#a constant reminder of who you are or someone you love.

[prael]

An Oral Agreement

QWER Magenta x male reader

Masterlist word count: 3,008 Kofi(donations/commissions)

She's equal parts infuriating and fascinating.

Magenta.

No last name. Or maybe that is her last name. Either way, that's all it said on the rental agreement and her bedroom door when you first moved in: Magenta. The letters were all lowercase like she was too cool for proper grammar. You know Magenta, in the Biblical sense (and it didn’t take long).

She's always in her room streaming or recording or...doing whatever it is social media influencers do when they aren't online. But she likes candles, fried rice and catcore aesthetics. She thinks pumpkin spice season starts September 1st and she loves reality TV. Not exactly the makings of a deep and spiritual connection.

Now, living with Magenta, well, it has its ups and downs.

There are some things that never get done around here without you doing them; she rarely cooks, which wouldn't bother you so much if she at least did dishes once in a while. It doesn't help that she takes long hot showers. In a house with only one bathroom, this can really put a cramp in your morning routine.

Magenta doesn't clean the place very often either. At first, you just let it go because everybody has their own ways of doing things, right? But after a few weeks of living together, you realised that she's just...not going to do it. Like ever. So then there's nothing for it but to either live in a constant state of messiness or bite the bullet yourself.

Sometimes you feel like you're not living with a roommate so much as providing lodging for some kind of freeloading spirit that passes through periodically.

When you first moved in, you were worried about what your roommate might think of you: would they be weirded out by your habits? Would they judge your taste in decorations? Would you get along? Would you have enough space for both of you?

Those fears melted away pretty quickly once you met her. You could tell from the moment she opened the door that day (and didn't even look up from her phone) that she didn’t care.

You soon learned that Magenta is messy but friendly. She stays up all night and sleeps during the day. She's everywhere online: Instagrammer, Tiktokker (is that what they call it?), live streamer or these days she’s even on the radio and TV. She doing something for one of those things right now, with her bedroom door closed and music playing faintly behind it.

You're standing in the kitchen, staring down her latest infringement. Now, these empty take-out boxes were here this morning when you left. They were also here last night, and yesterday afternoon, and...you get where this is going.

"Hey, you awake in there?!" you shout towards her bedroom but get no response.

With a sigh, you walk over to her door and knock. Twice. Then again, louder when you still get no response. Finally, you resort to pounding on it repeatedly until it suddenly swings open to reveal your roommate shouting, "What!?" You step back, slightly taken aback by how loudly she said that single word. Her eyes soften instantly, though when they land on you.

She looks good. Not even just in a 'good for someone who hasn't slept yet today' kind of way. Just straight-up hot. Magenta wears a faded pink crop top emblazoned with an anime character and little cut-off cotton shorts covered in cookie prints. The low waistband of the shorts hangs off her hips, exposing the start of a light purple thong that cuts diagonally across her hip bones.

"I think our apartment might get condemned if you don't clean sometime soon."

Your roommate leans against the door frame. She pushes some dark brown hair behind her ear as she says, "Can't you do it for me? Just this once?"

"Just this once?" you repeat, crossing your arms. Your lips curl into a smile as you ask back to her, "Can't you do it just this once?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm always reminding you to clean, and you never do it. So guess who does it? It's not the magical cleaning fairy—it's me."

Her eyes roll skyward so forcefully you imagine you can hear them squeaking in their sockets.

"Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?" she says. "This seems really petty."

"It's not petty," you protest. "I have stuff to do and I shouldn't have to keep picking up after my adult roommate." You say the word 'adult' laden with implications. She gets your meaning immediately. Her lips twist.

"oh, I get it," she says with a smirk. "I guess it's been a while since I gave you a little thank you. Well, I need to get this video finished, so could you maybe clean it up and come back here after?"

So there's the perks. Two of them actually, as she pulls up her pink crop top and flashes you what's beneath. A pair of purple lace bra cups strain to contain your roommate's ample endowment. Pale skin pours out from beneath them, flesh squeezing together into a deep cleavage that entices you closer even as you shake your head.

"You can't keep pulling tricks like this, Magenta," you say, trying desperately to hold onto your train of thought while also enjoying the view. It helps that you know those breasts intimately. Hell, you've worshipped those breasts. They've spilt around your hands, smothered your face and laid upon your thighs. You know what the soft warmth inside each cup feels like. And, God, they feel really fucking good.

"I really appreciate your help and everything," she says, her bottom lip suddenly pushing out into a cute pout that goes well beyond suggestive. "And I'd like to show you just how much I appreciate it..."

Your resolve lasts right up until Magenta runs a finger down one of her tits to tease along the edge of the lacy purple material. That's when you give up. There's no point in fighting anymore—she has won this battle (just like all others).

"Just go finish your work already," you finally say, letting out a sigh.

Magenta smiles and giggles, lowering her shirt. "Thanks. Love ya!"

With a wink, she slips back into her room. You stand alone for several seconds before shaking your head. Back to cleaning, then.

-

It's not exactly easy to focus on sorting the recycling into the correct bins when your roommate has just reminded you how nice her tits are. They're on your mind a lot, to be honest. More than they should be probably. Sometimes they're on your cock, though not as often as they should be. Probably.

You're counting your blessings that none of the neighbours are doing late-night recycling because then you'd have to explain why your face is red and your pants are bulging.

That doesn't stop the occasional glance towards your neighbour's house, where Mrs Kim likes to smoke on her front porch some nights. You think she smokes more than she should, but that's really none of your business. Her watching you from across the street, however, is very much your business, so you peek over your shoulder once in a while to check if she's spying. Again. Or still. Whatever.

One last box. The light outside is fading rapidly, but you can just barely make out that it comes from...the Greek place you love?

Oh. Oh no. Did she eat gyros and not bring you any? Damn, that girl knows how to be cruel!

When the recycling is finally squared away you dust off your hands. It's a symbolic gesture since all you've done is shove cardboard and glass into the right bins, but it makes you feel accomplished nonetheless.

Back in the apartment and lock the door behind you.

"There you are. Where have you been?"

"The bins, have you ever seen them before?" You mock while still fiddling with the lock chain.

"That was quick," comes her response. Your eyes follow the sound of her voice. Magenta is lying upside-down on the couch. She swings her feet lazily in the air while looking at something on her phone. Her dark hair cascades nearly to the floor. Those short shorts mean you can see most of her long legs. Then there's the curve of her hip, the crease of her thigh... "Get over here."

It's a rare occasion that Magenta voluntarily puts her phone down, yet she does just that as you walk over. The closer you get, the more enticing her position becomes: laying across the couch, head tipped backwards off the cushions to watch you approach her.

"So," she says. Her fingertips brush over the exposed skin of her belly. The fingers trace lines up and across her abdomen, moving between the edge of her shorts and her top. The motion catches your eye—and she knows it. "I owe you, don't I?" Her eyelids flutter innocently. Or rather, far less than innocently.

"For today? Yeah. Definitely." You clear your throat and try again, "For quite a few days, actually."

"Quite a few," she echoes in agreement. Her hand continues to crawl upward until it reaches the peak of her breasts rising beneath her faded pink crop top. The movement presses the supple skin together in a way that has you standing right in front of her before you even realize you've walked over.

She pushes them hard together before letting them settle back to normal. Gravity spreads them apart, flesh pouring across her chest from the tightly gathered fabric keeping them barely contained. She reaches out over her head, to you, and grabs you by the belt buckle. Pulls you forward until you are stood over her. Even though she's upside down, she makes such effortless work of unbuckling the leather strap that you barely notice. One second it's on; the next it's flapping loose.

It takes only two sharp tugs to force your pants and boxers down past your knees. Magenta doesn't waste any time reaching out to touch your cock, gently running her hands over it until she can wrap her entire hand around the warm shaft and pull you until you fall to your knees. Her head hangs right in front your your length, and you see the teasing sparkle in her eye even upside down.

Her hot breath hits the skin of your bare cock. Lips press a series of soft, wet kisses down from your tip towards your balls. Then back up again, trailing even more tiny pecks that leave your skin tingling. You let your cock nudge against her cheek, feeling it slide along the smooth skin.

With both hands wrapped around your cock, Magenta holds your tip right in front of her mouth. Her tongue sticks out from between her lips, slowly, methodically lapping circles around the crown of your cock.

"Oh, God," you mutter, and you need to hold onto something, anything. First, it's the couch, then it's her tits.

Your hand lands heavily atop the nearest swell of flesh and squeezes tight, pushing it further out of her crop top. She hums approvingly at the groping and wraps her lips around your cockhead. Suckles sweetly. Slurps noisily until spit pools at the corner of her stretched lips.

She lets gravity help guide your cock into her waiting mouth. The further you slip inside, the more she relaxes her jaw to accept you. But then she reaches up and pulls on your hips. You glide up against her grateful tongue. Until her nose meets your stomach. She gags. It's so fucking lewd.

The whole thing makes you squeeze her chest harder. So big in your palm and yet somehow always bigger than you remember. You forget sometimes just how incredible these tits are. When they bounce in a video she's recorded, you remember—but never quite how heavy they are when you hold them; the way they give to your grasp in exactly the right amount; or the way her nipple puckers just slightly as it stiffens beneath your kneading grip.

"You're so sexy like this," you say.

The compliment elicits an appreciative groan from Magenta. Her head moves with your hips now, bobbing to meet each thrust, spit dripping down her cheeks. The messiness of the sloppy blowjob matches her other personality traits frighteningly well.

With her head pinned and her arms on you, you're free to pull up her shirt and expose her. The dirty minx has taken off her bra, so the expanse of her milky skin greets you. You cup them in each palm, feeling the heft of them, squeezing them greedily. They push back, moulding into the shape of your desire, and she moans, a low guttural note vibrating right through your length.

Her body writhes beneath your attention. Her thighs spread outwards, feet rolling at the ankle in time with each gently guided thrust into her throat. Fingers squeeze you, scratching lightly at the skin above your ass to encourage you deeper inside her hungry maw. Deeper into her throat until she chokes—

You let up, panting, admiring the sight of her stretched out for your viewing pleasure. Her eyes flutter open, looking up at you from her upside-down position. The intensity in them draws you in again.

"Oh shit," you groan as you drive into her, plunging your cock balls deep until her purple-painted nails dig into the small of your back. You pump faster, lost in the warm embrace of her greedy sucking.

Magenta squirms beneath you, whining and groaning and bucking, begging you for more. Her cunt must be throbbing with anticipation. Poor thing wants your cum. You can tell.

You want her tits.

She gasps when you fully withdraw from her mouth. Her face is a fucking mess of saliva and smudged makeup. Before she can question you, you reposition yourself in front of her, straddling her beautiful face as you lower your rigid length between her breasts.

She's quick to pick up what you're putting down. With both hands pressing the creamy flesh of her boobs inward, she creates a tunnel for you to slide your dick into.

It feels as good as it looks. Soft pressure envelops your slick length, wrapping around the sensitive skin and creating a delightful sleeve for you to hump into. You can't get enough.

As soon as you hit a good pace, fucking your roommate's chest hard and fast, she starts giggling.

"What?" you ask.

"It tickles." Her laugh is breathy but not as loud as it usually is. "Keep going."

So you do. Thrust after thrust you plunge deeper, drawing more and more of yourself into the valley between her perfect tits. The more you use her, the further she parts her legs that run up the back of the sofa. Soft thighs splayed for nothing but display. Then, just as you start to admire them, she clenches them together. Your eyes trace down the pale skin until they arrive at her crotch where the bottoms of her cookie-patterned shorts have ridden up against her wet slit. She's gyrating her hips in all sorts of directions and rubbing herself against the material in some attempt to satiate her growing needs.

The soft flesh of her midriff jiggles between the thrusting into her tits and the twisting of her hips below. You can't stop staring. Fuck. How does this girl have every single curve?

At first, you try holding back—you want this to last longer. But after a few seconds, you realize you can't fight this feeling. Not when you've got such a good view. And certainly not with her nipples so hard under the press of your thumbs. She arches up when you pinch them, and you know you're done for.

And then, as if she can feel it by the way you're thrusting, she begins to coo and beg under you. She knows she's getting you close, and she wants it. Bad.

"Cum on me," she coaxes sweetly, the words barely audible over the slapping sounds. "I've been so bad, baby. You deserve to paint my body."

That's all it takes. That final little plea. Your eyes roll back, your hips snap forward and your cock explodes. Thick ropes over her body, the first reaching her thighs before you adjust your aim and finish across the plane of her belly. Soft curves take your load while she encourages you through soft, little pleasured mewls. You may have got some on her shorts, but you paint her stomach white before pulling up and jerking the final drops onto her chest.

"Mmmm, messy boy," Magenta laughs breathlessly as your cum drips down her curves. She lays there beneath you, her smile wide and wickedly innocent, one hand slowly running circles over the sticky mess on her tummy, smearing it across her skin.

After a few seconds of panting and trying to gather yourself, you climb off of her and sit back against the couch. She turns so her head rests in your lap, facing your spent and dripping length. Magenta teases you still by using her own fingertip to collect your seed and place it across her lips, then licking them clean while making sure you're watching. And fuck are you ever.

"So, about my room," she purrs, eyes twinkling mischievously up at you.

"What about it?"

"Well... It needs cleaning, and I was thinking—"

"No," you feign protest, knowing you've already agreed. "Just clean it yourself." Her negotiation will come next. You can see it on her lips. "I'm not doing it."

Magenta leans up and whispers, "But you might change your mind if you find out what's waiting for you beneath my shorts."

That damn purple thong, still visible at her waistband, calls you toward her like a beacon. "What's beneath your shorts?"

Her laugh is playful. A little shrug as her fingers toy at the hem of the garment in question. "Agree to clean my room and you’ll find out."

[eu-nicola]

one night part 2

summary: one night with Max left a problem that you didn't talk to him about

warnings: nothing i think

word counter: 9788

author’s note: english is not my first language

tags: @seasonswinter @spngirl05 @seonghwaexile @sleutherclaw @hc-dutch @96mcobo @g3org1al33 @rawr-123s-stuff @callsignwidow @mid5nights

After that first dinner and walk, Max became a constant presence in your life again, as if time hadn't passed and everything could be as simple as before. At first, you told yourself it was nothing, just chance encounters between two old friends who had met again after a long time. But, with every message that arrived on your phone, with every offer of coffee, a walk or even help with shopping for the baby, his presence slowly began to integrate into your daily routine.

Mornings, which used to be quiet and lonely, were filled with unexpected visitors. Max would appear with two coffees in hand, as if he had memorized your schedule and knew exactly when you needed him. Sometimes, you would find him waiting for you outside the store where you had spent the last half hour choosing clothes for the baby, with a smile that seemed to light up everything.

The days passed between small shared activities. Walks along the port of Monaco, strolls through the cobblestone streets of the old town, even visits to shops specialising in baby things, where he seemed to move with unexpected ease, commenting on how nice this or that would be. In those moments, everything seemed easy, almost natural, as if he had always been there, as if he had never left.

At first, you refused to think about what that meant. You didn't want to analyse it. It was easier to go with the flow, to enjoy the company without questioning it too much. However, the more time you spent with him, the more you began to notice the small changes around you.

The time you used to spend by yourself was filled with his presence. The moments of solitude in which you used to think about your baby's future were now coloured by his voice, his gestures, his laughter on those night walks in which the silence between you became comfortable, but charged with a tension that you both pretended not to notice.

At the same time, the closeness began to awaken something in you, something you had tried to bury since that night when everything changed. Every time his eyes fell on you, every time his attention focused on your pregnancy, a part of you was torn between the need to protect that secret and the almost uncontrollable desire to tell him the truth. 

But you resisted. You knew you shouldn't let the illusion grow. He had a life, a stable relationship. You didn't want to be the person to tear that down, even inadvertently. 

Despite your efforts to maintain an emotional distance, there were times when you found it impossible to ignore how easy it was to be with him. Max had become a constant. He was there in the small moments and the big ones, offering you support without you having to ask for it, reminding you, unintentionally, of what once was and what, in a different world, could have been.

However, as the days went by, you began to notice a change in him as well. There was something in his gaze, a mix of nostalgia and curiosity, as if he was looking for something in you that he couldn't quite find. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, beating in every encounter, in every gesture, in every word you shared.

And although you tried to convince yourself that everything was temporary, that he would soon realize that he had to return completely to his life, you couldn't help but wonder how long that fragile routine could hold up before something, or someone, broke it completely.

During those days between coffees and walks, the specific day arrived when you had decided to start decorating the baby's room. You wanted it to be a reflection of you, of your story, of everything you loved and that you would one day share with your son. And Max was not far behind.

Max appeared just as you began to move boxes and unpack small objects that you had been accumulating in the last few months. Without even asking you, he took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and started helping you. “You don’t have to,” you wanted to tell him, but he was already there, moving furniture, opening cans of paint, and asking where you wanted to put everything.

The room, which until then had been an empty room with white walls and a light wooden floor, slowly began to transform into something warmer, more personal. You had chosen soft shades of blue, a mix between the clear sky and the calm sea, a palette that reminded you of freedom and speed, of your love for cars, that same love that had been with you since childhood.

Max helped you measure the walls, choose where to hang the pictures of small classic cars you had bought at a local store, and even offered to assemble the crib, a piece of light wood that you had chosen for its simplicity and elegance.

“Are you sure you want everything to revolve around cars?” he asked you at one point, with an amused smile as he held up a small mobile with figures of tiny cars and stars.

“Completely sure,” you replied, also smiling. To you, there was nothing more symbolic than that. Cars represented movement, speed, freedom… everything you hoped your son would find in his life.

Hours passed between laughter, conversation and work. Max seemed to enjoy the process as much as you did, even suggesting ideas you would never have considered. It was his idea to put up a bookshelf shaped like a racetrack for the children’s books you had already started collecting. And he was also the one who insisted on putting down a dark blue rug with details of racetracks, which fit perfectly with the theme of the room.

As the afternoon progressed, the room began to take shape. The crib was in the center, next to a white dresser in which you had already started to store small clothes and blankets. On the main wall, you placed a mural of a starry sky, with a racing car crossing the horizon, something that Max had suggested when he saw your sketches.

“It’s perfect,” you said quietly, looking at the final result. The room was no longer just a room; it was a space filled with life, with dreams, with promises for the future.

Max was silent for a moment, standing next to you, looking around the room with an expression that was a mix of pride and something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His eyes scanned every corner, as if he were trying to memorize it, as if that place meant something more to him than he was willing to admit.

“It’ll be fine,” he finally murmured, breaking the silence. “All this… being a mother. I can tell you’re ready now.”

His words made your chest tighten. You weren’t sure if you really were, but hearing that from someone who knew you so well, who had been by your side through so many important moments, gave you a sense of calm, that maybe, just maybe, everything would work out.

The afternoon began to turn into night, and as you gathered up your tools and cleaned up the last traces of paint, you realized how natural it all felt. As if it had always been this way, as if Max had always been by your side to help you build something bigger than yourself.

But you knew that the reality was more complicated. That, as much as you both enjoyed those small moments shared, there was a latent truth between you, a truth that would one day have to come to light. For now, however, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, the warmth that filled the room and Max's constant presence.

And although everything seemed to be peaceful for both of you, in Max's case it wasn't like that. The change didn't happen overnight, but Kelly, with her keen intuition, began to notice Max's absence from home more often than usual. At first, she didn't give it much importance. Max had always had a busy schedule, between meetings, events and commitments related to his career. But this time, something was different.

The “meetings” outside the house began to become more constant. It wasn’t just about professional commitments anymore. There were nights when he came back late, with a lame excuse, a quick smile, and a distracted kiss. 

“Max, meeting again?” she asked one night, her tone casual but her eyes attentive as she watched him adjust his watch in front of the mirror. 

“Yeah, nothing important. Just a couple of things pending with the sponsors,” he answered, without looking up. The excuse came out too easily, as if he had already prepared it. 

Kelly nodded slowly, but her eyes followed him as he collected his keys and walked out the door. She knew something didn’t fit. Work meetings usually happened during the day, not at this time. 

The days continued, and with them, the distance between them became more evident. Max was no longer spending as much time at home, and when he was, he seemed distracted, his attention divided between her, Kelly's stepdaughter, and something or someone else that Kelly couldn't see but felt more and more intensely.

One night, after Max came home late again, the inevitable argument erupted in the kitchen, where silence used to be their refuge but had now become a battleground.

“What’s going on, Max?” Kelly asked, her voice firm, though she tried to remain calm. She was leaning against the edge of the counter, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on him.

Max, surprised by the direct confrontation, looked up from his phone, where he had been absentmindedly checking messages. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re going out more and more often, you’re late, and your excuses don’t make sense. Are these really “meetings”? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his discomfort. “You’re overreacting. You know how it is. There are always things to be resolved.”

“There have always been things to be resolved, but you’ve never been so… absent. You’re not even here when you’re home, Max.” You're distant. Is there something you're not telling me?

The words hung in the air, charged with a tension that Max tried to dispel with a tired smile.

"You're imagining things. There's nothing more."

But she wasn't convinced. The arguments began to become more frequent, small daily battles that undermined the relationship. Kelly watched him closely, every look, every gesture, looking for answers that he wasn't willing to give her.

Meanwhile, Max continued to spend more and more time with you. The baby's room was almost finished, and casual walks had become common. The connection they shared had strengthened, as if the months of distance had never existed. For Max, those moments were a respite from the tension he felt at home, a refuge where things seemed simpler, more real.

Kelly, however, was not oblivious to those changes. She knew something was happening, and although she had no concrete proof, she could feel it in every fiber of her being. Suspicion became a constant presence, a shadow that accompanied her during the day and kept her awake at night.

One evening, while Max was out, Kelly checked his phone. It wasn’t something she usually did, but the uncertainty was consuming her. She found no compromising messages, but something that caught her attention: a couple of recent map searches, all directed to the same address… yours.

Kelly slowly closed the phone, her mind racing. She had no clear confirmation, but something inside her clicked. She knew there was something more between Max and you.

That night, when Max returned, she didn’t say anything. She watched him silently, trying to read him, looking for a sign that would confirm her suspicions. But he, as always, was calm, as if everything was under control.

Kelly wasn’t one to give up easily. She knew time would give her the answer she was looking for.

Days later, the sky had turned gray early in the morning, and the rain fell with a calm persistence, hitting the windows of your house. The sound was almost soothing, a constant accompaniment as you and Max worked on the final details of the baby's room. The room was almost finished, soft blue tones filled the space, and car-inspired decorations hung precisely on the walls. 

It had been your idea to include a small shelf with miniature cars, a subtle reference to the passion you both shared for speed and racing. He had brought some from his personal collection, something you hadn't expected but that excited you more than you wanted to admit.

“This one will be perfect here,” Max commented, holding up a silver car that gleamed under the soft lamplight.

“Yeah… perfect,” you murmured, your attention more on him than on the shelf.

It was inevitable. There was something about him, the way his hands moved with precision as he adjusted every detail, that caught you. And the worst of all was the closeness, the familiarity that had blossomed again between the two of you. It felt like it hadn’t been months since you were last like this: comfortable, in sync, like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

Max reached over to place the car on the shelf, right next to your hand. His fingers brushed yours, barely a touch, but enough for an electric current to run through your skin. It was a brief touch, insignificant to anyone who had seen it, but to you, it was so much more than that.

You looked up, meeting his blue eyes. They were close, too close. You could see the intensity in them, that glow that had always captured you and now seemed stronger than ever. The space between you was filled with a palpable tension, one that made the air in the room seem thicker.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence became complicit, letting the rain be the only sound that filled the room. Max's breathing mixed with yours, and you could feel the heat of his body so close to yours.

One more step.

You knew that if either of you took one more step, if you crossed that thin line that separated you, there would be no turning back. And part of you wanted it. You wanted to lose yourself in that moment, to let everything else disappear.

Max looked down, watching your lips for a fraction of a second. It was subtle, but you noticed it. You felt your heart race, your hands tremble slightly as you tried to keep yourself busy with the cars on the shelf.

“Max…” you murmured, breaking the silence. You weren’t sure what you were going to say, but you needed to say something, anything to cut that tension before it was too late.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back, though his voice sounded hesitant, like a part of him didn’t want to walk away. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“It’s okay,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, because you both knew what had happened in that instant. What had almost happened.

You focused back on the cars, lining them up perfectly on the shelf, though your hands were shaking. You felt Max’s gaze on you, like he was waiting for something more, like there was still a part of him that was resisting leaving the room.

“Maybe I should go,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You nodded without looking at him, because you knew that if you did, if you looked into his eyes one more time, all that self-control you had managed to muster would crumble. “Yeah… maybe that’s for the best.”

Max stayed a few more seconds, silent, before finally walking towards the door. You heard him open it, the sound of the rain intensifying for a moment before he closed it behind him.

And when you were left alone, with the rain as your only company, you allowed yourself to breathe. A deep, shaky breath, as if you had been holding your breath all this time. You knew that things were getting more complicated than you had anticipated.

When Max arrived home the air still smelled of rain, and a few drops remained on his jacket as he closed the door carefully, trying not to make noise. He didn’t want another argument. Lately, things with Kelly had been tense. Too much. Every little absence, every exit, seemed to become the trigger for a new fight. And though he insisted that everything was under control, she knew things were far from okay.

Kelly sat on the couch, her gaze fixed on her cell phone, but Max knew immediately that she was waiting. She always did. She waited for him to arrive, as if every night was a test, a chance to confirm her suspicions. Hearing the click of the door, she raised her head and watched him.

“You’re late again,” she said, not raising her voice too much, but with that tone that Max knew well. It was the calm before the storm.

“Yeah, I was just fixing some stuff,” he replied, taking off his jacket and leaving it on a nearby chair. He walked into the kitchen, looking for something to drink, any excuse not to stay still under that scrutinizing gaze.

“What stuff?” Kelly insisted, putting his phone aside and crossing his arms.

“Just… some pending stuff with a friend,” he said, trying to sound casual. But he knew he wouldn’t succeed. Kelly always had a way of seeing beyond, of noticing when something didn’t fit.

The silence stretched for a few seconds, and Max felt the air become thicker. Finally, Kelly got up from the couch and walked towards him with the phone in her hand.

“A friend?” she repeated, her tone now tinged with disbelief. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, but this time not with affection, but with a mix of distrust and something deeper, something Max wasn’t sure he wanted to identify. She picked up her phone, screen lit, and showed it to him.

Max felt his stomach tighten at the sight of the image on the screen. It wasn’t a compromising photo, there was nothing objectively wrong with it. It was a simple snapshot, taken without much thought, during one of the days he’d spent helping you decorate the baby’s room. In the picture, there was you, in profile, placing some small cars on the shelf while he watched from the background. The soft light of dusk came through the window, giving the scene an unexpected warmth.

“What’s this, Max?” Kelly asked, her voice firm but restrained, as if she was trying to remain calm.

Max took a breath. “It’s just a photo. It doesn’t mean anything. I was helping a friend.”

“The one from the other day?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. His gaze grew sharper. “Since when do you spend so much time with that ‘friend’? Since when do you stay up late helping her?”

Max closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the situation crumble in front of him. “It’s not what you think, Kelly. I was just helping with her baby’s room.”

“The baby?” The word seemed to hang in the air. Kelly took a step back, looking at him with a mix of surprise and suspicion. “Why do you care so much about that baby, Max? Why are you so involved?”

Max ran a hand through his hair, sensing that the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. “Because she’s someone who was important to me… and still is. I’ve known her since we were kids, that’s all.”

Kelly watched him in silence for a few seconds, her gaze searching for something in his eyes, some sign, some hidden truth. Finally, she put the phone down on the table with a thud.

“You’re not telling me everything,” she stated, her voice now laden with a certainty that made him feel uncomfortable. “There’s something else. I know.”

Max tried to get closer, but she took a step back, creating a physical distance that seemed to symbolize something much deeper.

“There’s nothing more,” she insisted, but even to him it sounded weak. He knew the seed of mistrust had already been planted, and was now beginning to take root.

She looked at him for a moment longer, and then, without saying anything, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Max alone, the rain still pattering softly against the windows.

She slumped into a chair, resting her elbows on her knees and rubbing her temples with her hands. He knew this was just the beginning. The tension in his relationship with Kelly had been building for weeks, and now, with that photo, it had all come crashing down.

And the worst thing was, he couldn’t blame her. Because, deep down, Max knew his feelings for you weren’t as innocent as he’d wanted her to believe. And even though he hadn’t crossed that line, he was getting closer. Too close.

The next afternoon you were in your apartment, organizing some things in the baby's room, when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was a text from Max:

"Can I see you? I need to talk to you."

You knew something wasn’t right. You had felt the tension growing over the past few weeks. The outings, the talks, the closeness they had regained… it had all been an escape for both of them, a bubble in which the outside world didn’t exist. But reality always finds a way to break in.

You answered with a simple “yes” and minutes later, Max was knocking on your door. When you opened it, you found him with a tired face, his eyes duller than usual and his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He wasn’t the confident and serene Max you knew, but someone who was struggling with something he couldn’t control.

“Come in,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

Max crossed the threshold, but didn’t move beyond the hall. He stood, looking around the room as if looking for something to give him peace, something that could sort out the chaos inside him. You closed the door and turned to him, waiting for him to speak.

“Kelly and I…” he began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Things aren’t okay.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but still, hearing those words made your chest clench. You knew your presence had contributed to that tension, even though you didn’t mean to. Max ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he made when he was nervous.

“She confronted me about a picture… one of the times I was here,” he continued, looking at you with a mix of frustration and sadness. “It was nothing, you know. But for her it was enough. She thinks there’s something more.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame. You had waited for this moment, and now that it was here, you felt like everything was falling apart. You couldn’t allow yourself to be the cause of any more problems in her life. You couldn’t allow this situation to continue to progress.

“Max…” you began, your voice soft but firm. “This isn’t working.”

He frowned, taking a step towards you. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I mean… we should stop seeing each other. At least for a while.”

Max looked at you as if he hadn’t heard right, as if your words didn’t make sense. “Stop seeing each other? Why? We haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just here to help you.”

“I know,” you admitted, feeling the weight of each word. “But your relationship with Kelly is on the verge of collapse, Max. And my presence isn’t helping. I can’t be the reason why everything in your life falls apart.”

“You’re not the reason,” he replied quickly, almost as if he wanted to convince you as much as himself. “What’s going on with Kelly is… complicated. But it’s not your fault.”

His eyes searched yours, as if with one look he could change your mind. But you had already made up your mind. You couldn’t go on like this. You couldn’t be the cause of more pain, not for him, not for yourself.

“Max, you need space to sort out your life,” you said, standing your ground. “We can’t just keep going like nothing’s happening. Not when everything around you is falling apart.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to insist, like he was going to find a reason to stay. But something in your gaze, in the firmness of your voice, stopped him. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of reality had finally caught up with him.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion.

You felt your heart clench. You didn’t want to lose him either, but you knew it was for the best. For him. For you. For the baby.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you assured him, a small lump in your throat. “We just… need time. To think. To heal.”

Max nodded slowly, though his eyes reflected the internal battle he was fighting. He didn’t say anything else, just staring at you for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to burn your face into his memory.

Finally, he turned to the door. Before he walked out, he paused, one hand on the knob.

“If you ever need anything… I’ll be here,” he said, not looking at you.

“I know,” you replied softly.

And then, Max was gone, leaving behind him a feeling of emptiness that filled the entire space. You stood in the doorway, listening to the echo of the door closing, feeling the silence envelop you.

You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. You knew you had made the right decision. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The weeks after your separation from Max were a whirlwind of emotions and silences. You had tried to keep yourself busy, focusing on the final preparations for the baby’s arrival and avoiding thinking about everything you had left behind. Every corner of your house seemed to be filled with recent memories: his laughter, his hands helping you hang the blue curtains in the baby’s room, the conversations you shared late at night while the world slept. But now, everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Then, one cold morning, the world you had been rebuilding changed forever.

You had been experiencing discomfort throughout the night, but you ignored it, thinking it was just signs of the end of pregnancy. You had read that many women experienced false alarms before the actual moment. However, when the pain became more intense and frequent, you knew it was time.

You took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed, as the clock read 4:12 a.m. Your suitcase was packed, weeks in advance, in a corner of the room. You grabbed your phone with shaking hands and called your mother. Her voice, always calm, immediately calmed you down.

“I’m on my way,” she said with a firmness that made you feel like everything would be okay.

In less than half an hour, she and your father arrived to take you to the hospital. The streets of Monaco were deserted, the glow of the lights reflecting off the wet pavement from the nighttime drizzle. Everything seemed unreal, like the world was on pause as you headed into one of the most important moments of your life.

The hours at the hospital were a mix of anxiety, pain, and anticipation. Your best friend arrived shortly after and stayed by your side, holding your hand when the pain was unbearable. Doctors and nurses came and went, their faces kind but focused. You felt each contraction like a wave, bringing you closer and closer to the moment you would meet your son.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you heard the first cry.

A loud, clear, life-filled cry. You gasped, tears filling your eyes as you looked at the little being who had just entered the world. Your son. Miles Emilian.

“He’s a healthy boy,” the doctor informed you with a smile as they placed the baby in your arms.

You looked at him, and in that instant, everything else disappeared. His small, pink face, his tiny hands clenched into a fist, his half-closed eyes that seemed to seek you out. You felt an immediate, deep connection, as if your whole life had been destined for this moment.

“Hello, little one,” you whispered in a broken voice, caressing his soft cheek. “Welcome.”

Your mother, at your side, couldn’t hold back her tears. Your father, always stoic, had his eyes shining with emotion. Your best friend took a photo, but not to publish it, but to keep it as an intimate memory of that moment.

The next few days in the hospital were a whirlwind of doctor visits, check-ups, and learning how to care for Miles. Your mother was with you the whole time, guiding you with the experience that only the years could give. Camille spent the afternoons with you, helping you plan how you would organize your new life.

You knew that this moment would change everything. Miles would become the center of your world, and you were prepared to face it alone, at least for now. You didn’t want anyone else to know. You didn’t want awkward questions, curious glances, or the inevitable murmur that would rise in Monaco if people found out you’d fathered a child without a known father figure.

You’d decided to keep this between those who truly mattered: your parents and Camille. The only family you needed right now.

One afternoon, as you cradled Miles in your arms in the room lit by the soft light of dusk, you thought about everything you’d gone through to get here. About Max, about what you’d shared, and how things had changed. You wondered if he would ever suspect the truth. But you shook your head. It wasn’t the time to think about that. Now, only Miles mattered.

You watched him sleep, his little chest rising and falling rhythmically, and you knew you had made the right choice. 

This little being was your life now. Your greatest adventure. Your greatest love. 

A few weeks after Miles was born, life was still slowly falling into place. You were at home, surrounded by the smell of freshly washed bottles and diapers, your head still reeling from the experience of being a first-time mother. Every day brought something new: Miles’ first bath, the first night he managed to sleep for two hours straight, and the first smile that barely appeared on his small, pink face. 

Sometimes, as you cradled him in your arms, you wondered if you had done the right thing by keeping his existence a secret. But you quickly dismissed those thoughts. You had done it for everyone’s peace of mind, especially Max’s. You couldn’t afford to be another complication in his world. 

As you sank into that bubble of motherhood, away from you, something was about to change. 

Max was in his apartment, enjoying a quiet moment after an afternoon full of commitments. Kelly was out with his daughter, and he was taking advantage of that time to relax, answer some pending messages and review the preparations for his next race. He had tried to concentrate, but his mind kept coming back to you. Since you had decided to distance yourself, something inside him had been put on hold. A strange feeling that something important was being hidden from him.

Then, the phone rang.

It was Leo, a mutual friend of both of them. Max answered without thinking too much, imagining it would be a quick call about some event or meeting.

“Dude, how are you?” Leo greeted in his usual tone. “Are you still in Monaco? I heard that your life is pretty busy.”

“Yeah, you know, always running around.” Max smiled slightly, resting the phone on his ear while checking some emails. “What's new?”

“Nothing special… although, well, I found out something.”

Max arched an eyebrow, pushing the screen aside.

“Oh, yeah? What thing?”

Leo hesitated for a second, as if he wasn’t sure if he should say it. But in the end, curiosity won out.

“It’s about… Y/n. I heard she finally had her baby.”

Max’s heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“Yeah, she had it a few days ago. I thought you knew.” Leo sounded confused. “They said the baby is beautiful… and everything went well. His name is Miles Emilian.”

Max fell silent, processing the information. You hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t told him you’d already given birth.

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to stay calm.

“Totally. The funny thing is… no one knows much about the father. Some people say the baby is from a night you never mentioned afterward, before you moved to London.” Leo laughed softly. “Maybe someone who preferred not to get involved.”

The words hung in the air, and something clicked in Max’s mind. A night you never mentioned. A night where things between you changed forever.

“Leo, thank you. I have to go.”

Max hung up before he heard a reply, his mind racing. Could it be possible? He’d been with you that night, and then… you walked away. And now, there was a baby. A baby you never talked about.

Without a second thought, Max walked out of his apartment, his heart pounding. He knew that if he wanted answers, he couldn’t go to you. You were too protective, too secretive. But your mother… she might know something.

He drove quickly to your parents’ house. The light rain was beginning to fall, covering the streets of Monaco with a thin layer of water. When he arrived, he knocked on the door harder than he intended. Anxiety and fear mixed within him.

It was your mother who opened it, surprised to see Max in the doorway.

“Max… what are you doing here?” she asked in a worried voice.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, bluntly. “It’s important.”

Your mother invited him in, closing the door behind him. Max walked into the living room, his mind full of questions and possibilities. He turned to her, his blue eyes shining brightly.

“I know she had the baby,” he said directly, without preamble. “And I need to know the truth. Is it mine?”

Your mother looked at him in surprise, but also with a look of guilt that she couldn’t hide.

“Max…”

“Please,” he interrupted her, his voice almost pleading. “I can’t go on without knowing.”

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She had tried to protect you, but she knew this moment would come sooner or later.

“Yes, Max. Miles is your son.”

The words hit Max like a wave, stealing his breath. He stood still, taking in what he had just heard. He was a father. You had kept something so big, so important from him.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked in a whisper, his eyes searching for answers.

“She thought it was for the best. She didn’t want to complicate your life… knowing you already had so much going on.”

Max clenched his fists, feeling a mix of anger, sadness, and confusion. He didn’t know what he would do now, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t walk away anymore. Miles was his son, and he would do everything in his power to be in his life.

From the moment he left your parents’ house, Max couldn’t think of anything but you. The revelation left him devastated, furious, and most of all, betrayed. How could you hide something so important from him? He had been willing to support you, to be present in your life, but he never imagined that behind that distance there was a secret that would change everything.

The car moved quickly through the streets of Monaco, crossing avenues wet from the recent rain. Night had fallen, and the city lights were reflected in the puddles that covered the asphalt. Max barely noticed the journey; his mind was focused on one thing: facing you.

When he arrived at your house, he didn't hesitate. He parked the car abruptly, got out in the light rain, and quickly climbed the stairs until he reached the door of your apartment. His heart was pounding, a mix of adrenaline, pain, and rage. He knocked hard on the door, almost as if demanding an immediate response.

Inside, you were rocking Miles in your arms, trying to calm him down after a long day. The sound of knocking on the door made you jump. You looked towards the entrance, out the window, a feeling of unease running through your body. You saw it.

With your heart racing, you left Miles in his crib and walked to the door. When you opened it, there was Max, soaked by the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes lit up by a mix of fury and anguish.

"Max..." you whispered, but he didn't let you continue.

"How could you?" he said, his voice low but full of tension. He took a step forward, forcing you to step back into the apartment. He closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off you. “How could you hide from me that you had a son?”

The words fell like a slab on you. You knew this moment would come, but you never thought it would be like this, so sudden, so emotionally charged.

“Max, I…”

“No!” he interrupted you, raising a hand to stop any explanation. “I don’t want excuses. I want the truth.”

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as tears began to burn in your eyes.

“I thought I was doing the right thing…” you murmured, your voice breaking. “I thought it would be better for you. You have a life, Max. You have Kelly, her daughter, your career… I didn’t want to complicate things for you.”

He laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, full of disbelief.

“Better for me?” he repeated, taking a step closer to you. “You don’t think I had the right to decide that? He’s my son! He had the right to be here from the beginning, to see you go through all of this, to know him…”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words. You knew he was right, but you also knew you had acted with your heart, believing you were protecting him.

“I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes for the first time. “I didn’t want you to feel forced to be here.”

Max stared at you, and for a moment, the fury in his eyes mixed with something deeper, something more painful.

“You would never have caught me,” he whispered. “Because I would have been here. I wanted to be here… with you.”

The silence stretched between the two of you, thick and charged with unresolved emotions. You could feel the tension in the air, every unspoken word, every repressed feeling.

“Max… I just wanted to protect you.” —Tears began to run down your cheeks. —I never wanted to hurt you.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to calm himself, but his chest kept rising and falling rapidly. Pain. That was what he felt. Pain for having missed the first moments of his son’s life, for not being there for you when you needed him most.

—You didn’t have to protect me —he said at last, his voice softer but still firm. —You were my friend. I was always willing to be there for you… and now, I want to be here for my son.

His words were a promise, but also a declaration of intent. No matter what happened, no matter how complicated it was, Max wasn’t going to disappear from his son’s life.

You stood there in silence, heart pounding, knowing this was the point of no return. Max was here, and he wasn’t going to leave.

“He’s asleep,” you whispered, breaking the silence. “Do you want to see him?”

Max nodded slowly, his eyes still shining with a mix of emotions. You led him over to where Miles was sleeping peacefully in his crib, wrapped in a blue blanket. Max walked over, watching the little boy with a gaze that combined love, wonder, and a silent sadness for all he’d missed.

Max stood there, standing over the crib, watching Miles with an intensity that made you hold your breath. For a few seconds, the world seemed to stop as he took in every detail of the sleeping little face.

Miles had soft, light hair, a small, upturned nose, and those rounded cheeks that still held the blush of a newborn. His small hands were relaxed, resting next to his face, completely oblivious to the storm of emotions his arrival had brought.

After a long silence, Max spoke, his voice low and heavy with emotion:

“He looks like me… when I was little.” An almost imperceptible smile curved his lips as his eyes remained fixed on his son.

You looked at him, and even though you had noticed it before, you were still amazed at how much Miles reflected his father. You nodded softly, your eyes filling with tears once again.

“Yes…” you whispered, your voice shaking. “He has your eyes… and that little wrinkle on his forehead when he frowns.”

Max let out a soft laugh, more of a sigh. He didn’t take his eyes off Miles, as if he were trying to memorize every feature, every little detail that had been taken from him during those first few weeks of life.

You stood by his side, watching the scene you had imagined so many times but feared would never happen. And then, guilt took hold of you again, so strong that you could barely breathe.

“Max…” you murmured, breaking the silence.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes filled with a mix of feelings you couldn’t quite decipher: pain, tenderness, confusion.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out in a whisper, full of sincerity. “There is no excuse that justifies what I did. I took you away from something that was also yours, and I know I hurt you… I never wanted to do it, but I did, and I’m sorry… with all my heart.”

Max watched you in silence for a moment, his eyes searching yours, trying to understand the depth of your words.

“You thought you were doing the right thing, didn’t you?” he said finally, with unexpected calm.

You nodded, biting your lip to hold back your tears.

“I thought I was protecting you… and that I was protecting Miles too. But now I know I was wrong. I should have told you the truth from the start.”

Max sighed, running a hand over her face as she moved away from the crib a little, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you right away…” she admitted honestly. “This… is a lot. But I want to try. For him.”

His words were a blow, but also a hope. You didn’t expect everything to be fixed in one night, but the fact that he was willing to try meant more than you could express.

“That’s all I can ask for…” you said quietly, with a mix of relief and sadness.

Max nodded, her gaze returning once more to the crib, where Miles shifted slightly, letting out a small sigh before settling back into deep sleep.

“He deserves us to be here.” “Both of you.” Max looked at you again, and this time, there was a determination in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “And I’m going to be here. No matter what happens, I’m his father, and I’m going to be there in his life.”

You stayed silent, letting his words sink in. He stood a moment longer by the crib, watching Miles as if the entire world revolved around that tiny being. Then, with a deep sigh, he moved away slightly and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. You could see the conflict on his face: the internal struggle between the pain you had caused him and the decision he was about to make.

Finally, he spoke, his voice firm but tinged with vulnerability.

“I can’t keep living a lie.” His words were direct, almost like a whisper, but heavy with weight. He looked at you, his blue eyes holding yours with an intensity that made you hold your breath. “Kelly and I… it’s over.”

Your heart stopped for a second. You hadn’t expected that, not so soon, not under these circumstances. You gripped the edge of the table next to you, seeking some stability as you processed what he had just said.

“Max…” you started, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

“Let me finish.” He pushed away from the wall and took a couple of steps towards you. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Even before I knew the truth about Miles. Kelly is a good person, but our relationship has been falling apart, and now I understand why.” He paused, his gaze darkening for a moment. “I can’t be with her while my heart is here… with you and our son.”

His words hit you like a storm. You had dreamed of this moment, but not under these conditions. You didn’t want to be the cause of a breakup, or the reason for her pain.

“Max, I don’t want you to make a hasty decision…” you said cautiously, your voice shaking. “I don’t want to be the reason you break up with Kelly. It’s your life, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this out of obligation.”

He shook his head, moving even closer, until he was just a step away.

“It’s not because I have to. It’s because I want to.” His voice was low but full of conviction. “I love you. I loved you before, even when things got complicated between us. And now, more than ever, I want to be here, with you. I want to be a father to Miles, and I want him to know that his parents love him and are in this together.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, this time from the mix of emotions overwhelming you: fear, relief, hope. You didn’t want to allow yourself to dream of a perfect future, but Max was offering it to you, even in the midst of all the confusion.

“But what if it doesn’t work out?” you asked in a small voice. “What if all this just makes things worse?”

Max moved a little closer, until his hand found yours. He held it firmly, as if he wanted to assure you that he wasn’t planning on letting go.

“I don’t know.” “He was honest, and that somehow reassured you. “But what I do know is that I don’t want to move forward without trying. I want to be a part of your life, Miles’, every step of the way.”

His words cut deep, but fear still resided in your chest. You knew that nothing would be easy, and that you would both have to work hard to repair the wounds and build something new. But at the same time, his determination and love were an anchor that kept you firm.

“Max.” You took a deep breath, looking at your joined hands. “If this is what you really want…”

He nodded, squeezing your hand gently.

“One step at a time,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile. “I’m still angry, though.”

The weight of the decision seemed to have lightened a little with those words. Max was willing to do whatever it took to be by your side, and you, for the first time in a long time, allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have the family you’d always wanted.

After that, it wasn’t more than a week until Max told you. It was a quiet afternoon, one of those where the rain fell softly and the world seemed slower. You were sitting on the couch, with Miles asleep on your chest, his rhythmic and calm breathing filling the silence of the apartment. You had lit a vanilla-scented candle, trying to give your home a warmth that sometimes seemed elusive.

Max arrived as he did lately, unannounced but always welcome. He knocked on the door softly before entering, as if he knew that any loud sound could disrupt the peace that reigned in the small space. He found you there, with the baby in your arms, and a tired smile appeared on his face.

“I’m done with Kelly,” he said, his voice calm but firm, as if he were releasing a burden he had carried for too long.

You didn't say anything at first. You just nodded slowly, looking into his eyes that searched for a reaction in yours. You knew that moment would come, but now that it was here, you didn't feel the need to say much. You weren't going to keep getting involved in it. It was his life, his decision, and although you knew the situation was complex, you also understood that it wasn't your place to intervene more than necessary. 

"Do you want to hold him?" you asked softly, changing the subject as you pointed at Miles, who was still sleeping peacefully. 

Max nodded and approached with a gentleness that always surprised you. He took Miles in his arms as if he were the most fragile and precious thing he had ever held. The baby moved slightly, but didn't wake, settling against his father's chest naturally. 

The next few days became a silent but comforting routine. Max began to spend more and more time with you and Miles, almost as if he had never been away. He would arrive in the mornings with coffee in hand and a bag of food or things he thought might help you: diapers, bottles, even toys that Miles was still too small to use.

You watched him transform before your eyes. Every day he spent with Miles, he showed you what a good father he was, even in those little details that you had previously underestimated. He would get up when the baby cried, rock him until he calmed down, and look at him with a mix of love and wonder that broke your heart.

One afternoon, while Max was on the floor playing with Miles—although the baby was just beginning to notice the toys in front of him—you stopped for a moment to watch them. Max was talking to him, although Miles only responded with laughter and babbling. It was a scene so simple, but so powerful, that you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

Why didn't you tell him before?

That question had become a constant shadow in your mind. You had your reasons, you knew. You thought you were protecting him, yourself, everyone. But now, watching Max give himself over to his son, you understood that you had stolen something priceless from him.

There was one night in particular that you couldn’t forget. Max was in the kitchen preparing a bottle while you cradled a restless Miles. When Max returned, he took the baby in his arms and whispered something to him, as he often did to calm him.

“You’re so strong, little one,” he said, with that look of tenderness that disarmed you every time.

You stayed silent, leaning against the bedroom door. You felt small, vulnerable. You had made a decision that had left him out of this for months. And even though he didn’t mention it, you knew that deep down it still hurt. It hurt you too.

One night, as Max said goodbye, he stopped at the door and looked at you for a long moment.

“Thank you for letting me be here,” he said softly.

“It’s your place, Max,” you replied sincerely, trying to hide the emotion in your voice. But you knew he could tell.

“I didn’t always feel that way,” he admitted, almost in a whisper, before he walked out.

As you closed the door behind him, you leaned against it, feeling the weight of his words. You knew you had a lot to make up for. But you also knew Max was willing to stay.

When racing resumed, so did the frenetic routine Max knew so well. Airports, photo shoots, interviews, team meetings… everything resumed as if time had been paused. But this time, something had changed. Max wasn’t the same driver who went out into the world a year ago. Now, he had a much more important reason to return home after each Grand Prix: Miles.

You, meanwhile, were adjusting to the new normal. But the nights were the hardest. Max had promised you he would be there, and he made daily calls from all over the world. He told you about training, team meetings, and how, despite everything, his thoughts were always with you and his son.

However, there was something in your heart that just didn’t quite fit. You had kept your pregnancy and birth private for so long, but now, you realized you couldn’t hide it anymore. You didn’t want Miles to grow up in the shadows.

It was a difficult decision, but after days of thinking about it, you decided it was time. One quiet afternoon, while Miles was sleeping in his crib, you grabbed your phone and opened the Instagram app. You looked through the photos you had taken since he was born: simple but meaningful moments, like his first smile or the way he slept peacefully in Max’s arms.

You picked a special photo: Miles, with his curious eyes and a smile that melted hearts, sitting on your lap while Max, behind you, held his little hand. It was the first photo that showed not only your baby, but also the life you had begun to build with his father.

The caption was simple but meaningful:

“Miles Emilian. The love of my life. Our adventure together is just beginning.”

You took a breath before posting it. You knew that once you did, there would be no turning back. The comments, the questions, the curious glances... it would all come with it. But you were ready.

The reaction was immediate. Your followers, family, friends... they all started commenting with messages full of love and surprise. They had suspected your absence, but now they understood everything. The words “congratulations,” “beautiful,” and heart emojis flooded your phone.

But what you didn't expect was that, within minutes of your post, Max did the same.

On his profile, he shared a different photo: Miles in his arms, both dressed in personalized racing jerseys, with the name “Verstappen” embroidered on the baby's back. The caption was short, direct, but full of meaning:

“Welcome to the world, Miles Emilian Verstappen. My son, my pride.”

The impact was instantaneous. The news spread throughout the motorsport world and beyond. Sports media, celebrity magazines, even his teammates and other drivers commented on the post. Some were shocked, others couldn’t believe it, but most of the messages were positive, congratulating Max on his new stage as a father. 

That night, as you watched the avalanche of reactions on your social media, Max called you. His voice sounded different, more serene but also excited. 

“It’s done,” he said, with a mix of relief and pride. “The world knows I have a son. That I have a family.”

You stayed silent for a moment, letting his words settle in your mind. There was something deeply liberating about that. No more secrets. No more hiding. Now, the entire world knew that Miles was his, that you and he shared something much deeper than a passing romance. 

“Are you okay?” Max asked, his voice soft but concerned. 

“I’m fine,” you replied, with a smile he could feel even through the phone. “Ready to start this life with you.”

That night, as you rocked Miles to sleep, you felt a calm you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You’d been through so much to get here: difficult decisions, secrets, fights, reconciliations. But now, with Max by your side and your son in your arms, you knew you were where you were meant to be.

Max returned a few days after his last race, and this time, when he walked through your door, he was no longer just the star driver or the man who had been an important part of your past. He was the father of your son, your partner, and the person you were ready to build a future with.

The three of you, together, ready to face whatever came.

[luxmainohno]

GF!jinx headcanons

A/n: i haven't posted forever here but arcane left me with a hole to fill so I wanted to come back and surround myself with ppl who like the things I do hahaha. Anyways if you like this plz like/reblog/share and feel free to send me some request for later! And happy Thanksgiving!

S2 arcane showed us that when Jinx is with someone she feels safe around she's very cool headed and rational. I'd assume she's the same around her partner

She has plenty of inside jokes with you, some you probably don't even know about and she definitely gets pouty when you don't get the joke.

Loves doodling you. They're bad and unflattering but they're drawn out of love and adoration

If she's a jinx you're the opposite.

She thinks you saved her and can fix or make better all her mistakes. She probably even is a little unhealthily attached to you

I love writing jinx bc she is just so mentally ill (me too) I really think jinx in a relationship is a study on its own!

At first i don't think she'd be too keen on physical intimacy and genuinely you'd have to initiate any touch.

In arcane the people she is physical with like hugging and closeness are silico and vi, touch is saved for her family. If she's touching you in anyway she means you're family.

So many random soft moments with her, she's genuinely not this manic awful person when she's left alone in a safe environment. She needs a safe environment to be herself, to be jinx and powder in one.

She loves private time between you two, its the only time she can take her time to be herself without any pressure, she's allowed to not think or worry about destroying something or someone

She's terrified of ever hurting you, so much so it'll be a genuine issue in the relationship. She's so scared of Jinxing this relationship, what if she makes you hate her? What if she accidently harms you or worse ?

You'd have to spend a lot of time reminding her she's not an awful person, and her existence isn't a burden. It will never be to you, you promise and she believes it. She holds on to it and to you.

Can be very paranoid about you. You're safety, loyalty, whatever it is she just has never had any sort of stability or constant, she will question everything, and you will have to be her rock

[hrrtshape]

LET'S TALK ABOUT SHIFTING DOUBTS 𖥔

this post may or may not be for you—the dreamers, the believers, the escapists who know shifting is real but still feel a pang of doubt every now and then. let’s just get it out there: it’s OKAY to feel doubtful. it’s human. it doesn’t mean you’re failing, and it doesn’t mean you’ll never shift. you do, every second. sometimes, no matter how deeply we trust the process, those little seeds of “what if?” creep in—and that’s valid.

we're often told to reaffirm, reaffirm, reaffirm, and while affirmations are a beautiful, powerful tool, let’s not pretend they don’t take energy. if you're someone who uses shifting as an escape, constantly pushing yourself with affirmations can start to feel like running on empty. waking up in your cr is often brushed under the rug with the constant persistence of saying, “i did shift,” (you did) and i think it’s time to reflect on how that can lead to burnout—especially if you’re already emotionally betting a lot on shifting. it’s not about if you’ll shift—it’s about how frustrating it can feel when reality doesn’t immediately reflect your desires.

and here’s the thing: you’re allowed to rest. you’re allowed to sit in your doubt without judgment. you’re allowed to say, “today, i feel a little stuck. i feel sad. i'm disappointed.” recognising those feelings doesn’t weaken your ability to shift. in fact, it makes you stronger, because you’re honouring your emotions instead of fighting them.

shifting is effortless. it happens every second, whether you're hyper-aware of it or not. you don’t have to be in a constant state of “i’m shifting tonight” to shift. sometimes, the best thing you can do is just exist—no pressure, no expectations, just letting yourself feel whatever comes naturally.

give yourself grace.

take a breath.

remember: your dr is already yours. whether or not you wake up there tomorrow, it’s still real. you're still there.

you’re not failing. you’re not behind. shifting isn’t a race; it’s an act of love—love for yourself, love for the life you’re building, and love for the many versions of you that already exist.

take this as your reminder that you’re magic, even on the days you don’t feel it. and when you do wake up in your dr (because you will, no matter what), it’ll be exactly as perfect as you’ve always imagined. trust me, you've got this.

[antizenin]

𑁤 STORKS ⋮ SUKUNA RYOUMEN

one out of every five storks, there’s a black one, differentiating itself from the rest of the flock.

( fic demographics. ) jujutsu kaisen, sukuna ryomen, dark content & sexually mature | minors, ageless & blank blogs : do not interact & 2.2k words !

➛ modern boyfriend!sukuna ryomen, afab!reader (unspecified pronouns), dubcon/babytrapping, broken condoms, mating press, breeding/pregnancy kink, not proofread, etc.

One out of every stork, there’s a black stork that cruises through the clear blue sky. A white fabric, thick and secure as a slumbering baby is being transported to their new parents— or parent. Unlike the bright white of the typical stork, these black storks are dangerously dark. Feathers that are pitch black as its wings expand and seem razor sharp. When it perches down on the concrete sidewalks to approach the steps, its swift motions go undetected in comparison to its white counterpart. 

From one night stands to infertile people that started losing faith, the emotions one goes through when finding out that their pregnancy always differs. Excitement to sheer terror, reluctance on keeping the child to the controversial decision that they’re not ready to be parents. However, Sukuna can hear the faint steps of the black stork approaching the steps. Orange webbed feet that platter against the wooden porch, and the faint sounds of a baby starting to cry. It’s surely taking its time. 

The plenty of times you’ve voiced that you don’t want to have children. Sukuna has always respected your wishes. You’ve voiced out your insecurities and fears to him— told him that you just don’t think you’d be fit as a parent. However, you’re someone who works with children on a daily basis. He’s seen how you’ve interacted with the children, always so loving and nurturing. You would put your foot down when needed, but there’s no doubt in his mind; you’d be perfect. 

Swollen belly being his constant reminder that all it took was an orgasm in your warm and comforting heat, Sukuna can feel himself getting excited at the sheer thought. Yes, he respects your wishes, acknowledging your fears when it comes to parenthood. However, he’s always wanted children— for selfish reasons or not— and he wants to have children with you. Yes, there are plenty of other people out there that can fulfill his wish; where their ideologies align with his and they’re confident that children are something they want in life. However, he loves you. 

He loves you too much. And he knows that if he persists that you won’t be afraid to leave even if it will be hard. That’s why when he punctures a hole in all of his condoms, he doesn’t feel any guilt. Instead, he has a million and one reasons on why this is right. It will be like intertwining each other’s souls, and that sounds poetic enough for him to keep forward with his idea. 

—

Sometimes you fear that you indulge in Sukuna’s fantasies a bit too much. While you’re adamant on being child-free for all of your life, Sukuna still grasps onto whatever hope he has left. When you both first started dating, it never dawned on you how important it is to discuss your future and what your plans are. What were you supposed to do— ask the man you just met deep, thought-provoking questions on the first date? And even when it passed the fifth date and the two of you decided to solidify your relationship, you had forgotten to ask those vital questions until two years in. 

One day, Sukuna had to pick you up from work when your car broke down. You worked in a primary school setting and when you walked out of the building, Sukuna watched as you said goodbye to the students that recognized you. They would run to give you a hug before neighboring adults would rush them over to their parents. Your eyes would light up despite the exhaustion etched into them as you’d wrap your arms around each child that came up to you, bidding them farewells before finally pulling on the car handle and jumping in. Mumbled greetings before he’s driving out of the school parking lot and speeding towards the direction of your apartment. 

His mind was elsewhere, tuning out the music you started playing, the auxiliary cord plugged into your phone. He just kept driving and the question came out of his mouth before he could really think about it. “Would you ever have children?”

The moment the two of you had opposing views on having children, you should’ve ended it there, but Sukuna said he would respect your decision and thought he could live a child-free life as well. So, you gave it a chance. 

But then, at some point during sex, he said, “Fuck, you’d look so good with a round tummy—”

He ramble on about how he’d fuck a baby into you, make you round and swollen as he would breed your pretty pussy. And gosh, you should’ve really put a stop to everything there, but your heart would race and your cunt would clench around his cock. A maniacal grin would grace his features and a deep chuckle reverberated from his chest. “You like that don’t you? Like that idea of me making you pregnant?”

With a weak whimper, you nodded. Because in that moment of bliss, your mind was hazy and you did like the idea of it since that was all it would ever be. However, you’re wondering if playing into his fantasies makes him hopeful that someday you will change your mind. But like a donkey, you’ll always be a stubborn ass. 

And he’s all too aware of this. He guesses this is what makes tonight the most exciting. A sinister daze in his eyes as he’s got your knees pressed to your chest. Your pussy is exposed to all his glory, lips glistening in your juices as his length dances in between them. It never fails to amaze him just how beautiful your cunt is. His length wrapped in latex, the barrier a greedy obstacle hindering him from feeling the entirety of your slick heat. However, he knows that he’ll get the job done nonetheless. 

Holding the base of his heavy and uncut length, the mush tip presses against your entrance. Small bubbles forming as he glides himself in between you and watching as you clench around nothing. A guttural groan escapes his lips, his chest vibrating as he hovers over your expectant body. A shiver runs down your spine as your breath becomes shaky, your patience running thin the longer he takes to bask in your nude presence. “Ryo…”

That nickname you mutter out from below his breath. It snaps him back into reality. You have such a horrible habit of biting down on your bottom lip and it only worsens when he dips down further. You can feel his breath against you, his body heat making you sweat as his chest rises and falls. Blood red eyes that are so piercing that it reminds you of how intimidated you were when you first met him, yet felt undeniable attraction towards him nonetheless. The tattoos that course through his body only add to your lust as your eyes traverse his stature. 

He grabs your bottom lip with his teeth, biting down on it harder than you were and eliciting a sharp squeal from you. Sukuna chuckles, letting go of your lip before kissing you. A forceful one, but still drags out a whimper from you as he slowly thrusts inside of you in one go. For a moment does your body tense, stomach tightening up as you feel every inch of him bottoming inside of you. Your mewling is like music to his ears as he halts his movement and holds you still with all of his weight. He breathes you in, the faint hint of orange and ginger underneath the sweat starting to build up. You’re intoxicating. 

“Got what you wanted?” his deep voice rumbles inside the room, watching as your shut eyes flutter open. You nod meekly, “yes.”

There’s a shit eating grin on his face before his length is leaving your pussy again. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding before you’re taken aback by his unexpected invasion. Rough thrusts inside of your pussy that has you clinging onto his back. You’re nicely manicured nails digging into his skin, but he always loves the marks you make. 

“Gosh,” you cry out. Your grip on him tightens as your back arches off the bed. Baby blue silk sheets that are going to get ruined after this escapade, they ruffle up with every movement. “R-Ryo, fffuck!”

The way he presses his weight down on you, forcing you to feel every inch of him. He’s unforgiving and surely after this, your legs will be aching to no end that you’ll have him bring you to the bathroom. Still, your pussy pulsates around his length, beckoning him to get impossibly deeper inside of you. You just don’t know what you do to him. 

You just don’t understand the power you have over Sukuna. How you’ve unknowingly tethered your soul to his, entangling each other to the point of no return. His heart rate picks up and with every thrust inside of you, he’s determined to further trap you into him. Gosh, what he’d do to pull out and rip off the condom. To feel your pussy in its entirety. He has before, but you were on birth control. Now that you’re not, he wants to be even more selfish than he’s already been. He wants to shamelessly rut into your sickeningly sweet pussy and fertilize you.

His hands find purchase on your hips, calloused palms holding you tightly as he easily controls your movements. Plunging inside of your pussy, dragging you down to meet his thrusts. He feels like with every breath he’s taken, it’s getting shorter as his desires heighten. “Fuck yesss…”

His mind is starting to get hazy, his delusions intermingling with his lust as he goes into this headspace that you can’t quite name. Something that you’ve come too comfortable with ignoring, absentmindedly feeding into it as you’re stuck in your own mind. “Finally gonna breed this pussy. Gonna make your stomach all round with my child— our child.” 

He just can’t completely wrap his mind around it. You claim you don’t want children, yet your pussy clenches every time he’s gotten you like this. Your heartbeat picks up and you bat your eyelashes so prettily as you nod your head and tell him ‘yes,’ that you’d do anything for him. He’d wipe away a few stray tears as he gets reassurance once more. You’d both come together, but the moment you slip into the bathroom, you take those precautions. 

Sukuna thought that he could handle it, not having kids, but he knows himself. Once he wants something, he’s got to have it. He could break it off with you and find someone else, but he wants you. He has to have you. An incredibly selfish man, he refuses to let go of you. 

He grabs hold of your face, forcing you to look up at him as salted tears drip down the corners of your eyes. “Imagine it,” his gruff voice whispers. “Your stomach’s all round and plump. You’d be so good— such a good parent. You’d make me so happy.

“Don’t you want to make me happy, baby?” He squeezes your cheeks, crimson red staring into your pupils as he waits, genuinely expecting an answer. Eyelashes fluttering as a stray one stings your eyes, you nod. A weak whine leaving your lips as a raspy ‘yes’ falls from them. 

“I’d do anything for you, Ryo.” Once empty promises are now coming true, you have no other choice. You don’t realize what you’ve said, your mouth moving in muscle memory as you cling to him. He drills into your pussy, swallowing your cries with his lips as he kisses you with such fervor. The hairs on the back of your neck stand tall as a part of you feels a bit uneasy. His words, the tone he’s using with you is foreign. Like, he knows something you don’t. But there’s an excitement that you feel that begs you not to pull away. That familiar tug in your stomach breaking and making you forget about everything in the moment.

“Ryo,” you whine. “‘m g’nna—”

“That’s right, baby,” he grins from ear-to-ear. “Cum for me. Let’s make a family.” 

You don’t catch the last part, simply letting go as his words are enough encouragement for you to let loose. You feel his cock twitch inside of you shortly after and your cunt is quick to milk him dry. Moments like this, you yourself would love to rip off the latex barrier down below, too. But, you have self-restraint. 

As Sukuna calms, finally dragging himself out of you and leaving you empty, you let out a deep breath. Aching legs that straighten out on the bed as your body starts to relax. You moan as your legs ache and feel Sukuna’s heavy body fall down right next to you. There’s some shuffling before you feel his big arms wrap around your body and feel the heat of his mouth against your neck. Soft, chaste kisses that are painted into your skin. You can’t help the weak giggles that leave you as you push yourself deeper into his body.

“I love you,” he chants out. “I love you so much.”

When you finally fall asleep, Sukuna’s still awake as his eyes travel the course of your body. Arms wrapped around you, he sighs triumphantly to himself. “You’re gonna make a perfect parent.”

[iz-star]

About Zayne's nightmares...

The most unrealistic thing about Zayne is that he's a functional working adult that seemingly has put his life together at 27 not because he's young or a prodigy but because he's said to have nightmares since he was 12?? Like... I feel like this theme might be a bit overlooked but just think about it deeply, having constant nightmares fucks your mind like really REALLY bad, I can genuinely say this by experience and also as someone who has had trouble to have a healthy sleeping schedule since I was at highschool (like, for example, right now, I should be sleeping instead of writing this...).

There was a time I would have nightmares almost everytime I went to sleep during a really hard time in my life. Of course, the topic about those nightmares was almost always the same, not like the nightmares repeated themselves but they always revolved about the same things that I was actually working in therapy at the moment. Back then I was jobless and medicated most part of the time, I was pretty dysfunctional.

I suppose that's why when I listened to "Fragmented Dreams" for the first time it was the time I said "Yeah, this is my man". I love how he's always nagging MC about sleeping early because I know by experience that not sleeping properly can mess up with your mind pretty bad, and probably he knows it too. It truly is a showcase of love how he worries about her sleep like that and it also showcases how strong minded he is for enduring too much stress and remind kind constantly.

I love how healthy he is. I like to think that he's overcome all the stressful stuff he's gone thru bc of his discipline and healthy life style, but realistically it would take him some more to deal with all of that.

Yes, all of the guys have been through some very rough stuff and they all need therapy, but my point with Zayne comes with the fact that not having a good sleeping schedule and on top of that having constant nightmares can mess up with your perception of reality and induce you a bad depression or other mental health issues. Everytime I remember Zayne's main story branch when they're trapped in Zayne's dream and MC leaves him alone and he starts listening to Willian, Georgie and his Mom so he has to remind himself "It's not real, it's not real" I deeply feel that and I just want to hug him so bad :(

I think I'd like to see a card where they explore the consecuences of their past in their psyche more deeply. I can't help remembering this post which was one of the first posts you unlock with Zayne:

It was there when I just knew that even if he looked quiet, he had a lot to say but didn't know how to express.

Another thing I'd like to highlight about this is that actually I love the emotional maturity that Zayne displays about dealing with such issues like nightmares, traumatic experiences and literally being exposed to see people dying 24/7 while being someone that feels a lot yet says little. He's dealt with this the best way he can, no wonder why he came to be quite serious and inexpressive or sarcastic. Not allowing himself to express other emotions than seriousness or sarcasm was like keeping himself in check so he wouldn't spill everything he feels and considering how stressing is his job already, it just makes sense, but that didn't mean Zayne didn't feel because he feels too much and too deeply and worries sick about ppl and especially about MC.

Of course, bottling up his emotions wasn't the best way to deal with them but he never used any unhealthy coping mechanism neither, like alcohol, for example (My teetotaler King ❤️) etc. Yeah, his workaholism isn't exactly healthy but not something toxic to his mind and relationships, and I've always had a feeling that he's a big foodie and addicted to sweets to give himself that boost of serotonine he needs so bad.

That's why he compares MC with sweets, being her his favorite dessert, bc she's brought all that serotonine to his life naturally and has helped him let go little by little. When he opened to her about losing Dulcie, I had a feeling that Zayne always wanted someone to listen to him but he didn't know how to ask for it and ppl around him was too afraid to even dare to suggest it. I think even in one of his anecdotes, it is said that sometimes Dr Noah wanted to tell him something but at the end ended up saying nothing.

The fact that Zayne bottled up his emotions didn't mean that he wouldn't willingly share them, he wanted to but wasn't used to it. With MC, he's slowy started to let it go and enjoy life more, allowing himself to be sad in front of her, to express his fears (about losing her) or to express his childish tantrums and indulge in his softest side. That's why also she's not only his favorite dessert but also his best painkiller ❤️

And just to finish, I've always thought this quote by Kafka fits him so well:

"Remember, you should sleep more than other people, for I sleep less than most. And I can’t think of a better place to store my unused share of universal sleep than in your beloved eyes."

[altocat]

I've always subscribed to the headcanon that if Lucrecia can sense her son's future when he was still in the womb, the same supernatural connection applies to Sephiroth as well.

He WAS sharing the Jenova cells with Lucrecia when he was inside her, hence her physical immortality. So they are linked together in a pseudo-physic manner. It isn't just that Sephiroth desires his mother simply because he was denied her at birth--that's ALREADY pretty horrifying--but also because he constantly senses her, constantly feels her. They were linked together and then suddenly ripped apart. Imagine a constant sensation of incompletion, feeling like you KNOW someone who doesn't exist, the need for Reunion, but you have no idea why it's happening or what it means. A piece of you is missing, a piece of you that is already tainted with anguish and longing and feelings of love and need that you'll never come to know. Something is wrong. And you are all alone. And there is a constant harrowed sensation inside you that reminds you of what was lost...and yet never fully realized.

Whenever Sephiroth's transport airship passes over the region that hosts Lucrecia's cavern, there's always a faint tingle in his chest. A sudden rawness he can't place, tugging at him, burning. He reaches for it, presses his hand to his heart, confused at the sudden slickness in his eyes, the broken ache in his pulse.

By the time he reaches Nibelheim, so close and yet so far away, the ache becomes a crescendo.

[unriding]

hi friends! perhaps a sappier post now that i am awake:

i am very thankful for all of you! whether we have known each other from my old blog, or if we have literally just met and i haven’t even introduced myself to you yet (i must drop by inboxes soon..)- i love you all the same! with the change in weather, i see a lot of my friends have been having a hard time as of late, and i wish to become someone who you can always feel comfortable relying on for any kind of help. i want all of you to feel loved every second of the day- you deserve so much love and kindness in your lives. if the concept of time never existed, i could scroll and scroll all day, send you all love letters- give you constant reminders of just how much you are loved and cherished by those around you. i truly adore every inch of every single one of you- every little inch! you all mean so much to me and i hope this little message will show that- even if just a little :] you are all my dearest friends and i love that we exist in the same time period- i’m thankful to be able to see all of you here! hope you have an amazing rest of your week!! pls stay extra hydrated today U^U

[doomedfromthewombfr]

Reminder to all my fellow souls with BPD: Your emotions don’t make you a monster, and your struggles don’t make you less worthy. The intense highs, the devastating lows, the fear of abandonment that gnaws at you, the constant battle between love and hate- it doesn’t make you broken or unlovable. These waves don’t define who you are. You are real, you are valid, and you are deserving of love, even when your mind tells you otherwise. You are not your disorder, and you are not a problem to be fixed. You’re just someone living with an invisible battle that’s harder than anyone can understand. And in that, you’re stronger than anyone will ever know

[milla-frenchy]

So happy to read them again 😍😍

You lay on the couch, the blanket Joel brought you tucked snugly beneath your chin, feeling the comforting weight of it. The soft fabric smells faintly like him—like the dust and leather of the ranch, with a hint of something deeper you can't quite place. Your body aches from the injury, a constant reminder of your fragility, but the blanket is a small luxury, an oasis of warmth amid the discomfort.

This is so beautiful and vivid 😍😍

There’s something reassuring about having everything within arm's reach, a reminder that you still have some control, some autonomy, even if your body doesn’t quite feel like your own right now.

I loved all of this. Reading her emotions, feeling them. Poor baby 😥

"What’s her name?" you ask gently, your voice soft but steady. You’re careful, wanting to open the door without forcing him through it.

omg this is beautiful. I love how careful she is

"Named after my grandmother. She is—" His voice catches, the present tense faltering mid-sentence like a misstep on uneven ground. "She was a special kid."

I didn't plan to have my heart broken on a wednesday afternoon after work oh nooooo 😥😥😥

"S’been tough," he admits, his voice low, almost a murmur. "But you find a way to keep goin’. Life doesn’t stop, even when you wish it would."

And this?! This hurts so much, and, it's so true...

When he finally releases your hand, moving his arm slightly,  the warmth of his skin lingers, a quiet reminder of the moment you’ve shared. "Thank you darlin’," he says again, his voice steady but soft. There’s something in his eyes now—something lighter, as if the act of sharing, of being heard, has eased the weight he carries, if only a little. "Means more than you know."

❤️❤️❤️ I love this so much

And then he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling, your heart heavy with regret, the words you wish you’d said echoing in your mind. "Stay. Please stay." But you didn’t. Instead, you let him walk away, the distance between you growing not just physically but emotionally.

Why didn't youuuuuuuu 😭😭😭

"I... I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone—letting you—"    "You don’t have to know," he says quietly. "You just gotta let me in."  

omg what? 😍😍😍 Odiiiiii you have me on an emotional roller coaster what are you doing to meeeeeeee

“Should’ve just stayed downstairs, fuck sakes,” he mutters to himself.

uuuuuh you're really trying to kill me here

Joel steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is about you bein’ a burden? Dammit, I don’t care about that! I care about you not gettin’ yourself killed because you’re too damn stubborn to listen!”

I ALWAYS love when Joel tells someone they're stubborn. I always cackle, cause LOOK WHO'S TALKING, SIR 😂😂😂

“I’ve been where you are,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve lost too much. And I’m not gonna lose anyone else... not like this.”

Damn. Speechless. Odi if I catch you!!! (I'm gonna send you a lot of gifs to take revenge 😌😏)

Howdy Honey II. Beautiful Mess

Series Masterlist * Masterlist * Wordcount 6.6K

Summary: Joel grapples with his frustration and fear after you push him away

Warnings: the fluff before the smut! Some angst and mentions of loss

Notes: Thank you for the long wait for this chapter. Getting back into it with these two has been so much fun! I am very excited for the next chapter heheh. I can foresee three more chapters, which I will hopefully have out at a decent pace. Ty @evolnoomym for reading this over ♏️🌙

You

The first rays of morning light filter through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. The ranch outside is waking up, the sounds of hooves and rustling hay mingling with the birds' early songs, but inside, there is a stillness. The air is cool, soft, and peaceful before the day fully begins. You lay on the couch, the blanket Joel brought you tucked snugly beneath your chin, feeling the comforting weight of it. The soft fabric smells faintly like him—like the dust and leather of the ranch, with a hint of something deeper you can't quite place. Your body aches from the injury, a constant reminder of your fragility, but the blanket is a small luxury, an oasis of warmth amid the discomfort.

The potted plant in the corner catches your eye as its leaves flutter in the breeze coming through the open window. The subtle movement is a welcome distraction, drawing your focus away from the twinges of pain in your side, from the dull ache that’s become your constant companion. It's not the worst pain you’ve felt in your life, but right now, in the stillness of the room, it feels like the only thing that matters. You wish you were in your own bed, in the comfort of your familiar space. You can almost picture it—your room upstairs, the soft quilts, the shelves filled with books you've collected over the years. But the reality of your situation makes that impossible. The mere thought of climbing the stairs sends another sharp wave of pain through your body, reminding you that independence is a luxury right now, not a reality. You’ve always been fiercely independent—too proud, maybe, to admit when you need help. The idea of relying on Joel, especially now, when every moment around him seems to stir something inside you, feels almost too much to bear. When you were healthy, those stairs were nothing. You could run up them without thinking twice, bounding up two steps at a time. Now, the idea of even attempting it is enough to make your chest tighten, a reminder that things have changed. You can’t ignore it.

Joel has offered more than once to carry you up to your room, insisting that you’d be more comfortable in your own bed. But each time, you've turned him down. It’s not because you don’t trust him. You know he’s kind, that he genuinely wants to help, but the thought of him lifting you, of feeling his strong arms around you... it stirs something in you—something complicated. It's not just physical pain you need to recover from. There’s a tangle of emotions you can't unravel yet, especially not with Joel so close. Instead, you remain on the couch in the living room, finding comfort in its familiar layout. The space is small, but it feels like everything you need is within reach. The kitchen is just a few steps away, and the thought of being able to grab something to eat or drink without too much effort is a small but significant source of relief. You don't have to ask anyone for help every time you need something. The books and movies you've scattered around the room are close enough that you can slip into another world with little more than a turn of your hand. There’s something reassuring about having everything within arm's reach, a reminder that you still have some control, some autonomy, even if your body doesn’t quite feel like your own right now.

But perhaps the most comforting part of this setup is Joel—always nearby. You know he’s there, moving around the ranch just out of sight, yet still within earshot. You can hear the faint sounds of him tending to the animals, the creak of the barn doors, the rustle of hay and boots on the dirt. It's not quite company, but it's enough. If something were to go wrong—if the pain in your side flared up again or you needed assistance in a way you couldn’t manage—Joel would be there in an instant. The thought of him close by, ready to step in, is both a comfort and a quiet reminder of how much you rely on him these days. You tell yourself that you don’t need him, but there's an undeniable warmth that settles in your chest knowing he’s just a room away. Still, the idea of needing help from him, especially in such a vulnerable state, stirs something deeper in you. Something that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly, a feeling that you can’t quite define. It’s easier this way—on the couch, within your little bubble of semi-independence, where your emotions can stay tucked away, just like the soft blanket Joel brought you.

You glance over at the cover of one of his daughter’s western novels, the title catching your eye. There's something about it that piques your curiosity, stirring questions you hadn’t meant to ask. Who is she, this daughter of his? Was she older? And then, the question that sits uncomfortably in your mind: Is Joel married—or was he? You’ve never seen a wedding band on his finger, never heard him speak about a wife. The mystery about him lingers, unresolved. You know you should be resting, but your mind refuses to settle. You shift slightly, adjusting the blanket as you try to distract yourself. Your eyes drift back to the book on the table—a well-worn copy of Lonesome Dove, its spine cracked and pages dog-eared. Something about the worn edges calls to you. It's a link to the world you grew up in, a reminder of the ranch life, of the toughness and independence that runs through your veins. You never could quite leave the ranch, even when you tried. You reach for the book, your fingers brushing against the paper's texture, the act of holding it feeling almost like coming home. You open the cover to the first page, the familiar scent of ink and aged paper filling your senses. As you dive into the world of Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call, the stories of cowboys and cattle drives pull you in. You’re captivated by Gus and Woodrow—two men bound by their pasts but so different in their approach to life.

As you read, you find yourself identifying with Lorena Wood, Gus's girlfriend. Her fight for her place in the world, her refusal to let others define her, resonates with you deeply. The scene where she insists on joining the cattle drive despite the objections of the men speaks to something inside you. The words, “I ain’t afraid of a little hard work,” echo in your mind, a mantra of defiance that you wish you could adopt fully. You can’t be weak. You won’t be.

"Dreamin’ is free, Lorena," Gus says to her, his voice a mix of wisdom and weariness. "It don’t cost nothin' extra to dream good dreams."

The words settle over you, and for a moment, you close your eyes. You think of Joel—his gruffness, his strength, the way he moves through the ranch with a quiet intensity. He’s always there, a steady presence in your life. You can’t help but wonder what kind of man he was before, what dreams he once had, what kind of life he led. Your thoughts drift, pulled back into the story before you can get too lost in them. The sun climbs higher in the sky, its light streaming through the windows, warm now, settling into the room. You glance at the book beside you and set it aside with a small sense of pride. You've made it through several chapters without letting your mind wander too much.

Your side aches more now from sitting too long, and you know it’s time to try standing. It’s been too long since you felt any sense of control over your own body. You push the blanket back, and slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the couch. The room tilts slightly as you plant your feet on the floor, and you take a steadying breath, trying to ignore the sharp twinge in your side. You hate this. Hate feeling weak. Hate needing help. But you can’t let that stop you. You refuse to let it define you. You're determined to regain some independence, to show Joel that you're not just some fragile thing that needs constant watching over.

You push yourself up, wincing as another wave of pain stabs through your ribs. The movement is slow, deliberate. Each step feels like an accomplishment, even as the pain pulses beneath the surface. You make it to the kitchen, though you're panting by the time you reach the counter. You grip it for support, feeling the cool edge beneath your fingertips. The simple act of pouring yourself a glass of water feels like a triumph.

Then you hear the creak of the front door. You don’t have to look to know it’s Joel. The sound of his boots on the floor, the low murmur of his voice as he moves about the ranch—it's all so familiar now. You hear him pause, then step into the kitchen. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there, gripping the counter like it’s your lifeline.

"Well, look at you," he says, a note of surprise and admiration in his voice. "You're up and about."

You offer him a small, self-conscious smile, glad he’s not rushing to fuss over you. "I thought it was time," you say softly, setting the glass of water down with careful movements. "I can't just lie on the couch all day."

Joel chuckles, his gaze sweeping over you with that same intensity that sends a warm flutter through your chest. He steps closer, cautious. "Reckon not," he agrees, voice low. His eyes linger on you, and you can't tell if it's concern or something else. "But don’t go pushin’ yourself too hard now."

"I’m fine," you insist, a little too quickly. "But you look like you’ve been at it all morning. Would you like something to drink?" You try to sound casual, but the offer feels like an excuse to keep him there, a way to ease the tension building between you.

"S’alright, I can get it," he says, but his voice is strained, tired. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, a visible sign of the work he's been doing.

Before he can protest, you start toward the fridge. "Shut up," you say with a teasing smile. "I got it. Iced tea, right?"

He chuckles softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That’d be perfect, darlin’."

The fridge door opens with a soft creak, and you pour the tea, the cool liquid filling the glass with a satisfying sound. The simple act requires more focus than it should, but you take your time, savoring the moment of normalcy. You hand him the glass, your fingers brushing his ever so briefly. The touch is light, fleeting, but it sends an unexpected jolt through you, a spark that neither of you can ignore. For a moment, you both stand there, neither of you speaking, as if waiting for something to break the silence. His gaze flickers to the floor, then back to you, and he clears his throat, taking a small step back.

"Thanks," he says, his voice steady but low, and his eyes meet yours briefly before he raises the glass in a small salute. He drinks deeply, closing his eyes as the cool tea washes over him.

"You're welcome," you reply, your voice quieter than usual. You busy yourself with straightening up the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly as you try to ground yourself in the mundane. But even in the simple act of tidying, you can feel his gaze on you, the weight of it making you feel exposed in a way you can't quite understand.

"You’ve found some use for the blanket and books, I see," Joel says, his voice soft, but you catch the hint of something more in it, something like pride.

"They've been a good distraction," you answer, a little more casually than you feel. "I'm curious about your daughter’s books. She’s got good taste."

At the mention of his daughter, Joel’s face softens, a wistful look crossing his features. "She always did love a good story," he says, his voice quiet, distant. "Used to read to her every night when she was little. We'd get lost in all sorts of adventures together.”

The conversation takes a quiet but significant turn, pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. You sense it the moment Joel’s expression softens at your question, his guarded demeanor cracking just enough to let a sliver of vulnerability through. It feels fragile, like holding a bird in your hands, its rapid heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingers. You tread carefully, hoping not to press too hard but unwilling to let the moment pass unacknowledged. "What’s her name?" you ask gently, your voice soft but steady. You’re careful, wanting to open the door without forcing him through it.

He hesitates for just a breath before answering, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Sarah," he says, his voice tinged with warmth and something deeper—something bittersweet. "Named after my grandmother. She is—" His voice catches, the present tense faltering mid-sentence like a misstep on uneven ground. "She was a special kid."

The weight of that single word, was, hangs in the air between you like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of meaning outward. It cuts through the small warmth his smile brought, replacing it with a heaviness that settles deep in your chest. Your heart clenches, the realization landing like a blow. You try to keep your voice steady, though your stomach twists. "Was?" you venture cautiously, the single syllable feeling heavier than it should.

Joel’s expression shifts immediately—his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if bracing for an impact. You see the pain flash through him, raw and unguarded, before he wrestles it back under control. For a moment, you think he won’t answer, that he’ll shut you out completely. But then he takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet and steady, though it trembles at the edges. "Sarah passed away a few years back." The words are spoken simply, but their weight is unmistakable, each syllable heavy with grief he’s learned to carry in silence.

The room feels smaller suddenly, the air thinner. You struggle to find something to say, some way to acknowledge the enormity of what he’s shared without reducing it to a hollow platitude. "Joel, I’m so sorry," you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. The sincerity in your words is palpable, your own troubles momentarily forgotten in the face of his loss.

Joel nods, his gaze distant, focused on something you can’t see. He doesn’t brush off your condolences or wave them away as you might have expected. Instead, he accepts them with a quiet grace that’s heartbreaking in its simplicity. "S’been tough," he admits, his voice low, almost a murmur. "But you find a way to keep goin’. Life doesn’t stop, even when you wish it would."

His words linger in the air, stark and unvarnished, and you feel the ache in them like a bruise pressed too hard. There’s no bitterness in his tone, no anger—just a quiet resignation, a weariness that feels like it’s etched into his very being. You wonder how often he’s spoken these words, if at all, or if he’s kept them locked away until now. Your gaze drifts to his hands—strong, calloused, and steady even now, despite the weight he carries. You reach out before you can think better of it, your fingers brushing against his forearm in a gesture that feels both small and monumental. "I can’t imagine," you say softly, your words feeling inadequate but heartfelt. "I’m sorry you had to go through that."

Joel looks down at your hand, his gaze lingering there for a moment before he lifts his eyes to meet yours. There’s something in his expression that makes your breath catch—a flicker of gratitude, of recognition, and something else you can’t quite name. "Thank you," he says simply, his voice rough but sincere. He shifts slightly, covering your hand with his own. The warmth of his touch is startling, grounding, and you’re acutely aware of how solid he feels, how present. "For listening," he continues, his voice softening. "I don’t... I don’t talk about Sarah much. It’s hard, you know?" His eyes hold yours, and you see the weight of the years he’s carried this pain, the quiet strength it’s taken to keep moving forward.

You nod, unable to look away. "I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for," you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. "Just... holding onto her memory like that. Letting her still be a part of you."

His brow furrows slightly, his gaze searching yours as if he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words. "Don’t feel strong most days," he admits after a pause, his voice so low you almost miss it. "Just feel tired."

The honesty in his words makes your chest tighten, and you press your hand against his arm just a little more firmly, as if to anchor him. "Maybe that’s what strength is," you offer, your voice soft but unwavering. "Getting up every day, even when it feels impossible. Carrying her with you, even when it hurts."

Joel doesn’t respond immediately, but you see something shift in his expression—something almost imperceptible but deeply significant. He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. "Maybe," he murmurs, the word more of a concession than a conviction.For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. You let it linger, sensing that Joel needs this space, this moment of quiet connection. When he finally releases your hand, moving his arm slightly,  the warmth of his skin lingers, a quiet reminder of the moment you’ve shared. "Thank you darlin’," he says again, his voice steady but soft. There’s something in his eyes now—something lighter, as if the act of sharing, of being heard, has eased the weight he carries, if only a little. "Means more than you know."

—-------

As you prepare to settle onto the couch for the night, the creak of the wooden floor under Joel’s boots pulls your attention. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s beside you, scooping you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his hands against you and the solid strength of his hold leave you momentarily breathless.

"What are you doing?" you protest weakly, though your body betrays you by instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders for balance.

He doesn’t stop moving, his tone gruff but resolute. "Takin’ you to your room. You’ll be more comfortable there, and it’s about time you used it again." You start to protest again, murmuring something about being too heavy, but he only huffs. "You think this is the first time I’ve carried someone? You’re fine. Quit fussin’."

Before you know it, he’s carrying you up the stairs, each step steady and sure despite the burden you’re sure you must be. The faint scent of leather and woodsmoke clings to him, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. When he reaches the top, the hallway stretches ahead, dimly lit and quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

Your bedroom door creaks as he nudges it open with his foot. The room feels foreign, almost untouched since your injuries—a time capsule of your life before everything fell apart. Joel sets you down on the bed with a gentleness that belies his rough exterior, his hands lingering briefly to ensure you’re steady before he pulls away.

"There," he says, adjusting the covers around you with meticulous care that makes your chest ache. "Now you get some rest. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything."

You watch him turn, the broad slope of his shoulders framed by the faint hallway light. A sudden unease wells up in your chest, irrational and overwhelming. The thought of being alone in this room, in this moment, feels unbearable. The words leave your lips before you can stop them.

"Joel, wait."

He stops in the doorway, his silhouette pausing against the light. "What is it, darlin’?" His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

Your fingers grip the edge of the blanket as you force yourself to speak. "Could you... stay? Just for a little while. Until I fall asleep."

For a moment, he’s quiet, the furrow of his brow barely visible in the shadows. He looks at you like he’s weighing something heavy, something he’s not sure he can carry. But then he nods, his voice softer when he speaks. "Yeah. I can do that."

He grabs a chair from the corner of the room, pulling it close to the bed and settling into it with a quiet sigh. The room feels smaller now, his presence filling the space in a way that should be comforting, and yet... you feel the weight of it pressing against you.

Joel sits silently, his hands resting on his knees, the flickering light from the bedside lamp casting deep shadows across his face. His gaze flicks toward you occasionally, careful and guarded, as if afraid to linger too long. You watch him through half-closed eyes, noting the subtle lines etched into his features—lines of exhaustion, loss, and something else you can’t quite place. There’s a tension in his posture, a quiet restraint that makes your chest tighten.

"Joel," you say softly, the quiet sound of his name pulling his gaze to yours. He raises an eyebrow, waiting, but the words you wanted to say catch in your throat. What could you even say? Thank him for his kindness? For caring when you’d tried so hard to convince yourself you didn’t need it. Instead, you settle on something you instantly regret. "You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be fine."

His expression shifts, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, but when he does, his voice is quieter, almost unreadable. "If that’s what you want."

You open your mouth to correct yourself, to say something that might soften the blow, but the words don’t come. Joel stands, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to change your mind. You don’t.

"Goodnight, then," he says, his tone even, though there’s a weight behind the words that you can’t ignore. Joel stands, the chair groaning slightly as he pushes it back. He doesn’t move hurriedly, but there’s a deliberateness in his movements that makes your chest tighten. The air between you feels heavier, laced with something unspoken, something you’re not ready to name. And then he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling, your heart heavy with regret, the words you wish you’d said echoing in your mind.

"Stay. Please stay."

But you didn’t. Instead, you let him walk away, the distance between you growing not just physically but emotionally. The warmth of his presence lingers faintly, like the scent of his leather and woodsmoke, but it isn’t enough to fill the void. The ache in your ribs pales in comparison to the one in your chest. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, what was this feeling that had taken root inside you? It wasn’t just gratitude anymore—it was something else, something harder to define. You’d always prided yourself on not needing anyone, but Joel had a way of making that wall crumble, brick by brick. It was confusing. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Or maybe... maybe you were just afraid to hope again. But the way he’d left, the quiet disappointment in his eyes—it made you feel small, stupid even. What were you so afraid of? You hated yourself for pushing him away when all he’d ever done was try to be there for you. But it was too late now. The door was closed, and so, it seemed, was he.

The room is dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight spilling in through the curtains. You hadn’t noticed Joel still standing there, silent as a shadow. He lingers by the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. He’s watching you, his brow furrowed, torn between staying and leaving.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You turn your head slightly, startled. You thought he'd left. His gaze meets yours for a moment, but the weight of it is too much to hold. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice tight and unconvincing.

Joel lets out a low scoff, shaking his head. “Fine,” he repeats bitterly. “That your favorite word or somethin’?” His boots barely make a sound as he crosses the room, sitting back down on the chair beside your bed. His presence is overwhelming, filling the small space like a storm cloud about to break. You feel the heat of him, as you try to keep your breathing steady. “I know what you're doin',” he says quietly, his tone softer now. “Pushin' me away. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put. His words are gentle, but they cut deep, peeling back the layers you worked so hard to hide behind. You struggle for words, your breath uneven. "I... I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone—letting you—"  

 "You don’t have to know," he says quietly. "You just gotta let me in."  

His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, like he's fighting against his own limits, his patience fraying. You want to reach for him, to let yourself lean into him, but the weight of your own walls is too heavy. You want to let go, but something inside you holds you back, paralyzes you with fear. Fear of what letting him in might mean. Your throat tightens as you try to form the words, but nothing comes. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t push you—he waits. The tension hangs thick in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. But the longer he waits, the more it seems like he’s losing the battle inside himself.

You finally meet his eyes again, but it’s like something’s shifted. There’s still care there, but it’s mixed with frustration, something raw and real. He stands, his movements slow but resolute. "You can’t keep doing this," he says, his voice low but intense. "I can’t keep doing this. You want me to stay, and then... then you push me away.”

His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he moves it back, the sound harsh in the heavy silence. His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it. 

He moves toward the door, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and you want to scream—to tell him to stay, to tell him you’re not fine, but the words are lodged in your throat, like you’re choking on your own fear.

You sit up in bed, your breath shallow, but you don’t call out. You don’t stop him.

Joel pauses at the doorway, his back to you. For a long moment, it seems like he might turn around, like he might say something else, something to bridge the gap between you. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his shoulders stiff, his head slightly bowed as though he’s already made his peace with walking away.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence. "You need anything, you holler. I’ll hear ya."

And then the door clicks softly shut behind him.

You sit there, staring at the empty space where he was, the weight of his words still pressing down on you. Your fingers curl around the blanket, but it offers no comfort. Your mind races, a mess of emotions, regret, and frustration. You want to call him back, but it feels like it’s too late.

The room is silent once more, and the emptiness is suffocating. You close your eyes, your chest aching, and for the first time in a long while, you realize how alone you truly are..

Joel

The soft glow of the kitchen light spills across the empty room as Joel leans against the counter, nursing a cup of coffee he doesn’t really want or need at this hour. He stares into the dark liquid, his thoughts elsewhere, running over the events of the evening like a song stuck on repeat.

He shouldn’t feel disappointed. You’d made it clear you didn’t want him there, and he respected that. Hell, he’d been in your shoes before—pushing people away because it felt safer. He couldn’t blame you for it. But that didn’t make the sting of it any easier to shake.

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d seen the hesitation in your eyes, the conflict. He’d wanted to tell you it was okay, that he’d wait as long as you needed. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how long he could wait. Every moment he spent with you, every quiet exchange and fleeting touch—it all felt like it was building toward something he wasn’t sure either of you were ready for. "Should’ve known better," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the hum of the fridge. But even as he says it, he knows he’d do it all over again—because for you, he would wait.

The coffee in Joel’s mug has gone cold by the time he finally pushes himself off the counter and trudges to the living room. He sits heavily on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the darkened television screen. Sleep isn’t coming—not after the way the evening ended.

He rubs a hand down his face, trying to shake off the frustration welling in his chest. It wasn’t your fault, not really. Joel knows that better than anyone. But the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d pulled back, it felt like a door slamming shut in his face. Like he was stupid for even hoping.

“Should’ve just stayed downstairs, fuck sakes,” he mutters to himself. He knows better than to get too close, to expect anything. It’s not fair to you, not when you’ve got enough to deal with. And yet, here he is, hoping like a damn fool.

The faint creak of the floor above reminds him you’re still there, probably lying awake just like he is. Joel shakes his head, dragging a heavy quilt over himself as he stretches out on the couch. Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll keep his distance. Let you come to him if you want.

But the hollow ache in his chest says that might never happen.

—

The next morning the shutting of the door pulls Joel from a restless sleep. He stretches, his back protesting the hours spent on the couch, and grumbles as he sits up. The smell of coffee drifts through the house, but it’s faint—like someone turned the pot off before it finished brewing. Joel frowns. He knows you’re still stiff from your injuries, and the thought of you moving around too much sets him on edge. He stands, rubbing a hand over his face, and heads toward the kitchen.

The sight of the empty space only deepens his unease. The coffee pot is half-full, a mug sitting beside it untouched. He glances out the window, his gut twisting when he spots you trudging toward the barn, determination in every step.

“What the hell are you doin’ now?” he mutters, already grabbing his jacket as he steps outside.

The morning air bites at his skin, but Joel barely notices as he closes the distance to the barn. By the time he reaches the open doors, you’re already climbing onto the tractor, one hand on the seat and the other gripping the wheel.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice echoes sharply in the quiet.

You freeze, your head whipping around to face him. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though there’s a flicker of guilt in your eyes.

Joel’s chest tightens, but he doesn’t let it show. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Your brow furrows, and you straighten your shoulders, your stubbornness flaring to life. “I’m trying to help. You’ve been doing everything, and I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” His tone is sharper than he intends, but the sight of you on the tractor—the very image of Sarah in her last moments—sends a cold wave of fear crashing over him.

You bristle at his words, swinging your legs over the side of the tractor to face him fully. “Excuse me? I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle this.”

“No, you can’t,” he snaps, his voice louder now. “You don’t even know how to work that damn thing, and you’re in no shape to be tryin’!”

Your eyes narrow, hurt flashing across your face before you mask it with anger. “I’m just trying to pull my weight, Joel. I’m not some burden you have to carry! And yes I can fucking drive the tractor.”

Joel steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is about you bein’ a burden? Dammit, I don’t care about that! I care about you not gettin’ yourself killed because you’re too damn stubborn to listen!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp. Joel’s breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep the memories at bay. Sarah’s laughter, the hum of the tractor’s engine, the sickening sound of it tipping over—it’s all there, clawing at the edges of his mind.

But he doesn’t tell you. He can’t.

Instead, he swallows hard and steps back, his jaw tightening. “Just… don’t do this,” he says, his voice quieter but no less firm.

You stare at him, confusion and hurt written all over your face. “Why are you acting like this?” you ask, your tone softer now, but Joel shakes his head.

Joel’s chest tightens, and the fight in his voice only deepens. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, but you’re not about to let him brush this off.

“Why the hell not?” You step off the tractor, your foot hitting the ground with a thud, your breath a sharp inhale from the pain and ragged in the cold air. “You’re acting like I’m a damn liability—like I can’t handle myself. You think I want to sit around doing nothing while you work yourself to the bone?”

Joel shakes his head, his eyes dark with frustration. “That ain’t it, and you know it. You think I want to be overprotective? You think I don’t see you fightin’ through every goddamn thing just to prove you’re not weak? I get it, alright? But this—this isn’t the way to do it.”

“You don’t get it,” you snap back, your voice growing more desperate. “I don’t need your pity, Joel. I don’t need you to hold my hand or protect me like I’m some fragile thing you have to save. I’m fine. I can do this.”

“You’re not fine!” Joel’s voice cracks, his patience running thin, and the raw emotion behind it makes you pause, your anger faltering for just a second. He steps closer to you, his face inches away. “You’re not fine, and I’m not gonna sit here and watch you hurt yourself just because you’re too damn proud to accept help.”

Your ribs ache as you take a step back, your hands trembling at your sides. His words, his proximity—they feel like they’re suffocating you, pulling you into a place you don’t want to go. But you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t need help,” you mutter, though the words come out unconvincing, jagged.

Joel’s gaze softens, and for a brief moment, it’s like you’re both standing in some kind of fragile truce. But it doesn’t last. The distance between you, emotional and physical, feels too heavy to bear, and Joel moves in again. His voice is quieter now, but there’s a deep, aching sincerity in it. “I don’t want you to need help. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening with something you don’t know how to name. It’s the space between your stubbornness and his care, the tension of wanting to push him away but knowing deep down that you can’t. You want to break, to let go, but you won’t—can’t—show him how much you’re falling apart.

You both stand there in the cold, the world around you feeling distant, like it’s no longer real. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say something that takes both of you by surprise. “Why do you care so damn much?” Your voice cracks as you finally let the wall down, the question raw and vulnerable.

Joel’s eyes darken, his breath catching at the depth of the question. He looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s a long silence that stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken. Then, his lips curl slightly, the ghost of a sad smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’ve been where you are,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve lost too much. And I’m not gonna lose anyone else... not like this.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment, your anger falters, replaced with something deeper, something you can’t hide anymore.

Before you realize what’s happening, you’re the one reaching for him, your good hand finding his shirt, pulling him toward you. He hesitates for a second—his body tense, unsure—but then he moves, just like you knew he would. The kiss is sudden, urgent, and the world tilts with it. Your ribs protest, but you don’t care. His hands cradle your face, his lips pressing against yours, rough but soft, like he’s trying to steady himself just as much as you are.

Your heart races in your chest, the ache in your ribs fading as the heat of him seeps into your skin. For a brief, fleeting moment, everything else stops. The fight, the stubbornness, the fear—it all disappears in the space between your mouths. It’s like he’s holding you together, like you’re finally letting him do the one thing he’s been begging you for - to let him in.

When you break away, it’s slow, your breath ragged, but neither of you moves far. You’re still close—too close—and yet, somehow, it feels right. Joel’s forehead rests against yours, his breath warm on your skin. He doesn’t speak at first, just keeps you there, close enough to feel the weight of his every breath. Finally, he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You’re not alone, you know that?”

You nod, the words too hard to say, but the truth of them sits heavy between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe it.

Taglist @akah565 @anoverwhelmingdin @brittmb115 @hannah9921 @maried01

@mermaidgirl30 @red-red-rogue @wintersquirrel

[mrs-pianofandom-98]

Someone Will Love You

{A small ficlet inspired by the song “Sorry” By Halsey. Poly Coven..yes angst.} Agatha knew they loved her,she knew she loved them but to her; her lovers are just acting blind so she saves them from what she knows she will do.

“I’ve missed your calls for months it seems,Don’t realize how mean I can be”

“Anything?” Alice ask as she looks up as Jennifer sighted as she took her phone away from her ear. As she shook her head and ran her hand through Alice’s hair. “I can’t believe she just left..no note,no call,nothing.” Lilia said as she was sitting next to Rio who was staring at agatha's coat hanging on the rack. A constant reminder of what used to be there.

“Cause I can sometimes treat the people that I love like jewelry cause I can change my mind each day..”

“You can’t keep leaving us like that Agatha!” Jennifer yelled as another night of Agatha coming back after a random disappearance that lasted days. “Oh please hun you know i come back.” She said knowing she was also trying to convince herself of that. “We’re not something you can abandon and come back to when you're ready.” Jen snipped feeling used just like she knew her other partners were. All Agatha did was kiss her gently to stop her yelling and try to convince both Jennifer and herself she would always come back.

“I didn’t mean to try you on..but i still know your birthday and your mothers favorite song..”

Agatha was sitting in a cafe when she heard Lorna Wu’s album come on. She stared at the red gemstone ring on her hand that was given to her by her Wu lover…she slipped it off and put it in her pocket as she took a sip of her drink.

“So I’m sorry to my unknow lover,sorry that I can’t believe that anybody ever really starts to fall in love with me”

“Agatha why can’t you just believe I did this for you darling.” Lilia asked as she stood in front of the burnette. They had been going back and forth all morning because Lilia planned a surprise date and breakfast for her and Agatha.”You know as well as I do everything comes with a price doll. So what is it?” Agatha seen the hurt in her older lover's eyes flash..

“Sorry to my unknown lover,sorry I could be so blind..Didn’t mean to leave you and all the things we had behind. “

“I hate her! I hate her!” Rio yelled as she glared down at the rings on the coffee table. A red gem,a yellow,a pink, and a green stone all put on a necklace and a note folded beside it. “She left! She left again!” Rio threw the note to the floor as angry tears fell. The women she gave everything for,the women she had lost over and over so many times. Had left again even when they found their missing pieces. “Why won’t she let us love her!” Rio was pulled into Lilias arms as her cries of frustration and betrayal left feeling the heartbreak she was promised she wouldn’t feel again.

[dvbabybracelet]

Make a Statement: The Power of Personalised Necklaces with Names

There's something undeniably special about a piece of jewellery that carries a personal touch. A name necklace transcends mere adornment; it becomes a symbol of individuality, a constant reminder of who you are or someone you love.

Sterling Silver Name Necklaces: Timeless Elegance

At the heart of this trend lies the sterling silver name necklace. Sterling silver offers a perfect balance of affordability and elegance. It's a precious metal that endures everyday wear, ensuring your personalised necklace becomes a treasured companion for years to come.

The Allure of Personalised Jewellery

The beauty of a personalised necklace lies in its ability to tell a story. Whether it's your name, a loved one's initial, a significant date, or even a meaningful word, a personalised chain transforms a simple necklace into a powerful statement piece.

The World of Personalised Necklaces

The world of personalised necklaces is as vast as your imagination. You can choose from a variety of fonts, chain styles, and pendant shapes to create a piece that reflects your unique personality.

More Than Just a Name Necklace

Personalised necklaces extend far beyond just names. You can personalise them with inspirational quotes, birthstones, symbols – the possibilities are endless!

The Perfect Personalised Gift

Looking for a gift that's both meaningful and unique? A personalised necklace is a surefire winner. It's a gift that shows you put thought and care into your selection, a piece they'll treasure forever.

Invest in a piece that speaks to you. Explore the world of personalised necklaces and discover the perfect way to express yourself or celebrate someone special.

[moeblob]

What Deacon thinks: what did that mean? did he want me to wear a collar too? why else would he mention my neck? i mean, if he /asked/ me i would wear one but he didn't so would wearing one be weird?

What Ymber meant: It's nice to be near someone who isn't tethered to this world to serve it with a physical reminder for all to see.

[muffinlance]

Hello, @astraldraco, author of Fox's Tongue here! (Thanks for the rec, @dustystarwolf)

Can confirm that the main character is explicitly aroace as of book two (guess who didn't know that being ace was an option while she was writing book one, my ace ass thought I was bi because I (dis)liked everyone equally, and that's what being bi means, right? Right?) (Narrator's Voice: This was incorrect)

Can also confirm that the utter lack of romance is entirely intentional and will continue throughout the series. It's all 100% plot 100% of the time.

Also I feel you So Hard on this. Everything I write forever is going to have a ace protagonists, because the allos do NOT need more representation.

My (late) contribution for Make A Terrible Comic Day! I've been going to the library more often lately so this has been coming up a lot, cause I want something to read but have had trouble finding anything that I'm comfortable with.

If anyone has recommendations please please let me know because I am struggling.

[windrunner]

i don't feel good

really really really hate how many other IS people keep getting intentionally targeted by tools or blogs which position themselves as "keeping tr/ans people safe!!!!!!" just because some of us have experiences that make per/risex v. per/isex discourse points totally moot. almost like being tr/ans doesn't prevent you from being bigoted or something. huh

[s0dium]

Obsession

Warning: Love drunk men, fingering, titty sucking, nipple play, unprotected sex, love drunk reader

~

Love courses through your veins. He’s all you can think about.

You wonder if it's normal to be this enamored with someone, to be this hopelessly head over heels infatuated and obsessed. You can't even focus on what needs to be done anymore because he's absorbed your entire being; he's in your head when you wake up, a gentle whisper in the back of your mind during conversations, a constant in your dreams, day or night.

But it's a doomed one-sided crush you remind yourself. You're not even sure if he knows you exist and in quieter moments, you wonder if perhaps it’s better this way. Loving from a distance means you never have to face the potential heartbreak of rejection, never have to see that polite smile of someone who doesn’t return your feelings. It's safer, you tell yourself, to admire him from afar, keeping your heart guarded behind the shield of daydreams and what-ifs.

So surely, right now in this moment, you must be dreaming.

It feels too vivid, too intense to be just a figment of your imagination. The warmth of his breath against your cheek, the weight of his bare body pressing gently down on yours, the softness of his lips moving against your own with an insatiable hunger—it all feels astonishingly real.

Because it is.

You don't know how but now you're naked underneath him, letting him touch, grope, suck, kiss, nip, and bite anything his hands and mouth can find. He doesn't let up either, he's exploring your body like a starved man, like he'll never get a chance to touch you ever again and wont pull away until he's had his fill.

You gasp when you feel his fingers between your legs, tracing your inner thigh before gliding between your pussy lips. Instinctively, you jerk back at the feeling; his fingers collecting your arousal and sliding up and down. But before you can speak, he kisses you again, his tongue eagerly intertwining with yours. When he finally pulls away, leaving you breathless, a thin strand of saliva connects your mouths.

"Just let me take care of you okay?" He hums before dipping two fingers into your tight hole. "Just been waiting so long to do this."

You don't even have time to react before he's curling his digits and massaging a sweet spot you could only dream about hitting on your own. His other hand gropes your left breast and with his index and thumb, begins to play with your perky nipples. As if that wasn't enough, his mouth found your other breast and gave it the same attention, licking sucking, and rolling your nipple like it was candy.

Colors dance across your closed eyelids and you wonder if this is heaven, if you've died and reached nirvana because the pleasure is just that good. You dont know if you can handle this, handle the fact that he's sucking and playing with your nipples while finger fucking you. Your toes curl and uncurl from the hot searing euphoria that is absorbing your body and emitting from your core. Your back arches off the bed and your crying his name, moaning it even, something you only dreamed about doing late at night when you craved him.

Suddenly, his mouth releases your nipple with a pop and he ceases all of his ministrations, leaving you breathless and confused.

"Fuck, I-" He's breathless himself, his face flushed and pupils blown. "Need to be inside you, need to feel you." He practically groans, and you thickly gulp at his words. Your brain goes fuzzy and you dizzily watch him pull down his boxers, the length slapping against his abdomen after being released from its confines.

He watches you lay down on the bed, breasts and cunt glistening from juices. You dont know this but he actually thinks he is dreaming. You look like a painting right now and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from spilling just at the sight of you.

"Please," You whine, "Please fuck me."

Who is he to deny you?

Without a word he presses his tip against your entrance and slides into you, grunting at the snug fit of your walls. You let out a loud moan from the feeling of him filling you so so perfectly, so well you mentally curse yourself for thinking a dildo or your fingers could ever do the job.

Then with a moan of his own, he slides out of you, nearly leaving you empty, before rocking himself back into you. Oh, how he wanted to fuck you slow and nice, like you deserved, but as the seconds passed, his resolve seep away until he just couldn't possibly hold back anymore.

His thrusts become faster, quicker, slamming in and out of you with such vigor and ease due to your combined juices coating and dripping from both his length and your hole. The friction is delicious, and his tip seems to hit your g-spot perfectly with each thrust. He even grabs the underside of your thigh and pushes them against you, effectively folding you and half and allowing him to go even deeper inside you.

You could feel your rational slipping away as he groaned about how fucking good you felt, about how good you where taking him, how he had been dreaming about this. You want to say something too, say something about how you feel the same way, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth right now is wanton moans of his name.

The pleasure was becoming too much, it had been slowly building and building and you know your about to break any second, burst with such euphoria you don't know if you will ever come back from the high. Before you do though, your brain manages to work again for half a millisecond to express the exact words you are feeling.

"Love you! M'love you so much!" You gasped before letting yourself succumb to the mind-numbing orgasm that was waiting for you. Your whole body shook and quaked from the pleasure and your mind went white. You thought you might cry, from happiness or pleasure you did not know. But you didn't. You simply went limp while you let him use your body like a sex doll.

You are barely clinging onto consciousness when you feel his hips stutter against you and he scoops you up, holding you close while he cums inside you.

"Love you too, love you too." He groans against your ear.

Any character you want ;)