside the dark denim covering his large bulge. truth be told, he was enjoying this almost as much as you were. the sight of your slightly parted lips and scrunched eyebrows were prettier than any painting he had ever seen.

"such a messy pussy." he mocks, moving his foot faster, allowing for more of your pretty moans to escape you. "gonna tarnish the leather, sweetheart."

"uh... uh fuck..." you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut. " 'm s-so close!"

logan's lucky that you aren't the one with claws, considering how deep you are digging your nails into his legs while humping his boot pathetically chasing your high.

without warning, he taps your cheek signaling you to open your mouth. half expecting him to place the pad of his thumb on your tongue but pleasantly surprised by the string of spit connecting the two of you.

the kiss is almost as messy as the scene below you. all teeth and tongue. oxytocin fills the room as you reach your high, moaning in logan's mouth and gushing all over his poor boot.

when the two of you finally pull apart, logan can't help but take in the image in front of him of you clinging to his leg with a hazy stare, and glossy kiss bitten lips.

"finally gonna fuck me?" you giggle as he pulls you back into his lap.

"maybe." he hums, rubbing his hand up and down you back. "seems like someone is pretty spoiled though."

in a split second, logan's got a fist full of your hair wrapped around his rough palm, tipping your head to the side so he can leave marks on your neck.

"it's not my fault, lo." you pout, slipping your fingers under his shirt.

"i know, baby. i know." he chuckles to himself before lifting you over to the mattress and laying you flat on your stomach with your ass in the air, waiting for him.

it's going to be a long night.

[lives-between-lines]

We gave our time to something undefined - poly!marauders x slytherin reader

─

Summary: Everyone is back from summer break and the rumor mill is buzzing about a certain Slytherin, can our favorite Marauders provide a bit of comfort during trying times?

Notes:  I’m so sorry about how long this took! I honestly wasn’t sure where to go next with their story, so it took me a little fiddling but I’m happy with the direction I landed on and I hope you are too. 

Tags: Angst, fluff, traumatized Slytherins, pureblood elitism, slightly mean!reader

Words: ~8.3k

p.1 p.2

─

I hated summer. It was too hot and there was too much down time stuck with my parents. Maybe if they let me actually visit my friends more, or leave the house for more than an hour at a time I could enjoy it. Maybe if I could have a hobby that was just for leisure and not something else that I had to dedicate countless hours to being perfect at I could have a bit of fun. Instead my summers were occupied with studying to get ahead for the next year, going to stuffy formal events where I recounted how well I did on each of my OWLs, and listening to my parents drone on about all the accomplishments of their friends’ kids. 

One special cloud loomed over me as I stepped away from my parents at the train platform and toward a few months of freedom, but I shook it out of my head and focused on getting to my friends as quickly as possible. 

Having taken one last glance back at my parents, I wasn’t watching where I was going and walked straight into the stiff, muscled back of one James Potter. He turned around and I'd be damned if he didn’t smile at me like we were great friends. My brows furrowed as I scowled at him.

“Hey! I haven’t seen you since─”

“Quite a while, I’m sure. If you’ll excuse me,” I sharply interrupted him. Then I shouldered past him before he could say anything else. I knew what he was going to say, and I knew that I did not care for Potter loudly announcing to the entire platform about our encounter over the summer. Even the small interaction just now brought more attention to me than I particularly wanted. 

Andromeda stood just outside one of the train doors and we made eye contact. As I neared her, she glanced back to where I presumed James still stood. “What’s his deal? He looks a bit like a kicked puppy.”

I frowned at her, but forced myself not to look back. “How should I know? Let’s get to our seats, my feet are killing me.” 

One of Andromeda’s eyebrows ticked up at me in suspicion, but she led the way to our usual compartment. 

─

I sat amongst my friends, quietly observing as they recounted their adventures, or similar lack thereof. A part of me felt like a snake had coiled itself around my neck, a heavy weight that wouldn’t let up. 

“Are you feeling quite right?” Narcissa asked me about halfway through the trip. I looked up at her, startled. Suddenly all of the girls in the compartment were staring at me. I tried to take a breath and couldn’t. I opened my mouth to respond and words failed me. 

“Has something happened?” Andromeda asked, her hand reaching out for mine. I jerked away just as a knock sounded at our door. Everyone’s attention was quickly redirected, except for Andromeda who gave me a weary look before turning to see who had interrupted whatever had been about to happen. 

My heart dropped to my feet when I looked up to see Evan Rosier smirking at me. I willed him not to say anything that would inform my friends of the deal our parents had made this summer. It was as if he could read my thoughts at that moment, and knew exactly what to do to rile me up. 

“I believe the snack trolley is making its rounds and I do feel obliged to offer my inamorata whatever her heart desires,” he says with a self assured chuckle. 

The girls look rightly confused before glancing to me and seeing the way I glowered at Evan. 

Andromeda lets out a disbelieving laugh which causes Evan to frown slightly. “What on earth do you think you’re going on about?” 

“Our betrothal of course.” Evan holds out his hand to me. I glare at it until he drops it back to his side. “Oh, don’t be like that, my dearest. Our parents have made the deal and set the date for the second we graduate.” A series of gasps sound around me. 

Arranged marriages weren’t abnormal in our society, they just weren’t often arranged with people as young as Evan and I still were. To plan to be wed as soon as you graduated was unheard of. 

I shoot daggers at Evan for taking yet one more thing out of my hands. I decided in that moment that I hated him. I absolutely hated him and if I truly were to marry him I would make our marriage a living hell for him just as it would be for me. 

“Well. I suppose I’ll leave you all to your gossiping and wedding planning then.” He gave me one last smirk before finally excusing himself. I wanted to scream at him and rip his hair out. I wanted to hex him clear off the train. I wanted to curl up on the floor beneath my seat and hide from the world as I cried out everything I had been carrying with me. 

Instead I sat frozen in place as everyone else simply stared at me. 

“Please tell me that’s not true. You can’t truly be engaged to Rosier. Why on earth would your parents ever arrange such a thing?” Narcissa asked. 

When I swallow it feels like gravel tearing down my throat. “It appears that our parents have decided we would make an advantageous pairing.” It’s a piss poor answer, but it’s the best I can offer. 

“Well I suppose you should be grateful it’s Evan and not his widowed grandfather,” Phoebe Parkinson giggles. The others are quick to agree and start highlighting all of Evan’s so-called dreamy qualities that will make him a great husband. 

As I sit there I can’t help feeling upset that they aren’t mad on my behalf. 

─ 

Two weeks into the school year and the entire school has been murmuring about what I must have done wrong for my parents to plan to get rid of me so quickly. Of course no one wants to ask me anything directly, and Evan has been feeding the rumor mill every chance he got despite my efforts to limit my interactions with him. My friends act like nothing has happened, having gathered quickly the subject was not open for discussion. 

Walking into the Great Hall for breakfast every morning I catch myself looking for something, though I can’t seem to figure out what. 

In the hallways Evan tries to walk me to class and carry my books or hold my hand. I see girls giggling that he’s such a sweet boyfriend and I want to scream at them he’s not my boyfriend. 

In classes he enchants notes to fly to my desk which only serve to get me in trouble with the professors.

At meals he makes a show of placing food on a plate to give me before making one for himself.

One time in the common room he tried to massage my shoulders.

Every bloody chance he gets, he parades around like the perfect boyfriend, making me look like a heartless villain every time I shoot him down. 

─

A little over a month into the school year and people have finally started to move on, but I still feel the weight of their looks when I’m forced to sit next to Evan in class. He’s nothing if not persistent, never giving up his ostentatious displays of “affection.” 

It’s a Thursday evening after classes and I managed to shake Evan when I disappeared into the library. I have a stack of books up to my shoulders as I move through the shelves back to the table I had secured. I think I see a ruffle of golden brown hair turning one corner as I turn the other, but I brush it off. I hadn’t seen anyone worth studying with in the library yet this year.

I make another sharp turn and stop dead in my tracks. I’m frozen in shock and I don’t know why because I don’t care. It doesn’t hurt my feelings, or make me mad, or even feel like an inconvenience at all. 

Rosie Connelly jumps away from Evan Rosier, who in turn pulls his hand out from under her shirt. When he turns to face me he looks perturbed until he realizes it’s me. He’s quick to smooth a pacifying smile over his face, likely ready to say something truly dense. 

I stare back at him, blankly, waiting for whatever his idea of a good excuse is. 

“Well we’re not married yet,” he finally says with a sort of self-pleased laugh. And that truly does me in. I swing so violently from pissed off to heartbroken that this is what my parents want for me and back in a matter of seconds. Evan seems about ready to say something else despotic when his face suddenly falls. “Oh, shit,” he mumbles, looking past me. 

I turn to see what has been able to elicit a more reasonable reaction from him at having gotten caught making out with someone he isn’t currently betrothed to. Of course it’s none other than Phoebe Parkinson. A rather nice, well-mannered girl in our year who only happens to be the world’s nastiest gossip. 

I let out a dejected sigh. There’s no threat in the world that could keep her mouth shut for more than five minutes. 

Without a word I storm past her, leaving behind a situation that is only going to exponentially complicate the future my parents plan for me. 

I manage to navigate back to my table, set my books down without toppling any of them, and take my seat. It’s only when I hear someone clear their throat that I look up and come out of my numb daze.

Remus Lupin’s golden brown eyes meet mine and I nearly miss the way he subtly licks his bottom lip. He opens his mouth to say something, then pauses as he analyzes my face. His face drops at whatever he thinks he sees, seeming to be suddenly unsure of himself.

If he isn’t going to say anything, I will. “What do you want?”

He cringes. Okay, maybe it came across a bit harsher than I meant. 

I take a steadying breath. “Forgive me, how can I help you?”

“Dove, you look like shit,” he says bluntly. I gape at him. 

“Well excuse me, it’s not everyday the bastard my parents are forcing me to marry is caught feeling up some Hufflepuff slut by the world’s nastiest gossip,” I snap at him. 

The shock on his face satisfies an angry part of me. A part of me that just wants to lash out at everyone for how bullshit the whole thing is.

Another part of me, the part that cares about Remus, the part that remembers he called me his friend, feels a bit kicked. 

I suddenly struggle to meet his eyes anymore. Instead I choose to stare down at my hands. It feels a bit cowardly to tear into him then turn in on myself. 

I see his hand move in my view, coming close to but not quite touching my hands. 

“What do you say we get out of here? Get some fresh air?” He offers quietly.

“Er─ yeah that sounds nice,” I choke out. Remus hesitates for only a second before loosely wrapping his hand around my wrist. It’s merely a guiding touch, but I could cave at how gentle it is. 

I’m vaguely aware that Remus is guiding me toward one of the courtyards. My thoughts spiral as I wonder what my parents will have to say about the latest development between me and Evan. Would they break things off with his parents? Would they blame me for not playing his blushing bride to be? Would they continue to punish me and make me uphold the arrangement? What would people say about me if I still had to marry him? What would people say if things ended? What would my parents say if people began to pity me because of this?

“Would you like a bit of chocolate, dove?” Remus interrupts my racing thoughts as he guides me to sit on a bench next to him.

I look over to him. My friend. 

“It may not solve all your problems but it can certainly make them feel less daunting,” he explains.

“I think I might be sick, actually,” I say weakly. 

He frowns at me. “Maybe not, then.”

We sit in awkward silence for a few moments. 

“So it’s true? What people were saying about your parents making an arranged marriage with Rosier’s parents?” He finally asks.

“Yeah…”

“Did you even like him?”

“No.”

“Why would your parents make you marry him?” He sounds frustrated on my behalf.

“We make an advantageous pairing,” I murmur the same response I’ve given anyone else who has ever asked. 

“The bloody hell does that bullshit mean?” He scoffs.

“It means I only got an acceptable on my divination OWL,” I say so softly he may not even hear. The way his brow furrows tells me he heard and is still miffed. “I’m a failure and an embarrassment to my family. The only success I can find in my future is as a house-wife, serving an actually great wizard.” My words are void of emotion, merely an echo of the vitriol that was spewed at me by my parents. 

Remus looks actually hurt by what I’ve said. I give him a smile I know is nowhere near convincing.

“Dove, please don’t tell me you actually believe what you’ve just said,” he says, cautiously. 

“What does it matter if I believe it or not? What choice have I ever had? I must do proud by my family. I had one chance to prove myself and I wasted it. I can’t embarrass them like that again, but now Rosier’s gone and soiled everything.” I feel absolutely hopeless. 

“A passing grade on a tremendously difficult test is not an embarrassment. Your family is bloody insane if they truly believe that.” Remus sounds exasperated with me and I hate to think I’ve let down someone else.

“You lied, Remus,” I whisper.

“You have infinitely more than just one chance to prove yourself, you have a million every day,” he continues, ignoring what I’ve said.

“You lied,” I murmur again.

“Your family should be embarrassed for saying such backwards things about your future success,” he grumbles.

“Remus…”

“And if they truly think Evan bloody Rosier is meant to be a greater wizard than you? Well. They are─”

“You lied!” I nearly shout at him. 

Remus looks offended at my outburst. “I’m quite certain I’ve done no such thing, not to you anyhow, but please do enlighten me.”

“You said it would be okay if I wasn’t perfect. You said things would turn out okay.”

He seems at a loss for words.

“It’s not okay, Remus. Things are very much not okay,” I get choked up as tears well in my eyes.

“Oh, dove,” he sighs. Before I know it he’s pulled me into a hug. The dam inside me breaks and I begin to sob into his shoulder. He holds me closer.

Eventually I begin to calm down, at least enough that Remus pulls away and begins to wipe my tears. 

“Darling, I’m terribly sorry that things are looking dreary, but I don’t believe for one minute that this is truly to be your destiny.” He pauses. “In fact I know that things will turn around for you because you are strong and capable and a very, very powerful witch.”

I look up at him, feeling forlorn. “I don’t feel strong and capable and very, very powerful, though. I feel… defeated.”

Remus pulls me into another crushing hug. There is one thing that I am becoming very aware of and that is how powerful of a hugger Remus is. He smells like cinnamon and firewood and with how firmly he holds me I feel as though I can relax and I won’t completely fall apart. He rubs circles between my shoulder blades and I nearly melt into him. 

“You are not defeated,” he whispers to me in a serious voice. “I simply will not allow it.”

I pull away to look into his honey brown eyes. They hold so much warmth in them. 

“You take your time, build yourself back up. But don’t you for one minute give in and accept your parents words as the truth. You are too wonderful to succumb to their hate.” I try to stop the tears that spring back into my eyes. “James and Sirius and I will help you, you know. With anything.” I give him a weak smile and start to politely brush it off. “No, I’m serious. Anything you need, dove, we’re here for you.”

“Thank you,” I mumble.

The dinner bell starts to chime. I clear my throat and start to gather my things. 

“I suppose I should probably─”

“If you’d like to, we could─”

Remus and I speak at the same time. We pause and a grin wiggles onto my face.

“I─”

“Sorry─”

We do it again and I can’t stop from laughing at us.

Remus’s eyes shine with mirth as he mimics zipping his lips shut.

“No, you go ahead,” I urge.

“Well I was just going to offer if you’d like me to grab James and Sirius and we could have dinner together, maybe out here even.” He seems uncharacteristically shy as he asks. I consider what it might mean to skip the Great Hall and all the rumors it will be turning tonight. It’s very tempting, but I’ve never been one to back down from some hearsay spread by bored teenagers. And I certainly don’t want anyone to think I’m hurt over Evan’s actions and hiding from them.

“I really appreciate the offer, and it is very tempting, but I should probably face the music.” 

He seems dejected for only a second before masking it. “Right, I understand.”

“My friends likely have plenty to say about matters and avoiding them doesn’t usually go the way I’d like,” I further explain. 

“Of course. I can certainly relate to that.” He gives me a knowing smile. 

He starts to reach for his own bag. “But perhaps─” I stop myself, uncertain of what I even want to say.

Remus watches me expectantly. When I don’t say anything further he prompts me. “Perhaps…?”

“Perhaps we could─ you, me, Sirius, and James that is─ well… We could meet out at the lake after dinner?” Suddenly I’m the one who’s gone shy. 

An almost smug smirk seems to settle onto Remus’s face. I fear for a second he’s going to make fun of me.

“That sounds great, dove. I’m sure they’d love to.” The smile he gives me is genuine.

“Great,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous. “I’ll see you out there after dinner, then.” 

Remus nods in confirmation. “I can’t wait.”

We stand to part, me to go clean up before going to dinner and him likely to go find his friends. 

“Oh, err─ just one request if you will?” I ask before he can walk away.

“Sure thing.”

“Maybe don’t tell a bunch of people?” He looks confused at my request. “I’m sorry I know it’s a bit strange, but I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea considering what Rosier’s been doing.”

“Ah, I see. I’ll make sure to stay discreet and let the boys know to do the same.”

“Thank you, Remus.” We share an almost conspiratorial smile before finally departing.

─

Dinner seems to take forever as my friends pointedly avoid bringing up what the whole school is already talking about. Evan sits further down the table than he usually does. I think him a bit cowardly for not trying to talk to me about it, but I also appreciate that I don’t have to deal with him just yet. 

My friends start toward the Slytherin common room after dinner, as is our standard routine.

I catch Andromeda and Narcissa’s attention. “I’m actually going to go back to the library to study a bit more before bed today.”

They share a confused look. “Oh, okay. Would you like us to join you?” Narcissa asks.

“No, that’s okay. I think I just need some space tonight. Might try to draft a letter to my parents,” I explain. I tug at the sleeve of my robe. 

“Right, of course. It’s good to keep up with them,” Andromeda says, treading lightly around the idea of me telling my parents what happened today. 

“You know where to find us if you need anything,” Narcissa offers.

“Thank you, I’ll be fine,” I promise before departing.

I make my way out to the lake without running into anyone I fear will be keeping track of my whereabouts.

I don’t see the boys anywhere yet so I settle down under a tree and practice levitating a branch. I’d left my book bag back in my dorm, otherwise I would take the time to pull out my divination textbook that I’ve been studying extra hard since we got back. 

“There she is, the prettiest Slytherin princess,” I hear Sirius say from somewhere behind me. I turn to him with a scowl. 

“Aww, don’t worry, darling,” James coos as he walks next to Sirius. “You’re the only Slytherin princess we care about.” Him and Sirius laugh at his stupid joke and I roll my eyes at their antics.

“I’m not a bloody princess,” I grumble as they sit on either side of me.

“Sure you are, dove,” Remus says as he sits across from me. “Doesn’t make you a ‘simpering girl in need of a man to save her,’ just makes you special.”

“If that’s how you feel then I cannot relate to you at all, princess,” Sirius starts. “I am most definitely in need of a big, strong man to save me.” He pretends to faint, falling into Remus.

“Oy, pester Jamie with that hero shit. I haven’t got the time.” Remus pushes him off. 

“Hey! What’re you volunteering me for? I’ve saved his ass enough times already, I’m nearing my limit,” James argues. 

“What the hell? Who’s going to save me then?” Sirius asks, pretending to be outraged.

They each glance at me.

“Well I suppose I could spare a bit of time to save you, but my time is precious to me so I expect to be fairly compensated for my heroic efforts.” I try to play along, but I’m not entirely sure I’m doing it right.

Sirius grins at me. “Why yes of course. I don’t suppose some chocolate frogs would do the trick?”

“Five chocolate frogs and two cauldron cakes,” I counter-offer.

James laughs. “Is that the going rate for princess-saving these days?” He jokes.

“I’m afraid it is, though I hear it goes up for each occurrence,” I explain.

“You drive a hard bargain but considering my limited options I suppose I have no choice. What’s a princess to do these days?” Sirius laments dramatically. 

“Damn, if I knew I could be getting sweets out of you for saving your ass I would’ve been cashing in on that this whole time,” Remus quips. 

The evening continues on with wise-cracking banter and the boys sharing silly stories about each other. I try to share my own stories in return, but it becomes jarringly apparent to me that me and my friends have significantly less fun outside of class than the boys and their friends. I try not to think so hard about why we’re all so serious all the time.

All the while that we’re talking, James picks at and fiddles with the grass. Occasionally, he switches to picking at a scratch on his arm, and Remus gently guides him back to playing with the grass. I think they think I don’t notice, so I don’t say anything about it.

At some point, Sirius’s hair starts to go a bit everywhere, frizz making him look a bit frantic. He keeps trying to brush it out of his face, but I can tell it keeps bothering him still. 

I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but suddenly I ask if he’d like me to braid it back for him. Each boy wears their own look of shock at my offer and I worry I’ve crossed a line.

Once the shock passes, Sirius’s eyes go round and he just nods in response.

I have a spare hair-tie on my wrist, so I move to kneel behind him and start combing through his hair with my fingers, gently working out the couple of tangles I snag on. His shoulders start to sag as I work my fingers through his hair, so I continue to comb through it a couple moments longer than necessary. 

James and Remus are talking about one of their assignments they haven’t quite finished that’s due in a couple days, but I focus in on Sirius’s hair. It’s quite soft, and very thick. I notice that Sirius doesn’t try to make any conversation with James or Remus as I work on french-braiding his hair.

I can’t help feeling almost sad as I near the end. I liked the excuse to be close to him.

As I secure the hair-tie at the tip of the braid I let him know I’ve finished. He lets out a sad sigh. I move back to my original spot, although maybe a bit closer to him still. 

He gives me a glum smile. “No one’s ever done that for me before,” he explains, softly. “It felt quite nice.”

“How long have you been growing it out?” I ask, matching his tone. 

“Last three years or so. It practically grows overnight, though.”

I reach out to fiddle with the end of his braid. He leans closer to me in response. I study the contours of his face. It really is a nice face. Part of me wants to cradle it between my hands. My eyes drift down to his lips and I wonder what they might taste like. I look back up into his piercing grey eyes and try not to betray what I was just thinking about. 

“Christ’s sake, James, quit picking at your arm,” Remus exclaims, breaking Sirius and I out of our reverie. 

Sirius and I look over to where James has started to make himself bleed just a bit.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice I was messing with it again,” James says, looking stressed. Sirius gives him a sympathetic look. 

Remus mutters under his breath, exasperated, as he digs around in his bag before pulling out a bandage. 

“I’m sorry, Remus, I really didn’t mean to,” James insists as Remus gently presses the bandage over the re-opened scratch on his arm. 

“It’s okay, Jamie. Just try to stay more aware, yeah?” Remus speaks softer this time, giving James’s hand a reassuring squeeze. James nods.

Sirius asks them about the assignment they’d been talking about when I started braiding his hair, swiftly changing the conversation to more navigable territory. 

The rest of the night seems to go on without a hitch. The sun eventually sets and the stars are bright in the sky. 

I start to feel sleepy, but don’t say anything, not wanting my time with the boys to come to an end. In the end my yawns betray me, and Remus calls it a night on my behalf. They walk me back into the castle before bidding me a good night as I go toward the Slytherin dorms and them toward the Gryffindor tower.

─

I’m fixing my hair for the night at the vanity in our dorm when Andromeda breaks the silence. “You were gone quite a while, is everything all right?”

“As much as it can be,” I reply. “Sorry if I worried you, but I feel better after having some time to think.” 

“It’s okay, we understand,” Narcissa is quick to say. 

“We heard about what happened in the library this afternoon,” Andromeda speaks plainly. Narcissa looks shocked that she brought it up.

“I figure most people would have by now,” I say neutrally. Andromeda moves to stand behind me and look at me in the mirror. “Look, Andy, it’s all fine. Really. You both know I didn’t want to marry him anyway. I don’t know what my parents will have to say about this, but I can tell you one thing for certain, I am not marrying that lowlife.”

Andromeda holds my gaze in the mirror before giving a sharp nod, then going to finish getting ready for bed.

Later on as I lay in bed I can’t help but remember the night my parents told me about the deal they had made. 

─ 

“It doesn’t matter if you love him or not, you don’t even have to like him, but you will be cordial and respectful. Your future relies on it now,” my mother spoke harshly to me. Then she instructed me to get dressed for the gala we were attending that night. “Do up your makeup, too. The Rosiers will be there and you’ll want to make a good impression as Evan’s new bride.”

I nearly gagged hearing the word “bride” uttered in relation to Evan Rosier. I remained composed and replied with the proper “yes, ma’am.” 

The dress my father had picked out was truly horrid. The seams were itchy and the fabric clung to my skin in a way that made me sweat. It was the kind of dress that made me look older than I am, something that my mother would wear. I did my makeup in a way that I thought matched, but it felt heavy on my face. 

I came out when my parents called out that it was time to leave. My father inspected me carefully. “Fine,” he said, sounding bored.

At the gala my parents forced me to socialize with nearly every person there. For the most part I was there to be seen and not heard. I listened to the grown-ups drone on for ages about politics and the economy and snide remarks they pretended didn’t count as gossip. 

Eventually I managed to sneak outside, under the guise that I was using the women’s powder room. I hoped the fresh air would do me some good, maybe give me a bit of strength to power through the rest of the horrible evening.

“Not having fun in there?” A familiar voice asked. I turned to see James Potter. I hadn’t realized he was here tonight. In fact, I hadn’t realized anyone Hogwarts-aged was here besides me and Evan. I gave him a confused look. “I mean, it’s always been my dream to be paraded around like cattle,” he joked.

I let out a weak laugh and opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. 

“I’m sorry, you’d probably like to be alone right now, I can leave.” He starts toward the door to go back inside. 

“No it’s okay, you were here first. I can go back in.”

James pauses next to me. “I don’t mind the company if you don’t,” he offers. I consider him for a moment before deeming him harmless.

“I suppose as long as you’re sensible company,” I tease.

We stand together in silence for a moment.

“I know it’s a bit different, running into each other here, but you seem a bit… despondent tonight,” he says hesitantly.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve uh… Well if I tell you you have to promise not to tell anyone else.” I really shouldn’t trust him while I feel so vulnerable but the look in his eyes convinces me I can.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, taking a step closer to me.

“I really don’t know,” I admit quietly.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he swears.

My brows furrow and I can’t stop my lip from quivering. James takes another step toward me.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he offers.

“My parents are forcing me to marry Evan Rosier when we graduate,” I whisper. 

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Oh… I see.” I give a small nod. “I think I would feel rather despondent myself if I were in your shoes.” 

“I feel… as though a great axe has cracked into my chest and everything that I am is pouring out and every move I make to stop it the axe just tears into me more.”

“Oh, darling,” James says so softly it tears through me in a twisting pain.

“Please, James, you can’t tell a soul about this,” I nearly beg him. “I know that people will find out soon enough, but I just need some more time to come to terms first.” 

He nods in reassurance. “I understand. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.” 

We take in the night air for a few moments. The full moon is bright in the sky. James seems to revere it with disdain. 

“I know why Evan and I are here tonight, but not you. It seems everyone else is at least fifteen years our senior,” I say after a while.

“My dad is considering selling his business, I’m meant to be helping him scope out prospective buyers,” he explains. “Not so sure I’ve got his business acumen, or that I’m quite the right fit for modeling his product.” He gives me a goofy smile as he further ruffles up his hair. It somehow doesn’t look any more or less wild than before. I can’t help but smile back. “Usually my mum can help him charm the room, but she had to stay home tonight.” 

“Is she feeling alright?” I ask politely.

“No, yeah, she’s just fine. Sirius came down with a cold, though, and my mum wanted to stay home to take care of him.” 

I give him a confused look.

“Sirius, he… well he ran away from his parent’s last summer and he’s been staying with me and my folks since,” he clarifies. 

“Oh, I see.” I had known Sirius had run away from Regulus, but I didn’t realize he’d been staying with James’s family. “It sounds like he’s very lucky to have you and your family.”

James gives me a sad look because just like Sirius he understands. He looks like he’s about to say something, but I don’t know if I’m entirely prepared to hear whatever it may be.

“I should probably head back in,” I say quickly.

“Right, I should probably find my dad,” James agrees.

─

The next morning at breakfast I walk into the Great Hall and my eyes catch on the Marauders over at the Gryffindor table. Sirius’s eye catches mine and he gives me an encouraging smile. 

Evan sits next to me at the Slytherin table and I entirely ignore his existence. 

History of magic is my first class for the day and when I take my seat a note falls seemingly from the ceiling. It’s on a different type of paper than the notes Evan sends me, and there’s only a handful of other students in the classroom, so it's not flashy enough to be Evan. I peel it open to find an invite to meet at the green houses after classes, signed by James, Remus, and Sirius.

I quickly tuck the note into the pocket of my robes, but can’t help the smile I wear throughout the day, waiting for my rendezvous with the boys. 

─

I don’t know what to expect when I get there, but the boys are already waiting for me.

“What’s this about then?” I ask as I approach.

“It’s about having a bit of fun before you give yourself a hernia,” Sirius jokes.

The boys guide me through preparing a prank on the plant Evan has been growing for his herbology assignment. 

“This is so wrong, we could get in so much trouble for this,” I complain.

“But not if we don’t get caught, so move quicker, darling,” James says.

“Don’t you lot have another friend who usually helps you pull these foolish shenanigans off with?” I ask.

“You mean Peter,” Sirius confirms. “He’s been all head over heels for his new girlfriend Mary and she’s convinced him that pranks are childish.”

“They are childish,” I argue.

“Then why’re you helping?” Remus teases.

“I really shouldn’t be,” I start to set down the packet of seeds that I’d been sprinkling into the pot of Evan’s begonias. 

“Oh, but princess, he really deserves it,” Sirius says as he wraps his hand around mine to make me pick up the seed packet again. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm from his touch but I do my best to ignore it.

Several moments later I have thoroughly spread grass seeds into the soil. James reaches around me to pour some sort of quick-grow potion over the seeds. His chest brushes against my back and I pick up on the way he smells like fresh-cut grass and lemon verbena. I nearly lean back against him to smell more of it.

After our prank has been executed Remus places Evan’s pot back on its shelf exactly as it had been. Tomorrow when he comes to class he’ll find his begonias have turned a sickly brown and become overwhelmed with weeds. We sneak away and go a roundabout way to the castle so it doesn’t look like we’ve just come from the green houses.

A part of me knows that I really should split off now to go study, but I’m having so much fun with the boys that I walk with them through the castle as they banter back and forth, giving each other silly dares. I’ve lost track of time when the dinner bell rings, and I realize that I really should depart from them now.

Back in the Great Hall I take my usual seat and try not to look too happy. It becomes all too easy when Evan sits next to me again. 

Andromeda scowls at him and Narcissa gives me a nervous glance. 

“Will you just talk to me?” He asks, frustrated.

“What, like how you were talking with that Hufflepuff? I don’t think so,” I snap.

He clenches his fist around his fork. I don’t have to look around the table to know that we all pick up on it. 

“I don’t know why I even tried with you.” He rolls his eyes.

“I never asked you to,” I said coldly.

“It’s not like I asked either, you know.” My eyes dart around the table to see that everyone is listening very closely, while pretending to be focused on their meal.

With a sigh I turn to face Evan. 

“Then you should be glad to hear I won’t marry you.” His jaw clenches and I wait for him to blow up at me. He glances around the table himself to see all eyes on us. 

With a scoff and a muttered “whatever,” he storms off.

─

That night I toss and turn in bed before accepting that I won’t be getting any sleep anytime soon. I slip out of bed and pull my sneakers on. Something draws me to the night sky tonight and I want to get as close to it as possible, so I decide to sneak up to the astronomy tower. As I approach the landing I hear soft voices, and I worry there’s a class being held. I move quietly up, curious to see what’s going on. When I poke my head through the doorway I’m shocked to have run into familiar faces.

“Is that dovey?” Remus asks from where he sits, leaning against the half wall. I glance behind me, confused if he means me. When I look back he’s got a tired smile on his face. James is lying between his legs, resting his head on Remus’s thigh, and Sirius is wrapped around his arm with his head on Remus’s shoulder. They’re altogether a big tangle of long limbs and cozy embraces.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was up here,” I say quickly. It must be too loud because Sirius quickly shushes me. He then points to James’s face and I realize he’s actually asleep. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry,” I whisper. 

“S’all good,” Remus mumbles. “He’s probably already too heavily asleep. We’re lucky he isn’t snoring.” 

I let out a soft laugh. Remus and Sirius observe me and I feel awkward under their scrutiny. I’m just in an old pair of flannel pajamas. Thankfully the air hasn’t turned to crisp yet, but up this high a chill settles over my skin. 

Sirius tsks when he notices me rubbing my arm. He untangles himself from Remus and sits up a bit straighter. “C’mere, princess. I’ll keep you warm,” Sirius offers, holding his arm up for me to presumably sit next to him.

It must be the exhaustion finally wearing on me that has me lowering my inhibitions, but I sit next to Sirius albeit a bit stiff. He wraps his arm around me and jostles me a bit to lean into him. I can’t help the yawn that escapes me. With his other hand he reaches up to nudge my head until it's leaning on his shoulder. 

“What’re you doing up this late, princess?” Sirius asks. 

“M’not a princess,” I argue.

“You’re too pretty not to be,” he argues back. 

I’m taken aback by his words and am too tired to think of a witty response. “What’re you lot doing up this late?” I ask instead. 

“Tomorrow night’s a full moon,” Remus says on the other side of Sirius, as if it’s a perfectly logical explanation. 

“Does that make it a good night to stargaze?” I ask for clarity.

“Makes it a good night to be alive and not in pain,” he grumbles.

“What…?” I’m at a loss of words, entirely unsure how to respond.

“See that bright one, right there?” Sirius interjects. I accept his redirection without complaint considering Remus sounds like he might be about to fall asleep too and could be saying any sort of nonsensical things. 

“That one?” I point at the brightest star in the sky.

“Yeah, that one. It’s mine,” Sirius tells me.

“It’s yours? How’s that?” 

“Well it’s named after me.” His voice is mirthful as he says it.

“Being named after a star and having a star named after you are two very different things, Sirius,” I joke. 

“Nah, one and the same to me,” he teases back. 

“Whatever,” I murmur. My eyes start to droop and I can’t help leaning on Sirius just a bit more. A bit of his hair tickles my face and I notice the way he smells like sandalwood and violet. It feels safe, here with the boys.

Sirius says something back to me but it’s a distant, muffled sound as sleep pulls at the corners of my consciousness. 

I don’t know how long I’m asleep before I’m being gently woken up by James who kneels in front of me.

“Hey, there she is.” He gives me an encouraging smile. I give him a confused look and try to blink away the hazy edges of my vision. 

“Come on, princess, we ought to get you back to your dorm so you can have a proper sleep in your comfy bed,” Sirius says and I realize that I’ve been sleeping practically on top of him.

“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry.” I push off him. James helps me to stand up, then reaches down to help Sirius up. “How long have I been asleep?” I ask, stretching out a slight crick in my neck. 

Sirius glances at his watch. “Maybe half an hour. I was fighting to stay awake myself when Jamie woke up and started complaining about his back.”

I look up at James who makes a guilty face.

“Oh, don’t blame the poor boy,” Remus coos. “The concrete floor must not have been very comfortable.”

“Well why did he lay down like that in the first place then?” Sirius chides.

“It had felt comfy at first,” James says shyly.

“Please, you just wanted to be between Moony’s legs,” Sirius laughs. James and Remus both look shocked and glance nervously at me. My brows furrow in confusion. “Ah, shit, I didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t mean what?” I ask. Suddenly I realized just how comfy the boys had been laying together before I interrupted. My cheeks flare up. 

“Dove…” Remus seems hesitant to say anything.

“Are you guys… what exactly were you guys doing up here?”

James’s winces and glances to Remus.

“Nothing like that, Sirius was just joking,” Remus says carefully.

“But you guys are comfortable together like that? Aren’t you?” They glance at each other, unsure how to proceed. “Were you guys on a date and I interrupted?” I ask, slightly horrified. “I am so, so sorry. I should─ I should go, I can’t believe I ruined your night.” I start to rush away.

“Wait, princess,” Sirius calls out and just manages to grab my wrist to stop me. It’s not a tight grasp, just enough to get my attention. I look into his grey eyes that seem to reflect the starlight back at me. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he promises.

“But you all were on a date?” I press.

He hesitates.

“I wouldn’t─ I won’t tell anyone.”

He glances behind me at Remus then back to me. 

“Yeah, we’re… The three of us…” Sirius doesn’t seem to know how to say it. 

“We’re together,” Remus says finally. Sirius drops my wrist. I move so that the three of them are all in front of me.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize any sooner,” I say, laughing at myself. They seem relieved by my reaction.

“Well that’s kind of the point,” James giggles.

“Oy, don’t be cheeky,” Remus chides. They all pause to observe me before seeming to all come to a conclusion. “Thank you, dove.”

“What for?”

“For… not freaking out, I guess,” Remus clarifies.

“Oh, well I mean yeah. The three of you are clearly happy together. I’m… I’m glad that you have each other.” They each give me a winning grin. Something pangs in my heart to realize they’re all already taken, and so clearly happy together, but I try to brush that off. 

“We should get you back down to your dorm,” James says after a moment.

Remus and Sirius are quick to agree and even though I want to argue I can get back to the dungeons on my own perfectly fine, I agree to let them walk back with me. A selfish part of me just wants to spend more time with them, even despite what I’d just learned.

─

Over the next month I find myself spending more and more time with the boys. Always in private, invited by an unsuspecting note. It doesn’t feel weird like I worried it might now that I know they’re all together romantically. In fact, it actually feels more right the more time I spend with them. 

About a week after Evan was caught macking on the Hufflepuff in the library, I got a letter from my mother that simply said the engagement was off. I don’t know how they found out as I never had written them, but I don’t question it with them anymore. That night the boys and I celebrated in their dorm by gorging on sweets from Honeydukes. Evan thankfully left me alone after that and would only occasionally interact with me, similar to before the engagement. 

If my friends thought my distance from them lately was weird they never gave any indication. Andromeda would inquire about my whereabouts, but I easily brushed it off as needing time to study in the library. 

Occasionally the boys will rope me into a silly prank, but for the most part we meander low-traffic areas of the castle and talk and play weird muggle games that Remus teaches us. 

Whatever weird emotions I had felt about learning that the boys were in a relationship together had worn off quickly. It must have merely been a bit of jealousy that they found something that made them happy, when I had almost been trapped in something that would make me miserable. 

─

The morning after a late night escapade to the lake with the boys I make my way to potions class. I’m barely staying awake, but excited for the day’s lesson. When I walk through the door I see that Amortentia has been written across the blackboard.

The whole class is abuzz while we work to brew our potions, everyone excited to see if their potion will work. Slughorn carefully supervises as we mix and stir. This is one of the classes I share with the self-proclaimed Marauders and I keep a careful eye that they don’t do anything tremendously wrong, but Remus is very careful in following the directions. I notice each of them stealing glances my way in turn.

Eventually, Slughorn makes his rounds to inspect our completed potions. Andromeda and I get the highest score in the class.

“Now do share with us what you can smell,” Slughorn instructs.

Andromeda goes first, leaning in to carefully smell our potion. “Hmm… It smells like cedarwood,” she pauses to smell it again, “juniper berry… and pineapple!”

“Ah! How exciting,” Slughorn proclaims. “And you?” He prompts me.

I lean over the cauldron to inhale deeply. “It’s very clean smelling,” I start. “And also florally, I’d say like violets and cut grass.” I breathe in again. “And it’s a bit… err─ I can’t quite place it,” I explain. I force myself to keep my gaze on Slughorn while the whole class watches me.

“Very good.” Slughorn gives a sharp nod. “Fifteen points to Slytherin.” 

He turns then to the table next to us and everyone’s attention shifts. I can’t help but glance toward Remus, who’s already staring straight at me.

He knows. 

Bloody hell he knows.

He knows that Sirius smells like violets and that James smells like cut grass.

Merlin now he’s going to think I’ve got feelings for his boyfriends. 

But it's worse than that because the last thing I could smell was cinnamon. Cinnamon like how Remus smells like cinnamon. 

Because I’ve got feelings for all of them.

[deputyrook]

Drabble - Sleepwalking

Word count: 1200-ish

Rook wakes up after Spite has crawled Lucanis into her bed in the middle of the night. Soft, short Lucanis/Rook drabble!

---

See, it was funny. Rook was pretty sure she’d been alone when she’d gone to bed.

Now, as Rook stirred from her sleep and shook off the remnants of the dream she’d been having- something about Assan stealing her copy of Swords and Shields and having to chase after him- she realized someone had crawled into bed with her.

Bracketed against her chaise, Rook was lying on her side facing inward, her back to the fishtank and whoever had decided to come in for a midnight snuggle. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, and a face was pressed against the back of her neck. The beard tickling her skin and the light smell of coffee didn’t leave a whole lot of mystery as to who this was, which was the main reason she wasn’t already elbowing herself free.

Lucanis. His entire body was flush against hers, like he’d deliberately tried to get as close to her as possible. She’d almost kissed him in the pantry the other day, but he’d backed out at the last minute. Now here he was, one of his legs slotted in between hers, holding her pressed to his chest like she was a life-sized teddy bear.

Heat began to rise in Rook’s cheeks. Holy hell.

While she was contemplating what to do, she heard the sound of a soft snore in her ear. Okay, so he was asleep. Given how tightly he was holding her, Rook didn’t think she’d be able to extricate herself from this situation without waking him. Which she didn’t necessarily want to do, because Lucanis slept so sparingly in general. It was good that he was resting, he needed sleep.

Could this have something to do with Spite?

The embrace didn’t last that long, however warm and comfortable it actually was. Lucanis shifted in his sleep, his hips moving against Rook, and her intake of breath was so sharp and so loud she immediately knew it would wake him.

And it did. 

“Hm?” Lucanis groaned, face pulling away from her back. And then he realized where he was.

“Qué mierda? Madre mía!” His voice was alarmed, and he scrambled away from Rook so quickly that he fell off her chaise entirely, falling backward onto the floor.

Rook rolled over to look at him. Lucanis was staring at her, eyes wide, with pure panic written across his face. She was glad to see she wasn’t the only one blushing, as heat was quickly making his ears darken a mottled red. As they stared at each other, Lucanis’ mouth opened, and then shut again. He was speechless.

She couldn’t help it. First, it started as a snicker, but soon Rook was laughing so hard that she had to press a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise.

“It’s not funny, Rook,” Lucanis said, a bit lamely, but she could see the relief flooding through him.

“It’s a bit funny,” She countered, “Are you going to explain, or just lie on the floor looking stunned?”

With a sigh, Lucanis flopped onto his back, and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes darted to Rook before pointedly looking away from her. She couldn’t help but notice he also avoided looking at her fishtank, his gaze instead settling on a random spot on her ceiling.

“I have no idea. I think Spite is becoming a bit fixated on you. He was going on about wanting to talk to you, about escaping. He doesn't make any sense, half the time,” Lucanis huffed in irritation, “Normally if I fall asleep, he tries to walk around or leave the Lighthouse, not...this.”

A silence stretched between them. Rook fiddled with the hem of her sleep shirt.

“To be honest, I didn’t really mind,” She said finally. Fuck it. “I mean, you need to sleep sometimes. Better Spite wants to, uh, cuddle up than take you on a field trip.” Was that too forward? He had backed away after their almost-kiss, but then he had also, later, implied that he wanted to go through with it but felt he couldn’t. For whatever reason.

It was practical. Rook decided, sneaking a glance at Lucanis. Nothing to do with his entire body pressed against mine, holy maker that was hot, and also just so cozy? I think he can hold me forever and we can never leave this room and I’d die happy.

Lucanis pushed himself back to a seated position, his body facing her. When she looked at him, she saw a hard-to-read expression on his face, something between confusion and affection. It was a gentle, raw thing.

“You’re...” Lucanis ran a hand over his face, thinking, clearly still so exhausted, “unbelievable sometimes, Rook.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Better to take that as a compliment. “So I’ve heard. You know, there’s still a few hours until dawn. If you want to-” she cleared her throat, faltering, “I mean, Spite was a little grabby, but if you want to sleep beside me, there’s a lot of room up here. I know this is more comfortable than that so-called ‘bed’ of yours in the pantry.”

Ah, she’d definitely gone too far that time. It was like her MO, to finally get somewhere, but then push her luck and fuck things up. She’d probably push him away with this suggestion, too. And then she’d end up even more embarrassed about it than he was, because it made her feel just a little pathetic, to keep after this crush on him like a hopeful puppy.

But then again, she’d woken up to him snuggling up to her. So.

Rook blinked in surprise as Lucanis stood, and then sat down on the edge of her chaise. He hesitated there, as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was doing. Looking at Rook nervously, he said, “Well, unlike Spite, I happen to be a gentleman. So, if that offer was serious...”

Grinning, Rook laid back down, shifting aside to give Lucanis more room on her bed. He still sat there, looking down at her for a moment, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Again, his expression was fond, and so vulnerable that it made Rook's chest ache.

Then, with a very soft smile of his own, Lucanis laid back down beside her, pulling up Rook’s blanket back overtop of them both. 

They both slept more soundly than they had in a long time.

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter seven ♡

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, listen—"

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

“Joel, I didn’t mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Joel wasn’t sure he could handle that.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, a week later, she left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With the Millers, though, it was different.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something broke inside him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had ruined everything. 

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

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

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

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

“You don’t mean that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s mine,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But just as quickly as that fragile peace had settled—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[notsodailycake]

Ok, this was originally done as an apology for my angsty drabble about Shockwave controlling Prowl then straight up killing Jazz at the end lmao.

Now, with the added fic made from it, I feel like we fans will be needing some fluff, so i bestow yall with this little drabble.

This was based off of a little something that me and my sister have talked about few times. Laughter, and how much that can spiral out of control heh.

Hope this makes yall laugh as much as it made us while writing this (seriously, we ended up going on our own spiral of laughter while trying to get the ideas out to write).

To give the very deserved credits to my sister @saltynsassy31 who wrote down some of the parts of this fic herself, so give your praises to her as well for it!

Mecha pilot au belongs to @keferon

Now onto the fic:

------

"Human laughter scares me"

It had been a normal and quiet afternoon, how did it escalate to this?! That's all Prowl could think of when trying to rationalise this situation, currently holding a wheezing human on his palm.

...

Jazz was out of his suit, needing a break, by Prowl's insistance, to eat something. Despite not being an organic himself, he seems the one most concerned about the condition of his partner. Humans were so fragile, yet somehow very much not, it baffled the mech.

So many things worked against the survival of a human, their own bodies sometimes, the more he learned about it, yet somehow they prevailed.

But he was not about to take any chances, so, in turn, he made sure Jazz would be taken care properly, if not by himself, then by Prowl.

Jazz was sitting down on Prowl's desk, just telling a story from his home planet while the mech listened, the little human insisting that if he needed a break, so did Prowl, and his leader was not opposed to the idea.

As he went on about a random story of his childhood, the human seemed to remember something branching from that train of thought and when he tried to get to the point of the story, something odd happaned.

He snorted a little. That, Prowl has seen the human do a few times, even heard him do this strange noise when he was just seen as the mecha suit itself. He learned quickly that was simply how humans sometimes held their laughter, to try and compose themselves.

But that only seemed to be the start of it. As little by little, Jazz struggled to utter out a single word as he snorted and wheezed slightly the at words.

"Did you- heheh- Did you- Hahaha-"

And as Jazz attempted to say whatever it was he wanted to say, it was as if his body refused and rejected the word, air being sucked in hard with a wheeze before being pushed out even harder that it made a gutteral noise rip out of the human's throat. And if Prowl thought that was all he needed to push out the words he wanted, he was sorely mistaken, as this was only the start.

Jazz suddenly got up from his previous sitted position, wheezing a little as he lifted a trembling hand up to point at the mech, seeming to think that could help with his inability to speak out his thoughts. Instead that just caused him to let out a audial piercing screech. He moved his hands around more, trying to somehow convey whatever it was that caused this reaction, but the way they frantically moved did little to help and actually made whatever was happening to Jazz worse, if that was even possible.

And it was, because suddenly Jazz was clutching at his stomach and throwing himself backward as his voice became a cacophony of scratchy noises and incoherent mumbling, and what alarmed Prowl the most was how Jazz seemed to start getting dizzy and stumbling around, throwing one hand to try and catch anything as he stumbled forward but only swatted at air. Which, Prowl may add, seemed to be something that the human was struggling to take in.

And, if his memory serves him right, he needed that.

Quickly Prowl moved his servo over to Jazz, looming over him to catch him if he were to fall, or even just to serve as support. Jazz seemed to have taken on the offer, leaning a hand over the palm while his other hand clutched at his stomach.

That didn't last long though, as quickly as he made move to look at Prowl's servo, something clicked in his head, and quickly he stumbled back, letting out more uncomfortable and uncontrolled wheezed laughter.

Prowl got intensely more worried at his partner's condition, now deciding to call him out on it. "Jazz, what's wrong? Is everything alright??"

That seemed to have been the wrong move, as although the other had momentarily stopped to look at the mech with tear filled eyes and a strained smile, it quickly devolved to even more incomprehensible laughter and struggle to convey any words. Jazz tried his very best to form any words that would explain the situation, but it only came out as puffed wheezes following a rhythm that Prowl could only guess were the vowls of what he wanted to say, but he could distinguish none of them as he was not all that familiar with the language.

The human quickly fell to his knees, his hands clutched into fits as his knuckles turned white from the pressure and he slammed them on the desk's surface, as yet another strange attempt to bring air into his lungs.

Before Prowl could try and resson any sort of an appropriate action to this, Jazz let out a scream. Much less screechy than before, and much more like a war cry. Prowl wouldn't be surprised if somebot came in questioning what all the commotion was for.

"Jazz!!" Prowl called out exasperated and yet again, that was another wrong move, causing the human to start rolling on the surface of the table as maniacal laughter dripped from his intake, hands flailing around and slamming hard against the table as if that would somehow force his body to breath properly.

Jazz began to stutter, and sometimes his mouth would stay open yet not a single noise would cone out of it, neither did he seem to be taking in or exhaling any air, like he was frozen in the moment before an audial peircing noise ripped from the human's throat after a big gasp of air.

He had flipped over to his side before trying to lift himself up, body trembling with strain, before he suddenly dropped his head and slammed his forehead against the table and reached to place his hands over right behind his audials ears and shakily exclaim "it hurts!" While still smiling. It sent Prowl mixed signals.

The mech sat there in abstant horror as he processed what was being desplayed infront of him. In delayed reaction, Prowl could only mutter one word.

"What?"

And for the third time that was, once again, the wrong  reaction as Jazz let out a howling screech at that with more breathless laughter.

Prowl was left clueless as to what he should try and do to help his partner, simply reaching out and gently picking up the tiny, breathless  human to see if he could do something to ease the possible pain.

He moved his cupped servo close to his face to try and analyse Jazz's condition. Maybe he should take him to one of the medics who had been helping them so far with organic knowledge, but as far as he knew, this wasn't supposed to be harmful, it was simple human laughter! To express joy or humour to something, and clearly there was a lot of it to cause Jazz to get like this. But he was clearly struggling to breath with this, so it has to be something serious.

Could humans die from something as simple and supposedly joyful as laughter?

Before Prowl could open his intake, Jazz had seemed to have sensed his partner's internal struggle and need to understand it, and quickly placed a tiny hand on his dermas. Although it might have been quite aggressive, and hurt the regular human with its strength, it felt nothing but a pinch to Prowl.

"Don't-" he wheezed out, barely audible to Prowl, the second word lost to another wheezed breath, mouth only mimicking the movement it was supposed to take. Though, this time, the mech understood quite well what he ment.

So he did as instructed, and didn't utter a single word, hoping his optics did the job to deliver his thoughts.

That was the fouth time, and counting, the mech did something wrong, because it seems like his worried glance were funny to the little human. That his concerns for his health were humorous to him. And honestly, Prowl wasn't sure if he should take offence to that or not.

At this point, Prowl could do nothing else other than to sit there, dumbfounded, which was not a situation he felt pleased being in (and didn’t find himself often in, until this human came crashing into his life), as his partner laughed off uncontrollably, slamming his hands over his own knees, or sometimes at the palm of the servo holding him, while clutching his stomach in what seemed to be strained pain.

Prowl made move to get up now, thoroughly done with this and ready to deliver the troubled human to a medic. He was losing too much air at this point and it could very much fatal.

But just as he did, before he could even fully stand from his seat, the mech caught a glance over to Jazz who, despite his struggles with breathing at the moment, waved over an arm in signal for Prowl to stop moving. Prowl raised a questioning brow, which was the fifth wrong move (he might as well just assume everything he does that expresses concern will be a wrong move at this point), as Jazz quickly fell into more laugher, but the exhaustion was clear to any bot as he gasped far more aggressively for air in attempt to stop his uncontrolled laugh.

"Sit." He breathed out, gagging a little at the word before attempting to speak once more. "Don't- haha- move." After more strained giggles, he uttered one more word he deemed necessary; "please."

So Prowl sat down, and watched as Jazz let out whatever was left in his system. To his relief, it seemed like that had been the first correct move Prowl has done over the past joor, as Jazz was finally starting to calm down, fallen flat on his back by now, as he let out exhausted breaths.

It was quiet for a moment, Prowl wasn't sure how long, but slowly Jazz started to move himself from his fallen position to sit back up, using trembling hands to hold himself from the back. It took a little more of breathing before the human decided to speak again, hesitantly, as if to test for himself if it was safe to speak.

"S-sorry about....that"

Prowl was unsure if he should speak up himself, but deemed appropriate enough by now. "Care to....explain, all of that?"

Jazz let out another snort at that, which caused the mech to panic that he might have caused the human to spiral down once more. But he just shook his head while bitting down on his bottom lip, as if to hold his smile from growing.

"I just....lost control."

"Lost control?" Prowl raised a questioning brow, Jazz just kept looking away as if he knew just looking at the mech would cause trouble once more.

"Y-yeah."

Prowl had so many questions about how that was even possible, one such question being whether there could be a system override for such an occasion, but his processor quickly screamed back in reminder that that was not possible.

They sat in silence once more as Jazz caught up with all the air he missed out during his fit, and Prowl contemplated on what or if  he should ask something. Finally, after maybe a klik or so, Prowl finally inquired on something.

"Jazz, you looked like you were about to die-"

"Sure felt like it" the human chuckled, Prowl did not find humour on that.

"I'm serious Jazz, could such a simple thing as laughter really kill you?" The most demanding question on his processors, slipping out without a second to stop it. That seemed to have caught his partner off guard, and, thank Primus, such concern was not left for the human's humour as he looked genuinely guilty and possibly conflicted over the question.

"Weeellll..." As he made move to rotate one of his hands, as if to try and roll out a proper answer, the answer itself seemed to click for Prowl.

"Oh my Primus it can." The mech looked utterly horrified at the revelation. "You could have died Jazz-"

"NO! Wait Prowl, stop!" Jazz panicked, quickly trying to console his giant partner. "I would have been fine! It would take alot more to kill me!" That did not seem to comfort the mech.

"How much?!"

"Uhm, ok, 'm honestly not sure." Prowl raised his brows, looking very much not pleased with that answer, but Jazz continued before Prowl could, "but I know that worse case scenario I would've just passed out, but would be able to breath normally again. You'd just have to wait till I woke up again!"

The mech seemed to contemplate whether that was a satisfactory answer or not. He seemed to have landed in the middle.

"You seemed to be in genuine pain though, so pardon my concerns about it."

"'S cuz I was."

"Then why didn't you stop?"

"I just couldn't, 'nd I don't have the answer as to why honestly, so sorry to disappoint. Sometimes we humans just start laughing and it gets out of control, to the point where everything's funny, even a pencil drop could cause the spiral to worsen."

"Or a concerned partner's face?" Prowl mused

Jazz chuckled, "yeah."

After a few seconds, Prowl decided to muse a bit on something. "So, what was it that you wanted to try and tell me earlier?" He smirked down at his partner.

The human just shook his head, chuckling slightly, but not falling down exasperated laughter. "I'm not even gonna try that again."

-----

Final notes. I added a little moment of Jazz pressing the back area of the ears, idk what they're called, while exclaiming he's hurt, and it's from my own personal experience of laughing so much that area would start to hurt from smiling so much, and I'd have to scream out "it hurts!" To try and stop it.

Not sure if anyone else experienced that, so yeah. Either way, thought it be funny to have this happen with Jazz, as I dont think cybertronians can necessarily go through the same issue of laughing so much in insanity because of lack of air. And also, yeah, it can be deadly, but it would take alot for that...as far as I know-

[glamourscat]

Sorry for disturbing 🩷 would it be possible a one shot with either Bachira or reo (or any character that fits the vibes) based on the sentence “don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you” or “why are you so stubborn?”. Looking for some angst not gonna lie😖😶‍🌫️

𐙚 “Don’t give me space, that’s the last thing I want.” BLLK oneshot 𐙚

CW: angst. Nakedness innuendos but nothing explicit, mention of breakup.

ᯓ★ Ryusei Shidou

“Damn it, Y/N,” Shidou snapped. It wasn’t loud enough to make you flinch, but it was loud enough to make your eyes widen in surprise.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. After all, you are more than aware of how he is—the type of person he is. He’s not so rough in private as he is on the field, sure, but his bruising personality still carries over into his personal life. The signs, the warnings were there all along. Big, bold, and yet, they still managed to get lost.

“Why are you so stubborn?” he continued. “I have told you once, and I have told you twice, I don’t—I just don’t. I don’t want to open up, I am fine. I do not need help—“

“Fine.” You cut him off, trying to avoid another argument—the third of that morning alone.

“Fine. I am sorry for pushing. I am sorry for insisting. I just know something is wrong. I can tell from the way you haven’t closed an eye in the last few days. From the way you have been on edge constantly. I shouldn’t have pried, I am sorry. Just know that I am here if you do need me. Because that’s what I am here for, right?” Your words linger in the air for a moment, the silence thick between the two of you as both stare at the pavement. The silence is broken as you turn around to leave the living room, your slippers squeaking on the parquet floor.

“Wait—Y/N,” Shidou sighed, his voice calmer than earlier. His shoulders had dropped, his eyes slightly softer, although there was still that wall present.

“Wait. Please—don’t go. Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you. Please… I… can’t,” he mumbled, his words coming out quietly and quickly, enough to understand them and the message he was trying to send.

Stay. I need you. Please. Don’t leave me alone. I can’t talk about it, not yet. But please stay.

Your eyes soften as you move back close to him, step after step, slowly. Unsure movements, trying to see how he would react. Will he flinch away? Will he move back? But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes on you. And your eyes are on him. You stop right in front of him, giving him the opportunity to move back, to move away if he needs to. But he doesn’t move. And so, you take one more step, and your arms are around him. His head comes to rest against your neck, his breathing hitting your soft skin, making it warmer.

“I’m sorry,” your words come out quieter than intended, a whisper of some sort.

“It’s fine, stop apologising,” he whispers back, moving his mouth against your neck, leaving a soft, slightly humid kiss on the now warm skin. “Just hold me for a little longer.”

ᯓ★ Bachira Meguru

“Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you, Y/N-chan,” Bachira screamed while crying—no, while sobbing his eyes out. The scene felt so familiar. The yellow bedsheets, the softness of his mattress where he was sat on. The artwork from his mother or the little sketches he made, scattered across the study table and some glued to the wall. Right beside the Polaroids of you two. You two laughing, you two kissing. You two smiling.

And now, it felt like everything was crumbling away slowly.

“Y/N-chan… please,” he sobbed as he tried to step closer, but you took a step back. He couldn’t—there was just something wrong with your eyes. The way they were so… dark. So empty. You never looked at him with such disdain. Disgust even. Why now?

“Don’t leave me, please—” you cut him off.

“Bachira, we are done. D-O-N-E. Done. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you. You’re absolutely the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Bachira, Bachira… Bachira… Bachira? Bachira, are you listening? Bachira, can you hear me…?

He wakes up gasping. His eyes still blurred with tears he didn’t know he had shed while he was sleeping. His heart was beating so fast that he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. His body was shaking as he tightened his grip on a hand… a hand? He turns his face, meeting your worried eyes. Your mouth opens, probably calling his name, that’s what it looked like. But he was in such a discombobulated state that he didn’t even hear your words. His eyes wide as if he had seen a ghost, while they desperately tried to read any of the emotions he had seen previously on your face. Your eyes were kind, sweet as ever. There was no disgust, no fear, no hatred. And yet…

It felt so real. So damn real. He was no stranger to self-doubt. He was no stranger to feeling—like he wasn’t good enough. And maybe a little voice at the back of his head was waiting for the right moment to lash out all of these insecurities onto him, right when the moment was nothing more than peaceful, and destroy everything once again.

That wasn’t you. You never looked at him in such way, and he was sure you never would. That was a conjure of his brain, of his deepest insecurities. Of you leaving him. Of you abandoning him like he has been abandoned before in his past.

But you are here. Right beside him. Still holding his hand while your worried eyes and furrowed eyebrows look at his face, trying to determine how to work the situation.

“Bee? I’m here. You feel me? Feel my heart. I’m here,” you whisper softly, bringing the hand you were holding right up to your chest, to your beating, steady heart.

Right. You’re here. We are here. Together. You didn’t leave. We are in my bed. Our pictures are still up on that same wall staring back at us. And I can feel your soft, warm, bare body against mine under the covers. We are here. We are together. And I love you. Oh, how I love you. Please, never leave me. I love you.

ᯓ★ Reo Mikage

“For the love of— again? Really, Reo? Again? Why are you so stubborn, I swear—” you say to your best friend, Reo. Your voice is slightly harsher than intended, but the tiredness and maybe a tinge of anger are starting to seep out.

Again, it happened again.

Reo getting dumped by Nagi. And consequently, the purple-haired guy runs into hiding, sobbing his eyes out while spiraling out of control. And you were tired. Tired of seeing him hurt. Tired of seeing the person you loved, cared for and cherished getting used and discarded when he wasn’t needed anymore.

Reo wasn’t perfect, and neither are you. But then again, who is? Despite his flaws, he is kind, oh so ever kind. He is gentle even, and his smile—his laugh, is so beautiful. So full of life, it’s the little giggles turning into a belly laugh, a small snort in between as he laughs his heart out. And you miss it as tears and sobs replace his usual smile and laugh.

You sigh, moving to sit by his side on the floor. Your arms move automatically like they have done in the past, to hold him tightly against your chest. To give him a sense of security despite the darkness he is feeling inside.

“I am so tired,” he whispers shakily between sniffles and tears. “I—is it too much? To ask to be loved? Is it too much to love me? Am I too much?” he says in a quiet, timid voice.

He is not speaking to you, well, not directly. The question is more or less said out loud as he is starting to open up.

“No. It’s not too much. You’re not too much, you’re not a burden to love, Reo. You’re the biggest gift anyone could ever receive.” Your words are soft as silk, caressing him, holding him metaphorically and literally in a warm embrace.

You’re not too much, Reo. You’re just enough.

“But then—” he sniffles. “Why is it… he keeps leaving? Why is it that no matter how hard I try, he always ends up leaving?”

Good question. Why does Nagi leave? Well, you certainly have some words, strong ones at that, but it’s not the time nor place to use them.

“Because sometimes we aren’t meant to stay with that person, Reo. I know, it’s an oxymoron. It doesn’t make sense, it’s ridiculous even. How and why? If you love someone so hard, so much, why do they leave? Why can’t they stay? Well—because it doesn’t matter how hard you love someone, sometimes that love is not enough to make them stay. Sometimes, too, you’re misplacing your love with the wrong person. In your case, I feel it’s a mix of both. I know you care for him, so deeply. That’s who you are, after all. But—who cares for you, Reo?” you say in a low, soft tone, as your hand goes to cup his cheek.

“Who cares for you when the lights are out and you’re alone with your thoughts? And I’m not talking about the physical intimacy kind. I’m talking about the mental one. Who’s there, giving you advice? Who’s there, helping you? Who’s there supporting you?”

Reo’s eyes meet yours, filled with tears but also a glimmer of understanding. He knows you’re right, but it’s hard to let go of something you’ve held onto so tightly.

“I just—I think sometimes it’s better to let go. I can’t make the choice for you, and I won’t. It has to come from you. But just know, whatever you decide, I’m here. I’ll always be here,” you continue, your voice firm yet gentle.

Reo takes a deep breath, his body still trembling slightly but starting to calm down in your embrace. He nods slowly, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I don’t know if I can do it alone,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I— don’t want to do it alone. Don’t give me space. Don’t leave. That’s the last thing I want from you. Please… help me” his eyes meet yours in a quiet understanding.

“You’re not alone, Reo. You have me, and you have so many people who care about you. You just have to see it. And maybe, it’s time to start caring for yourself as much as you care for others,” you say softly, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

He pulls back slightly to look at you, a small, grateful smile forming on his lips. It’s a start, at least.

“Thank you. I love you so much. I don’t know what I would do without you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

Your cold lips touch his cheek, leaving a soft, reassuring kiss

“Anytime silly” you reply, holding onto a soft, almost teasing smile. Your noses touch, while sharing a soft, quiet chuckle together.

In that moment, as his purple eyes mix into yours, you both understand that while the journey ahead might be tough, he has you and you have him. And maybe, just maybe, Reo will finally find the strength to let go and find someone who truly deserves his love.

© GLAMOROUSCAT (All rights reserved, do not share, modify or repost my work outside of tumblr)

[f1amour]

Hiya!! Can I pretty please request a blurb that’s both angsty and a lil fluffy?

🍮 Lewis Hamilton - “I’m scared of losing you”

❝ i’m scared of losing you ❞ — lewis hamilton

pairing | lewis hamilton x reader

content warnings | angst, comfort, age gap mentioned (not specified)

★ navigation | main masterlist

─────────────────────────

“lewis is ready for this season to end” “lewis wants a fresh start and it’ll be with ferrari” “seems like hamilton just wants a a fresh start with life in general…does that include his girlfriend?”

the tweets did not stop rolling in and you couldn’t help but get lost in them. you couldn’t help but believe the words many were saying. maybe lewis was over this season, done with mercedes, and maybe he was over you too. he noticed the distance you had put up after the brazil gp. there was a two week break and you had spent it at home trying to relax but that was not possible with your constant checking in on twitter to see what people are saying about you.

you weren’t one to be on your phone so much at least when you had free time with lewis you guys tried your best to be in the moment. so when he came home from taking roscoe on a walk only to find you in the same spot you were in before he left almost two hours ago was concerning. it was concerning enough when you didn’t join them on the walk which you usually do, telling lewis you wanted to stay back and start on dinner. dinner was nowhere to be seen as you say on the barstool in the kitchen phone on in your hands with tears in your eyes.

lewis quickly lets roscoe off his leash and walks to you, “baby, what’s going?” his finger lifts your chin up to look him in the eyes but the tears in your eyes just make him frown. “please talk to me. i’m worried about you.” his soft voice fills your ears as you let him wrap his arms around you giving you a hug you didn’t know you needed until now.

your body shakes shading his as you let all your tears and frustrations out until you finally calm down his hands rub your back as you take deep breaths, “i…i’m scared, lewis. i’m scared of losing you,” you tell him what you’d been feeling for weeks now. lewis was not expecting those words to come out of your mouth. in fact, he felt that he was losing you due to this distance you’d been putting up.

his hands cup your face and gives you a smile that makes you believe your thoughts of losing him were just your imagination, “oh honey, now why would you think that? i can’t imagine my life without you. who told you something?” he asks, knowing damn well you’d never just start having these thoughts for no reason.

you look down at the countertop as you hand him your phone which had your twitter feed full of negativity, “lewis looks over this team and ready for a fresh start either ferrari he probably feels the same in his love life as well, lewis wants to focus on his 8th world championship not shopping for wedding rings for his young girlfriend who brings bad luck—,” lewis stops after the last tweet and looks over at you, your hands covering your face trying to avoid his gaze.

“look at me. plenty of people feel the opposite of these tweets. you got sucked into a thread that is all people who don’t actually support me. my fans, my true fans adore you. maybe even more than me. you’re only a few years younger than me and that isn’t an issue with me, love. i love you. you’ve brought the good luck for me. you bring faith every single race week especially this year where it’s been fucking hell most of the time. i can’t imaging my life without you, ever.” his words soothe your mind despite still feeling a bit anxious from those tweets you realize maybe listening to complete strangers rather than the love of your life wasn’t the best idea. however, lewis always validated your feelings and why you may have gotten lost in the dark side of the media where people aren’t always so accepting of your relationship.

“i’m sorry, lew. shouldn’t have listened to them i just…i don’t know how you deal with everything and still keep your head up. i’m exhausted,” you confess, you were never one to be on social media and read comments unless they were from friends or family. seeing how the last few races have been brutal for lewis you wanted to defend your boyfriend but ended up on the wrong side. “baby, you were with me for 2021. you are probably the only reason i didn’t quit and why i still haven’t. you’ve got faith in me, i hold that very dear to my heart. i’m with you till the end.” his last words make you cry some more but happy tears now as he chuckles at your smile, “there’s my girl. now, let’s take a break from the phone and cook some dinner together.”

he helps you off the stool and you grab his hand turning him back, “i love you too.” you pull him into a kiss and all lewis could think about is the engagement ring hiding under roscoe’s bed ready to make an appearance once the season is over.

[auclairedetoru]

Best friend!Eren loves college, he really does! He got into the one he wanted and is majoring in something he loves, and in return his grades are doing fantastic, top of his class even!

Except for that one specific class.

God, just thinking about it pissed him off. He doesn't know why he couldn't understand it, it's like the professor was speaking in a dead language. He came back home with a headache every time he tries to focus and learn like everyone else. He swears it was going to be his 13th reason eventually. It made him rethink his entire life plan and whether it was worth getting his degree.

Seeing his frustration, his best friend y/n decided to help him out. Did she understand anything he had written in his notes? Absolutely not, it wasn't a class she needed to take, but she hated seeing him so lost and stressed, especially when they were so close to finales week.

“You like rewards, how about you give yourself a little treat every time you memorise something, if it works on dogs it can work on humans.”

Eren thought it was genius. The smile that spread on his face gave her hope that she might've finally solved his problem and gave him at least a little bit of motivation, but what Eren was thinking about was the opposite of hers. He agreed with the idea of a reward, but what kind of reward specifically?

Well...

“How about I memorise everything, and if I'm successful, you give me a kiss.”

Y/n felt dizzy at how fast she turned to look at him, eyes nearly popping out of her skull. A kiss?! What was he thinking?! She might have always had a suspicion he was dropped on his head as a baby, but this just confirmed it.

“Are you crazy?”

“Crazy for you.” he wiggled his eyebrows at her making her roll her eyes. God, he was so annoying, why was she friends with him again?

Despite thinking he's mentally unstable, she did give it a thought. Not every day you get the chance to kiss your hot best friend that you have a massive crush on, right? Might as well take the opportunity, it might never happen again. Plus, he clearly wants it to happen, he wouldn't suggest it if he didn't want to kiss her too.

“Fine,” she adds a hint of annoyance in her voice so he wouldn't figure out how nervous the thought alone made her, “let's see if you can do it.”

Eren was motivated, to say the least. He locked himself in his room for three days, only leaving for the bathroom and to grab food. He missed out on two parties, his neighbors fist fighting, the release of a new season of his favourite show and a boba tea date with Armin.

On Monday evening, he went to y/n's apartment and sat in her living room with the biggest confident smirk she has ever seen on him. He has always been very cocky, but not over something he was crying over three days prior.

“Ready?” she shuffled his flash cards to give him a little bit of a challenge and to see if he can remember everything if they're not in the order he memorised them. Eren nods, “let's do this, I'm ready for my reward.”

... And it worked.

She quizzed him on everything in every possible way. She even tried to trick him, but he was able to catch on quickly and prove her wrong. After weeks of struggling and threatening to drop out over this subject, Eren finally got a hold of it... All because of a promise of a kiss.

A kiss he was eagerly waiting for.

Y/n has never felt her cheeks heat up like this in her life. As much as she knew her best friend is very smart and could do anything he sets his mind on, she really didn't think he could pull this off, not after he tried everything. Tutors, bombarding the professor with questions, help online, they all didn't work! How was she supposed to have any faith that a stupid little kiss reward would make his brain magically start understanding this class!?

It's dumb, really. But she did want it too.

“Well,” Eren started with a huge smile, “I've proven myself, now please give me the reward I worked hard for and rightfully deserve.”

With a shaky breath, y/n leaned in, and without wasting any more time, Eren leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

She was expecting it, of course she was, but did that make it any less shocking? Did that make her heart beat steadier? No, quite the opposite actually. Her hands were shaking, her heart was performing acrobatics behind her ribcage, and she wanted to run away and never be seen after they pulled away.

For Eren, it felt like heaven. The kiss was quick, too quick in his opinion, but he was able to feel the softness of her lips against his. God, the things he would do to feel them again. He wanted to pull her on his lap and kiss her until he was too tired to keep his eyes open, then he would pull her into his arms to sleep just to go back to kissing her the next morning.

“Can I have one more?” he asked while looking down at her shy expression.

“no! Stop embarrassing me!” she hit him on the chest before burying her face in his hoodie. He laughs and wraps his arms around her, squeezing her a little and teasing her a little more.

When Eren thinks back to their first actual kiss, he laughs at how oblivious both of them were to each other's feelings. They were very transparent about them, showing the other very clear signs that they wanted more, but they chose to ignore them and instead overthink about getting rejected and ruining their friendship.

That was all in the past now, and with the way the present is going, they can't be happier.

More best friend!Eren.

[rose24207]

Please give us an angsty best friends to lovers with lando maybe reader can be someone’s little sister

Brothers best friend

Summary: Lando and Carlos younger sister secretly fall in love, risking their relationship with Carlos when the truth comes out.

Genre: Angst, fluff

TW: betrayal (?)

A/N: thank you for your request! You guys are masterminds when it comes to them! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

You’d grown up watching Lando race, your family so deeply intertwined with Formula 1 that the paddock felt more like home than anywhere else. Lando was Carlos’s teammate, his best friend, and—somewhere along the way—your closest friend, too.

Lando was always around, whether it was at the Sainz family villa in Madrid or on the track, laughing with Carlos. He treated you like you were part of the gang—never dismissive, never overprotective like Carlos could be.

But somewhere along the way, things shifted. A touch lingered too long, a look held more weight, and your friendship became something you weren’t sure you could define.

It was unspoken. Forbidden. And it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down.

The first time you realized your feelings for Lando were more than friendly was at a barbecue at the Sainz villa.

The Spanish summer heat lingered in the air, the patio alive with laughter and the sizzle of meat on the grill. Carlos was busy playing host, pouring drinks and chatting with family and friends. You sat off to the side, watching as Lando leaned against the pool railing, a drink in hand and his usual mischievous grin lighting up his face.

He caught your eye across the yard, and his grin softened. Before you could look away, he was walking over, his strides confident and easy.

“Why are you sitting here all alone?” he teased, nudging your knee with his.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just watching everyone.”

Lando plopped down beside you, so close that your knees brushed. “It’s more fun if you join in, you know.”

You smiled, but your heart was racing. His presence felt overwhelming in a way it hadn’t before. “Maybe I just like watching you embarrass yourself.”

He laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Admit it—you’d miss me if I wasn’t around to entertain you.”

Your stomach fluttered at his teasing tone, but you quickly masked it with a scoff. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you haven’t told me to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you didn’t want him to leave. Ever.

The problem with unspoken feelings was that they always found ways to creep in, no matter how much you tried to ignore them.

It was late one evening in Monaco, after a long day at the track. Carlos was out with friends, leaving you and Lando alone in the living room of the apartment they shared during race weekends.

You were scrolling through your phone, curled up on the couch, when Lando sat down beside you.

“You looked good today,” he said casually.

You glanced at him, confused. “What?”

“At the track,” he clarified, his eyes fixed on you. “I saw you in the garage. You looked… happy.”

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze. “Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “It’s nice seeing you smile like that. Makes my day better.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them made your heart ache. You looked away, biting your lip.

“You’re too nice to me,” you murmured.

“Not possible,” he replied softly.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with something neither of you was ready to acknowledge.

It happened in Silverstone, the weekend of the British Grand Prix.

You’d stayed late in the paddock, hanging around the McLaren garage under the pretense of “supporting Carlos.” But in reality, you were waiting for Lando.

When he finally emerged, still in his race suit, his face lit up at the sight of you. “What are you still doing here?”

You shrugged, smiling. “Thought I’d say hi before heading out.”

“Lucky me,” he said, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

You walked with him toward the team motorhome, the quiet of the paddock wrapping around you like a blanket. It was only when you reached a secluded corner that he stopped, turning to face you.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You nodded, your heart pounding.

“Do you ever think about us? About… what this is?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected him to say it, to break the fragile balance you’d been clinging to.

“Lando…”

He stepped closer, his gaze searching yours. “I know I shouldn’t. You’re Carlos’s sister. But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words hung in the air, and before you could stop yourself, you whispered, “I think about you, too.”

The kiss that followed was soft, hesitant, like neither of you could believe it was happening. But when his hands cupped your face, and you leaned into him, it felt like everything finally made sense.

You and Lando knew the risks. Carlos was fiercely protective, and the idea of you dating his best friend was bound to set him off. But you couldn’t stay away from each other, no matter how hard you tried.

It all came to a head one evening when Carlos walked into the McLaren motorhome and found you sitting too close to Lando, his hand resting on your knee.

The look on Carlos’s face was enough to make your stomach drop.

“¿Qué mierda es esto?” he demanded, his voice loud enough to make everyone in the room turn.

“Carlos—” you started, but he cut you off, his glare fixed on Lando.

“You’re my sister,” he said, his tone a mix of betrayal and anger. “And you’re supposed to be my best friend.”

“Carlos, let me explain—” Lando began, standing up.

“You don’t need to explain anything,” Carlos snapped. “I trusted you, Lando.”

The tension was unbearable, the weight of Carlos’s anger making it hard to breathe.

“Stop it!” you finally shouted. “This isn’t just about you, Carlos. It’s about me and Lando. And I love him.”

Your words silenced the room. Carlos stared at you, his expression softening slightly before hardening again.

“Do you have any idea what you’re risking?” he said quietly. “What happens if this goes wrong?”

“It won’t,” Lando said firmly, stepping closer to you. “I’d never hurt her, Carlos.”

Carlos looked between the two of you, his jaw clenched. “You’d better not.”

It took time for Carlos to come around. He didn’t like the idea of you dating Lando, but he loved you too much to stand in the way of your happiness.

“I’ll never get used to this,” he admitted one day, watching as Lando held your hand across the table. “But if you’re happy, that’s what matters.”

“I am,” you said, squeezing Lando’s hand.

And for the first time, you felt like you could finally breathe.

Thank you for reading!

[opiopal]

Something I think abt often is this little thing my mc has,

like hear me out: Ik yall are tempted to scroll bc I mentioned it’s my own mc but PLZZZ it’s cute I SWEAR, and it also included Mams,

so my mc Opal does NOT like to be touched/touch other people they do not know/aren’t comfortable with, they’ll actively pull away when people are too close and will scoot away if someone’s sitting too close. It’s not a mean thing or anything, she just genuinely hates it. it makes her skin crawl and makes her feel icky.

HOWEVER, out of the whole HOL, in the beginning sessions, Mams ends up becoming the one person she’ll cling onto both physically and emotionally, mostly because of how quickly he goes from threatening mc to suddenly wanting to just be around them, also she felt he actually made an effort to gain their trust via presents along with quality time, which she heavily appreciates.(she doesn’t have the heart to tell him she has no spice tolerance and that she only eats the spicy ramen he makes because he’s the one who made it.)

and I like to imagine that at first, an occasional grab at his sleeve or hand would send him into a mini spiral as he flusters, because he is a DORK. And also you just KNOW he would respect tf out of someone who doesn’t like to be touched physically, I can imagine him being the type of guy to like, pat people’s shoulders/back and stuff when talking and exaggerating stuff, so I feel he would restraint himself well and make sure to keep it in mind!

and adding onto that, something as far as mc leaning on his shoulder nearly makes him EXPLODE. He’s gripping his knees and his face is heating up as he tries to be as still as possible, really it’s hard to not mistaken him for levi, but his feelings for them combined with his anxiety of making a mistake that makes mc never touch him again mix together, so he goes so stiff. He’d understand that doing stuff as simple as that is a big step up in trust and so in turn he’s acting as if this is the craziest step forward in their relationship EVER. once mc also gets comfortable with bigger things, like hugging onto him, holding hands, casually touching each other when sitting, lighthearted pats and smacks, ect. He starts to go back to his usual body language, and honestly I feel it would make him a lot clingier.

i have seen a lot of other people say that they imagine mammon just suddenly being so flustered over tiny things once he’s actually with someone he likes, and I am a firm believer in it lowkey. like, you think that even though he’s been with and flirted with many people in the past he’s super flustered and gets super shy about mc doing something as tiny as offering him a tissue?? I agree, we’re best friends now.

(also he would TOTALLY fight off anyone getting too close to mc, whether it’s intentional or not he’d be so protective. All like “oi back up a little bit” his pookie NEEDS personal space and he’ll make sure they get it)

[nightmarerosely]

Jayce x Viktor Fluff

Okay, I came out of retirement just for this ship. I wasn't really interested to write anything, but now that problem is solved.

Viktor sat hunched over his desk, his shoulders and neck tense after hours of relentless work. Loose strands of hair fell into his face, and he pushed them back whenever they bothered him, trying to keep himself focused. He held a pen between his teeth, while notes and blueprints lay scattered across the table in a chaotic mess. The remnants of an abandoned attempt at organisation were barely visible beneath the sea of papers. In his hands, he held a pulsating, blue-glowing device etched with runes—the Hexcore.

Frustration etched across his face, he turned the Hexcore in his hands, taking a look from every possible angle. Viktor brought it closer to his face, narrowing his eyes and taking a close look at the runes that are carved into the surface. The concentration in the room was broken by a sudden clatter—his cane, leaned against the table, had slipped and fallen to the floor. The sharp sound startled him, and he nearly dropped the Hexcore onto the ground. It tumbled onto the table, and Viktor froze as its glow intensified, pulsating with energy. Does it react to impact? Viktor wondered. Testing the theory might give him minor progress, but the risk of damaging the Hexcore was too great. Reluctantly, he set the idea aside, his mind racing with safer possibilities.

He pinched his eyes keeping them closed for a moment. Viktor knew research and progress weren't easy, but this was the most frustrating dead end he had ever reached. This thing was powerful, but he wasn't sure how to safely utilise it.

"Are you trying to make us run out of paper?" Jayce said. He pushed into the room carrying a plate and two coffee cups. Viktor barely looked up which concerned Jayce. He often saw Viktor frustrated over work, he was a perfectionist and often gave himself hard times. Just when he wanted to ask the other if he was alright, he got a reply from him. "One of us has to make progress while the other hunts for recognition." The comment was dry almost sarcastic.

Right after, a terrible cough overcame him. He tried to turn away as if he could hide it from Jayce. The other man quickly frees his hands and gives Viktor a cloth. "If you collapse because you don't rest, you won't make any progress. You should eat and take a break."

"That's what I'm afraid of—what if I collapse, and it's all for nothing?" Viktor's voice was unsteady, his eyes betraying a flicker of desperation as he instinctively clutched the Hexcore tighter.

Jayce carefully pried it from his hands, his movements direct but gentle, like handling something as fragile as Viktor's research pride. "I won't let that happen," he said firmly, his voice softening as he placed the Hexcore back in its container. "But you have to let me help you."

Viktor's lips parted as if to protest, but Jayce didn't give him the chance. He pressed the warm mug into Viktor's hands, sliding the plate closer with a quiet insistence. "You're right," Viktor mumbled after a moment, his tone heavy. "But I… it feels like the progress is mine to bear. Like it's like sand slipping through my fingers, and you—you're out there, and I'm left here alone with it."

Jayce leaned in, his gaze steady and confident. "You're not alone." His words were resolute yet laced with a tenderness that Viktor couldn't ignore. The weight of that assurance was almost too much, and Viktor's grip on the mug tightened as his gaze fell, unable to meet Jayce's earnest eyes.

Jayce leaned against the table after picking up the cane. "The council expects me to know everything about the Hexcore. They involve me so much, and I'm worried I'm letting everyone down—especially you, Viktor. I wish I was a better partner to you. At first, I loved all the attention and recognition, but now I feel lost with it." Jayce placed a hand on Viktor's shoulder without thinking about it. Viktor looked up, and in his tired eyes, there was a soft sort of affection, something he had never seen before.

"Maybe there is still reason left in you," Viktor said, taking a bite from the food Jayce had brought to him. "Was that a compliment?" Jayce asked with a bright smile on his face. Viktor's eyes slightly edge up in a smile. "Don't get used to it."

"Viktor, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," Jayce began, his tone thoughtful. Viktor glanced up from his mug, his expression neutral but his eyes faintly curious. Jayce knew that expression, he wanted to know more, but would not ask.

"It's never too late to start," Viktor quipped, his dry wit sharp as ever.

Jayce chuckled softly, warmth flickering in his chest. This—this sharp humor, this brilliance that Viktor held so effortlessly—was part of what he admired so much about the man. But more than that, it was the things Viktor couldn't see in himself that Jayce valued most. His skill, his resilience, his quiet strength—traits Viktor dismissed too easily because of his imperfections.

Jayce would never understand how Viktor could see his flaws as something that made him undesirable when, to Jayce, they were nothing. Everyone had their imperfections, and that was okay. Why couldn't Viktor see that?

"I thought a lot about us. I know that I should have been here more. This is our project after all." Viktor turned to Jayce who was playing with his cane, letting his fingers run gently along it. For a moment they were both silent, they stole glances at each other but didn't speak. "You' are my best friend J-"Jayce didn't want to hear what Viktor had to say. They were never just friends, yet they both kept repeating it to make it the truth, to erase the electric feeling between them, the heat when they looked at each other. The way they always tried to find the other in a crowd.

Jayce placed his hand on Viktor's jaw, his thumb brushing against the edge of his cheekbone as he tilted Viktor's face upward. Their eyes met, and Jayce leaned. He could feel Viktor's breath against his lips. Viktor's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he tried to steady himself.

Jayce angled his head slightly, closing the distance until their lips met in a soft kiss. His fingers slid into Viktor's hair, threading through the strands as his hand cradled the back of Viktor's head. Viktor froze, his thoughts momentarily gone, unsure of how to respond. Yet, he didn't pull away. Instead, he let himself feel a warmth he hadn't expected—and didn't want to lose.

"Jayce," Viktor began, his voice quieter than usual. He couldn't bring himself to finish what he wanted to say, but he did not have to. "You don't have to say anything," Jayce murmured, his voice soft. He let his forehead rest gently against Viktor's, grounding them both. "I just… I needed you to know. You're not just my best friend, Viktor. You never have been."

Viktor exhaled shakily, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You are a fool," he said, his dry humour masking the vulnerable warmth in his tone. "But at least you are my fool."

For once, Jayce didn't need words to know what Viktor meant. And for the first time in what felt like years, Viktor didn't feel like he had to push Jayce away.

Viktor let himself stay because to be with Jayce, he was enough the way he was.

[forabeatofadrum]

Ever After (1/21)

Summary: Cooper is the saviour of the kingdom of Daltonia, and his younger brother Blaine is fine with that. Blaine's never had a grand adventure of his own, and he prefers it that way. But one day, a stranger who is lost and in pain is brought into Castle Town, and Cooper isn't around to help him. It's up to Blaine to help him to find his way home, but when Kurt claims that he is from another world, things become more and more complicated.

Notes: Hello everyone! It is time for the annual @klaineadvent! I am so happy that this challenge is still around, even though it's been nine (nine!) years since Glee ended. I have been sitting on this story idea for a couple of months and I am happy to share it. The title is named after the song Ever After from Into the Woods.

I do want to quickly point out that the premise is based on The Accidental Turn series from J.M. Frey, and credit for this idea goes to her. That being said, apart from the initial idea, any other similarities are purely coincidental. Truly. I don't really remember what happened in those books, since it's been years since I read them.

Also, you may have noticed that my 2023 Challenge is still a WIP. It is what it is. I aimed to finish it before the 2024 Challenge, and that didn't work out. I do want to finish it, but writing should be fun, and pushing myself to just churn out words wasn't fun. And since writing should be fun, and I am happy to share this story, I'll be focusing on this one. But we'll see where this one will end up.

Alright. Word vomit is over. Enjoy!

AO3 | S&C

--

SCAN

“Once upon a time, in the gorgeous lands of Daltonia, the Royal family was leading the kingdom in a time of peace. But the king and queen were given a prophecy. Their firstborn would be the hero of legend, the Chosen One, the user of the All Power, the one to save us all from an unseen threat. As a result, when prince Cooper was born, the festivities were lavish, but there was also a feeling of apprehension. What threat would loom over Daltonia?

On Cooper’s tenth birthday, that became clear. The evil sorcerer known as the Pink Dagger, had been secretly planting seeds of disarray around the kingdom. Seeds that would manipulate time. The Pink Dagger tried to manipulate the past in order to alter the present and change a possible future. The young Cooper knew what he had to do, so when he was only ten years old, he and his friends from the Knight Academy set out on a quest to stop the Pink Dagger-”

“And meanwhile, the new queen gave birth to a second son!” Wes yells happily.

David groans as he looks up from his electronic parchment.

“Damnit, Wes, I was getting to that!” he says towards his friend.

“Well, hurry up then! We’re all waiting for Blaine to make an entrance.”

“Guys-” Blaine tries to cut in, but all his friends cheer in agreement with Wes.

“Hush,” David says, “I haven’t even gotten around to the death of the first queen and the king remarrying. I am nowhere near Blaine’s birth. That happens after Cooper’s quest! It would fit better in the intro of the second book.”

“Second book?” Trent bemoans.

“Cooper’s had eight big quests. I cannot put them all in one! That would be idiocy.”

“It’s idiocy to write down Cooper’s adventures in the first place,” Nick argues, “As in, who would read them? Everyone in the kingdom already knows of them.”

Nick is right, of course. Cooper is Daltonia’s biggest hero. His eight year long battle with the Pink Dagger has led to Cooper’s victory, and to the safety of Daltonia. Cooper’s spent most of his childhood honing the All Power. Every member of the Royal family has powers, including Blaine, but the prophecy was right: Cooper truly is the most powerful royal that Daltonia’s ever known.

And Cooper also makes sure that everyone knows it.

“Did Cooper ask you to write a book series about him?” Blaine asks. It’s something Cooper would do.

But David shakes his head.

“Oh David,” Jeff whines, “Why?”

“I am a historian!” David says passionately, “But I must also think of the future. Writing this all down in a simple languages is a way for children to learn about their past.”

“Yes. You’re a historian, definitely not a writer,” Wes jokes, which leads to a playful pat on the back from David.

Although Blaine thinks David has a point. Honestly, Cooper’s his brother, and even Blaine’s had to learn about his brother’s adventures through stories, since he was too young to comprehend them when they were happening. Blaine definitely remembers the darker times, when the Pink Dagger was growing stronger, but his mother has always tried to shield him from most of the destruction and the dangers Cooper and his friends were facing.

Besides, if David needs a story, then Cooper’s life is perfect. It’s not as if Blaine has anything interesting to share. He’s always been the younger brother, the second prince, and what not, and Blaine likes it that way. No one’s ever needed him for something big, and he’s glad. Cooper loves all the attention, and he can have it.

“Okay, quit interrupting me,” David says.

David keeps talking about his story, and Blaine’s friends keep adding comments. Blaine turns back to his potions. He scans his digital potion book and listens along with the others, and also occasionally chimes in.

But the sun goes down early in the colder months, and it’s time for Blaine’s friends to leave. They all put on their winter cloaks and say their goodbyes.

“I will send a bird with a draft!” David says as he closes the door behind him.

And just like that, Blaine’s alone, and he’s glad. He loves his friends, truly, but they can be a bit much. Not only that, but everyone’s turned twenty, which is the age that people in Daltonia start thinking about their Passion, and it’s all everyone talks about. The Passion decides what you do for the kingdom. Some have already found it, like David, but others, like Blaine, are lost.

Blaine stirs his big pot with potion. He’s been enjoying alchemy, so maybe that is his Passion? He can become the royal alchemist. It’s not as if he’s becoming the future king, since that’s Cooper’s calling.

Blaine is Royal, though. He has the magical powers, but he hasn’t figure out how to mix (ha!) those with his alchemy.

He keeps stirring in his pot, and he thinks the potion is done. Great. He wanted to finish this before dinner. He and his parents try to have dinner together every evening, and Blaine likes it. Cooper joins when he’s in Castle Town, but most of his time is spent elsewhere in the kingdom. He’s doing all sorts of heroic stuff.

Blaine pours the potion in a glass and smells it. It’s a calming potion. He’s eager to try it.

But then, a maid barges through the door, making Blaine drop his glass in shock.

“Where is your brother?” she yells.

“I don’t know,” Blaine answers, “He started another quest this morning. Something about a mystical cave up north?”

Blaine’s not entirely sure. He tries to keep track of his brother’s heroics, but there are just too many of them.

He crouches down to pick up the shards of glass that’s lying in the spilled potion.

“Then, we need you.”

Blaine drops the shard he had just picked up.

“Me?” Blaine asks. He’s the only one in this tower room, but he still asks to be sure. No one’s ever needed him for anything significant. What could possibly be happening?

“Someone’s been brought in. He’s hurt. You can heal, right?”

Blaine doesn’t have Cooper’s healing powers, but he is interested in alchemy. He’s made some healing potions with success. He can try.

“Okay,” Blaine says.

He takes some of his healing potions from the shelves and he follows the maid out of the door, leaving the shards behind.