#almost all of them have more followers than me

[just-an-enby-lemon]

My college has a cat problem - a lot of them were castrated by donations and goverment incentive but not all - and there a bunch of small cat territories and groups. Most packs have kittens and stay mostly hidden except for a social cat. But there's a very small pack of three social cats and I love them very much.

They all have a bunch of names because most friendgroups and employees named them. For me they are Alfredo, Zoiuda and Salem.

Alfredo is the pack leader. He is a castrated cat who is very sociable but also very temperamental, he gets jealous if people give too much atention to other cats, he is also the braver one and the only that will steal food directaly from people's plates. The other two tend to follow him around. He is white with some black spots and is also very big. A large boy.

Zoiuda is the younger one. She was a kitten of one of the other packs - likely the ones that live close to the medicine lab - but she somehow joined them. She was still smaller than the other two when I started college two years ago but now they are the same side. She asks for pets but she gets tired of them faster. She is also very sociable and is the faster of the trio and more energetic one. She is black and has big green eyes, like really big eyes.

Salem is an elderly cat that follows the other two everywhere. While we can find either Zoiuda or Alfredo by themselfs Salem is ALWAYS with one of them. He is quiet and shy, he likely was abused before and still a bit afraid of humans, he doesn't let people pet him but when he starts trusting you he passes on your legs and let's you get close. I almost cried when he did it to me. He is black but has a bit of gray furr and he eats very slowly.

They are a little family and is very nice to watch them. The trio feral cats living at a college campus and being loved by the whole faculty. People even tried to take them home but the college is their territory and the couldn't get used to anywhere else.

That thing about how cats think humans are big kittens is a myth, y’know.

It’s basically born of false assumptions; folks were trying to explain how a naturally solitary animal could form such complex social bonds with humans, and the explanation they settled on is “it’s a displaced parent/child bond”.

The trouble is, cats aren’t naturally solitary. We just assumed they were based on observations of European wildcats - but housecats aren’t descended from European wildcats. They’re descended from African wildcats, which are known to hunt in bonded pairs and family groupings, and that social tendency is even stronger in their domesticated relatives. The natural social unit of the housecat is a colony: a loose affiliation of cats centred around a shared territory held by alliance of dominant females, who raise all of the colony’s kittens communally.

It’s often remarked that dogs understand that humans are different, while cats just think humans are big, clumsy cats, and that’s totally true - but they regard us as adult colonymates, not as kittens, and all of their social behaviour toward us makes a lot more sense through that lens.

They like to cuddle because communal grooming is how cats bond with colonymates - it establishes a shared scent-identity for the colony and helps clean spots that they can’t easily reach on their own.

They bring us dead animals because cats transport surplus kills back to the colony’s shared territory for consumption by pregnant, nursing, or sick colonymates who can’t easily hunt on their own. Indeed, that’s why they kill so much more than they individually need - it’s not for fun, but to generate enough surplus kills to sustain the colony’s non-hunting members.

They’re okay with us messing with their kittens because communal parenting is the norm in a colony setting, and us being colonymates in their minds automatically makes us co-parents.

It’s even why many cats are so much more tolerant toward very small children, as long as those children are related to one of their regular humans: they can tell the difference between human adults and human “kittens”, and your kittens are their kittens.

Basically, you’re going to have a much easier time getting a handle on why your cat does why your cat does if you remember that the natural mode of social organisation for cats is not as isolated solitary hunters, but as a big communal catpile - and for that purpose, you count as a cat.

[vicsy]

Max's phone has been on mute for a week now but Daniel's message comes through regardless. He singles it out through the endless blocks of notifications, patting his still damp hair with a fluffy towel.

hey did they show you the vid yet?

Max breaks into a smile, his whole face creasing when he catches his reflection in the mirror by the bathroom door. He taps on the screen with one finger, stringing together a response.

are you going to ask if you looked good in it? or what

Daniel doesn't make him wait. Max is tugging on a t-shirt when a bunch of middle finger emojis flood his screen. He picks up his phone off the bedside table and disconnects the charger cable. Another message from Daniel pops up.

ya little shit I knew 4th title will get to your head

It's Max's turn to take a page out of Daniel's book and abuse those middle finger emojis before he actually replies, dropping the towel on the floor next to the bed.

of course it was maybe 7/10 I'm being nice because you were very nice to me

Daniel reacts to his message with a broken heart emoji, which is pretty advanced for him. Max stands in the middle of his hotel room, phone in hand, watching the typing dots appear and disappear like his life depends on it.

you wound me Maxy I'm never not nice to you anyway wanted to send you something extra

It's a video. Not a long one. Max watches a file pop up and the download starts. The preview looks just like Daniel from the one he saw already — same outfits, same cap, his scruffy beard; same look on his face reserved for Max and Max only. It leaves him confused and rightfully exasperated. He types, watching a progression circle overlayed over the video fill out almost completely:

you just want me to have your part so I can tell you how beautiful you are?

A smile inadvertently tugs up the corner of his lips. Daniel won't see it but Max wishes he would. Not like wishing is ever enough.

Daniel sends him another message as the video finally loads.

just watch it, Maxy promise it's a banger

Max hits play.

It starts off the same. Daniel's curls are peeking from under the cap as he talks and Max's eyes linger. His voice scratches the parts of Max's brain that have been permanently altered over the years Daniel spent by his side. He's managed to learn most of Daniel's heartfelt speech by heart, memorise the minuscule changes of his expression; all the meaning hidden from naked eye but glaring into Max's soul though Daniel's gaze, warm and achingly familiar.

"You're the man," his recording says, his tone identical. Then Daniel licks his lips instead of following a script Max expects. His heart somersaults in his chest in anticipation. Daniel says, then, staring directly at him as if they're not worlds apart but sitting face to face: "And I love you."

Max blanches. On the screen, Daniel shakes his head and laughs, something evasively fond about the crow's feet around his eyes appearing more visible than ever.

"Yeah, no, they can't use this. Can't let them have this one now, can we? Imagine the scandal. I'll do another," Max's mind goes through a rapid meat grinder. The hand holding his phone become cold like he's just been dunked into an ice bath and plucked out just to be thrown on the scorching hot desert sand in Qatar. "This one is just for you, Max. Yeah, um."

He parks his ass on a chair. Barely manages not to miss it, pulled down by the gravity that exists outside of his control and the gravity of Daniel's words. Max's thumb hovers on the rewind button, but phone Daniel speaks up again, looking down. The video twitches from side to side like his hand was shaking as he was recording. Max doesn't miss it. Or maybe it's that his hands aren't steady when they're not clutching the steering wheel.

"Right. I'll be sending this later. So you get double the love," Daniel makes himself sound intentionally goofy, plays it down. Not his best attempt. Max's grip on the phone becomes crushing; Daniel grip on his heart is just as tight. Daniel removes his cap, puts it aside and passes fingers through the mess of his curls. To Max, it's like a kick to the ribs. When on-screen Daniel carries on, his voice grows thick. "Kinda wish I was there but. Sticks and stones, Max. I'm so fucking proud of you. And I, uh. I really mean it. Everything. So, yeah. I'll stop blabbering now," Daniel looks away from the camera for a moment. Blinks, so hard, like something's gotten into his eyes. There's static filtering through the speaker of Max's phone. Then Daniel looks back and Max can't fathom the glint in his eyes. He says, with a smile so impossibly tender, saluting Max with his cap: "Fourth in a row, huh? Go enjoy yourself for me, champ."

The video cuts off.

Max stares at the screen. He doesn't hit replay or lock his phone. But he wants to. Max taps on Daniel's name at the top instead, misses the button he needs and ends up opening his contact photo. It's an older one — Daniel is holding up three fingers, pulling a funny face. He's somewhere sunny and bright. Max keeps on staring, stunned and flayed open, until it all hits him with renewed force.

His frantic call to Daniel goes through without a hitch. He picks up on a second ring and Max jumps the start, just this once.

"Daniel–"

He stumbles. It's unnerving, as if he's stalled his car which hasn't happened in years. Max can't manage to get a word past the lump in his throat. And it's all futile because Daniel beats him to the finish line. And, for one, Max is glad it's him.

"No, wait. Wait, Max. Hold your horses. You come to Perth or, like, I can fly out to Monaco when the season's over," Daniel sucks in a hard breath. For as long as he doesn't speak, Max keeps his breathless silence, waiting. Daniel clears his throat, his voice soft and measured in Max's ear. He hangs on to Daniel's every word. "We're gonna do this the right way. I just– yeah, I just had to let you know. In case someone else was gonna convince you otherwise. Or whatever, ya know?"

Max makes a noise, something between a snicker and a sob. It punches out of him and it's a little embarrassing but who gives a shit when Daniel's words are stuck on a loop In Max's brain. Couldn't ever be anyone else to make his mind race on a track of its own.

"You should know," he starts. On the other side of the line, Daniel emits a similar noise to the one that clawed its way up Max's throat. Max screws his eyes shut, then opens them quickly, his vision fuzzy. He looks down at his feet, one sock missing. Presses his phone firmer to his ear, trying to bridge the insurmountable distance dividing him and Daniel, hopping over the chokehold of overarching emotions. "After all this years, you know. I don't listen to what other people say. It's a bit of shit timing, Daniel."

Daniel's chuckle is wobbly. So is Max. From the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

"Yeah, tough luck, I know," he says. He's not home, by the sound of it. Max has lost track of the timezones since they can't even share one, not anymore. Daniel sounds more like himself when he asks: "Still. I reckon you enjoyed the video?"

Max doesn't speak for a length. He thinks it over and over — and I love you and I love you and I love you. Thinks how much shit has burned down the line; how Daniel's dreams became flammable the exact moment Max's aspirations wrapped themselves in layers and layers of fireproof armour.

With a hand laid over his sternum where Daniel can't see, Max says, precariously balancing his tone:

"Yes, Daniel. You indeed looked very lovely on my screen."

It's worth tiptoeing around the subject. For all of Max's reticence, his joke lands where he wants it to. Daniel's laugh is akin to a sound of a dozen champagne bottles popping, fizzling, all of it pouring over Max's body and soaking him through.

"Thanks a bunch," in the aftermath, Daniel gets eerily quiet. Then he repeats, with airtight conviction: "I mean it."

And I love you, Max recalls. The words stick to his tongue, his breath hitching, twisting knots inside his chest. It doesn't feel fair. He rubs his knuckles into his eyes, phone smushed between his shoulder and cheek, until all Max sees is a patches of black interspersed with made up visions of the sun setting over a house with Daniel's name on it.

"I know," Max says, wispy. "But you shouldn't fly to Monaco."

"Uh, Max?" Daniel calls out to him, cautious. Max can imagine the exact look on his face. "Not following you."

"I'm going to come to Australia," Max barely avoids his voice breaking. A handful more days and Daniel will cease to be just a recording on his phone; a voice in his ear. A presence under his skin. "To you."

"Alright," Daniel echoes after a pause. "Whatever you want, Max. I'll stay put."

"Daniel, and," Max's heart pounds against his ribs, threatening to break his bones, but the enormity of raw feeling negates all the pain that comes with it. He swallows, blinks once and the clear cut picture of what future holds bleeds into his vision. Max keeps it a secret, stashes it into his pocket, and says to Daniel, with just a smidge of hesitancy: "When I get there. To you?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll mean it, too."

[p0orbaby]

Hey! Could you write a blurb about Leah being really stressed (maybe due to not playing in usual form & getting critiqued from fans) and reader surprises her after training with a pamper night? Like having a bath together etc

-

Leah looks like she’s been chewed up and spat out by the day. The second she steps through the door, you can tell training has been brutal—probably more mental than physical. She’s got that look in her eye, the one that says she’s been running drills in her head more than on the pitch. A defender with a bone to pick with herself is a dangerous thing, especially when the critics have been out in force.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “Rough day?”

Leah drops her bag with a thud, the sound reverberating through the hallway. She sighs, runs a hand through her hair, and mutters, “Something like that”

Her shoulders are so tense you half expect them to snap off and roll down the hall.

You follow her into the living room, watching as she slumps onto the sofa, her head tipped back like she’s trying to merge with the cushions. She doesn’t even have the energy to kick off her trainers. That’s when you know it’s bad.

“Alright,” you announce, clapping your hands together. “Stay there”

“What?” Leah lifts her head, suspicious.

“Stay. There,” you repeat, pointing a finger at her. “I’m sorting you out”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Sorting me out how?”

“Just trust me,” you call over your shoulder as you head for the bathroom.

It takes some time to set up the full operation, but you work quickly. Bath: running. Candles: lit. Bath bombs: selected with the precision of a Michelin-starred chef. You even sprinkle in some rose petals because why not? If you’re going to pamper her, you’re doing it properly.

When you return to the living room, Leah is sitting up, looking marginally less miserable. She eyes you warily. “What’s going on?”

“Come on,” you say, tugging her to her feet. “Bath time”

“Bath time?” She almost laughs, but it’s more out of incredulity than humour.

“Bath. Time,” you insist, dragging her towards the bathroom.

When she steps inside, her mouth falls open slightly. The steam rises around the edges of the tub, carrying the scent of lavender and vanilla. The candles cast a soft, flickering glow, and the water is tinted pink from the bath bomb. It’s borderline romantic, but you don’t care.

“You did all this?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“Obviously.” You nudge her towards the bath. “Get in”

She hesitates, looking at you like you’ve just handed her the cure for every bad day she’s ever had. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. And I’m getting in with you, so move over”

Leah laughs then, a small, genuine laugh that makes all your effort worth it. She starts stripping out of her training gear, her movements slower than usual. You follow suit, and soon you’re both sinking into the warm water, her back resting against your chest.

For a while, neither of you speak. The water laps gently against the sides of the tub, and the tension in Leah’s shoulders slowly starts to melt away. You run your fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, and she lets out a contented sigh.

“This is nice,” she murmurs after a while, her voice soft and drowsy.

“Yeah, well,” you tease, “someone’s got to look after you”

She tilts her head back to glance at you. “I don’t deserve you”

“True,” you reply, grinning.

She laughs again, the sound lighter this time. “Alright, don’t push it”

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. fuckin’ and arguing, fuckin’ again. after you said we not fuckin’ again, never say never, just say what it is.

07, CHAPTER SEVEN. WE COULD QUIT DELAYING.

ju speaks. rushed to get edit and post this for you guys before i go out tonight but hey, they’re even i guess… the love shown for this fic is UNMATCHED, i love you all. pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. sexual content… crash out p.

present day, june 2025.

paige: yo why you leave?

fr

you really just gon dip like that after everything i said to you?

read 11:12pm

i stare at the texts, the screen blurring for a second before i blink it back into focus. the strobe of my phone lights up the backseat of ana’s car, where i’m half-sprawled against the leather, her hand creeping up my thigh. my head’s foggy—not drunk, but just tipsy enough to feel audacious. ana’s lips skim along the side of my neck, hot and slow, and i don’t stop her, not at first.

i came straight to her job after i walked out of the game. i wasn’t gonna stay, pace the sidelines all night, pretend i wasn’t watching paige. pretend it didn’t eat me alive when i caught onto everything maya was telling me. showing me. so, i left. let paige have the last laugh (in her own eyes) while i drank my way through ana’s shift.

paige’s texts must mean she’s just now picking up her phone. took her long enough. probably had to say goodbye to maya first. the thought burns, and my fingers tighten around my phone.

“mm,” ana hums against my skin. it feels nice. “you’re so tense.” her fingers trace lazy circles against my inner thigh, lips grazing my jaw now.

i try to fall into it, but i scrunch my face up, pulling away slightly when my phone buzzes again.

paige: i know you saw ts

i do something? 11:14pm

bro answer the phone 11:17pm

i scoff, and ana’s lips pause. she pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyebrow raised. “that her?”

i nod, tucking my bottom lip between my teeth. “keep doing what you’re doing,” i breathe out. she smiles, all thirty two showing as she places a kiss to my lips before dropping to her knees.

paige: where are you? 11:21pm

i don’t think about why that’s her next question, i just stubbornly type back something vague.

nailea: i’m jusr out

paige: don’t play w me

out where?

who you with?

read 11:23pm

nailea: no one

read 11:24pm

i hear her tone through the screen—skeptical, irritated. i wait, expecting her to follow up with another question, but the screen stays stubbornly blank. no more bubbles, no texts.

i furrow my eyebrows, scrolling up the thread, reading her last messages again like i’m missing something. did she give up that fast? doubtful. paige doesn’t give up. she digs in. especially when it comes to me.

ana’s hands tug at the waistband of my shorts, and i lift my hips slightly, letting her pull them down. i yelp, smiling down at her when she pulls me closer to her mouth. my breath stutters as she kisses down low, everywhere but where i need her. she knows what she’s doing, and i almost let myself fully fall.

i almost let it go for the night.

almost.

and then i realize—paige’s last text, the one that asked who i was with—it didn’t feel like just a question. it felt like she knew something. she’s looking at my location.

i fumble with my phone, swiping through settings faster than i’ve ever moved before. the notification pops up immediately after i flick the toggle to off.

i’m probably only making her angrier. paige and i never stopped sharing our locations. not since high school when we weren’t even dating. no matter how bad the argument got, no matter how many times we called for a break up. i can’t find myself caring, though. i’ll match her anger.

you stopped sharing your location with paige at 11:28pm

paige: oh

😂😂😂

ight 11:28pm

imma ask you something 11:30pm

and istg nailea

she takes a moment to type, the text bubble going in and out, almost like she’s bracing herself for her own question. my head falls back against the seat, a shaky exhale escaping me as ana attaches her lips to my cunt, getting straight to work.

you with her?

i am. she knows i am. i don’t know why she’s asking.

nailea: why do you care?

paige: tf you mean why do i care?

are you with her?

somehow, the second ask makes me wanna be honest. the messier, the better. she deserves every ounce of what i throw back at her. my fingers hover over the keyboard, my head foggy from the drinks, from ana, from everything. i feel her pause for a second before her mouth returns to me, a measured dip of her tongue that drags the answer right out of me.

nailea: yuppp

she fucks me sioooo good p

could’ve been you tn

but i’m done

paige: no you’re not bro don’t say shit like that 11:34pm

call me so we can talk? 11:36pm

please baby

nailea: talk? like you talked w maya?

nahhhh i’m good

i know everything

you want her. go have her

paige: nai what the fuck did she tell you? 11:37pm

the part of me that knows better says to put the phone down, but the other part—the one paige always has a hold on—can’t resist. i need her to know what i know. i stare at the messages, my heart twisting in ways i wish it wouldn’t. the denial, the deflection—it’s textbook paige. she’ll never admit it. it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

paige: i told you how i felt

you KNOW how i feel about you???

you think i’d lie about that?

don’t let her mess us up

yes, i do. because you lie about fucking everything.

nailea: you tell maya you love her too?

btw her jeans? unzipped

i think i get the picture

a minute passed. two. three. i screw my eyes shut at the silent confirmation. she really did it, didn’t she?

paige: call me 11:41pm

my stomach drops, but i’m too far gone to care. ana’s hands grip me tighter, and i can’t tell if it’s to keep me grounded or to remind me that she’s the one here, not paige.

i drop the phone, letting it clatter to the seat, paige’s messages lighting up the screen like a flashing red light i refuse to acknowledge. ana’s name falls from my lips now, i let my hand fall into her curls, gripping her hair tighter, letting the anger burn out through her.

“there she is.”

i forget about everything else.

the beach looks perfect tonight, though i’m sure cam planned her and ben’s pre-wedding bonfire down to a tee. the weather, the crowd—everything’s falling into place. i’m happy for her. the fire crackles, sending out occasional pops, and people are lounging on blankets around it, standing, chatting in groups, soaking in the warmth as the sun dips below the horizon. it’s almost like a little piece of paradise.

i force myself to be in the moment, even though my mind keeps drifting back to the mess i’ve been trying to avoid for the past week, nearly two. paige. i’ve been dodging her calls and texts, shutting down every attempt she’s made to get me to talk.

i’ve been doing a fairly great job at it. dodging maya, too. but i spotted them near the pier, paige leaned against the railing, maya going off about something the blonde looks like she doesn’t wanna hear, and i’m right back in it. i furrow my eyebrows, as if squinting hard enough will help me lip-read whatever maya’s laying on her. but i can’t. and it’s infuriating.

oh, and ana? somewhere behind me, i think. i brought her here—like an idiot. i thought it’d help me focus, distract me from paige, but now i’m just starting to think it might’ve been a mistake.

“…you’ve outdone yourself. as usual,” rae says, and i snap my head back over to the conversation in front of me. i take a sip of my cocktail, the condensation dripping onto my fingers.

cam grins, brushing imaginary dust of her shoulders. “ben and i wanted something with everyone since the wedding will be a little smaller.”

i murmur my agreement as i take another drink, and i’m so lost in thought that i don’t notice rickea until she loops an arm through mine, dragging me away.

“hey, back,” i tease, waving away at rae and cam who didn’t seem to mind.

she leans in close, the smell of her coconut lotion wafting as she speaks just loud enough for me to hear. “you wanna tell me why ana is here?”

i shrug, and my eyes scan over the crowd until i finally spot ana by the cocktail bar. too far away. she’s been out of my sight for too long.

“damage control,” i reply, though the explanation feels like a flimsy excuse the second it leaves my lips.

rickea lets out a disbelieving laugh, tugging me a little farther from the group, out of earshot. “you mean paige control?”

the words hit harder than i expect, even in jest. my grip tightens around the glass, nails trying to dig into it. “she’s fine,” i say, but it sounds like i’m trying to convince myself of it.

kea tilts her head, eyes narrowing in that way she does when she’s reading you too closely. “sure she is,” she says, dragging the words out. her gaze shifts past me to the pier, where paige and maya’s conversation seems to have escalated. maya gestures wildly, while paige stands still, her jaw tight.

“it’s not my problem anymore,” i tell her flatly.

rickea stops in front of me, unliking our arms to cross her own, but the smirk stays. “mm-hmm. and ana being here has nothing to do with reminding paige of that, right?”

i nod. “right.”

the lie tastes bitter. because even if it’s true—if ana being here isn’t just about paige—it doesn’t feel that way. not when i feel the same sting of her actions that’s lingered all for nearly two weeks.

rickea studies me for a moment, her smirk morphing into something almost sympathetic, but she doesn’t press further.

“let’s just get you another drink. at the cocktail bar. where ana is.” she speaks in periods, and i shake my head, ultimately agreeing.

i let her pull me along, glancing back one more time at the pier where paige and maya stand like two actors in a scene i don’t want to watch. i catch a familiar set of blue hues already looking my way. ana’s name is still somewhere on my tongue, but it’s the wrong one, isn’t it?

the sun’s fully set now. most people are starting to head towards the house cam had reserved for the night for dinner and games she’d carefully curated. i can’t focus on the bonfire, on the mounds of people who would probably love to talk to me, or the stupidly perfect weather.

she’s over there, somewhere, and i can’t shake the feeling that she’s watching me, even though i know i’m not the one she’s looking at tonight. or at least not the only one.

not with ana here.

i push down the knot tightening in my chest and glance back toward the pier, where maya stormed off to just a few minutes ago. our conversation keeps replaying in my head, and every time it pops back up, it only makes me angrier.

“you’re not being honest with me,” maya had snapped, almost like she was sick of holding it in, and also like she was trying to keep it from carrying to anyone nearby.

“what the hell are you talking about?” i’d asked, leaning against the pier railing. i’d agreed to come over here to talk, and i’m starting to regret it. i didn’t want to be over here.

she gestured vaguely, her face flushed with every ounce of anger she carried. “you know exactly what i mean. you keep dancing around it like i’m stupid! like i don’t see what’s going on between you and nai.”

my stomach had dropped, but i didn’t let it show. “there’s nothing going on, bro.”

maya had then laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “right. that’s why you walked out on me at halftime to go looking for her, huh? that’s why she keeps giving you the cold shoulder every time you’re in the same room.”

she was grasping, but i couldn’t deny that she’d hit too close to home. “you’re imagining things,” i muttered, pushing off the railing, ready to end the conversation.

but then she’d stepped in front of me, her voice lowering. i looked down at her, quirking a brow. “no, i’m not. and you wanna know how i know?” she paused, waiting, and when i didn’t answer, she leaned in just enough to whisper, “i unzipped my pants on purpose.”

those words are still ringing in my ears.

nai walked out on me, angry and hurt, and nothing i’ve said since has convinced her otherwise. now i’m stuck here, catching hell for a mess i didn’t create. i wasn’t sure where it left maya and i, but it was wholeheartedly the last thing on my mind before i left.

i don’t even remember what i said after that—probably something defensive, because i didn’t want to believe it. maya had smirked, though, like she knew she’d hit her mark. “you can’t keep playing both sides, paige. someone was gonna call your bluff.”

i spot nai near the bonfire, rickea by her side. she’s wearing this long, heather grey skims dress that hugs her hips just right. she looks good. too good. she’s laughing, her head tilting back just a little, her hand brushing her hair out of her face, and for a second, it’s like none of it happened.

but i know her. i know the way her fingers curl just a little tighter around her drink when she’s tense, the way her laugh comes too quick, like she’s trying to convince herself she’s having fun. i know the way she’s avoiding looking at me. she’s pretending, and it pisses me off.

but then there’s ana. she’s standing by the cocktail bar, her long legs crossed casually as someone i don’t recognize talks her ear off. she’s everything nai probably thinks she needs right now, and i hate her for it.

ana doesn’t flinch when i slide into the space between her and.. whoever. she just glances at me, taking a slow sip from her drink before setting it down. her smile doesn’t falter, even as her eyes narrow, her stance shifting just enough to face me fully.

“well, if it isn’t the infamous ex,” she announces. somehow, the word ex makes everything remotely cordial i was gonna say fly out the window. “you always this bold, or is tonight special?”

i lean against the bar, letting the corner of my mouth tug into a smirk. “depends who’s askin’.” i glance down, then back up at her. “but you? you’re nothin’ special.”

she laughs, a cocky one, like i’m exactly where she wanted me. “you’re cute,” she says, tilting her head. “but you don’t scare me, paige.”

i furrow my eyebrows, but it doesn’t match the curve of my lips. “scare you?” i chuckle, letting the words roll off my tongue slow. “nah, i ain’t tryna scare you. just makin’ sure you know your place.”

her eyebrows raise. “and what place is that?”

“second,” i say easily, adding a shrug to the jab too. “always second. ‘cause you ain’t got her like i do.”

ana leans closer, her voice dropping to match mine. “you sure about that? ‘cause right now it looks like you don’t got her at all.”

alright.

the words hit where she wanted them to, but i don’t flinch. instead, i lean in just a little closer, my smirk widening. “you think you’ve got her? think she’s moved on?” i shake my head, glancing away from her, as if the ocean is more interesting than this conversation. “she’ll always come back to me, ana. you’re just a pit stop.”

ana doesn’t break eye contact, her smile tight now, but before she can respond, nai’s voice interrupts.

“ana.”

we both turn, and there she is, standing a few feet away, her jaw clenched, eyes not sure where to land, me or her. she ditched her drink, and i look to where rickea is, holding two glasses, and giving me a look like she knows what i’m stirring. i jerk my head up in her direction, as if to say, “what’s up?”

ana steps back immediately, her smile returning like it’s on autopilot. “right here, babe,” she says, moving toward her.

since when is she on babe status? was that another line to get under my skin? it worked.

nai doesn’t even look at me as she grabs ana’s arm, her fingers wrapping tight around her wrist. “let’s go.”

i can’t help myself. “what, no hello for me?” i call out, my voice etched with mock innocence.

nai freezes, her back stiffening before she slowly turns her head toward me. she looks like like she’s trying too hard not to give me anything. “you’re good at one thing, paige,” she says, her tone clipped, like she’s dismissing our talk as soon as it started.

i raise an eyebrow, my smirk deepening. “what’s that?”

“making a mess,” she spits, before yanking ana along without waiting for a response.

i watch them walk away up towards the beach house, and when i’m sure she won’t turn around, i turn towards the bar, stroking my chin.

“another, please.”

the beach feels different at night, quieter in a way that makes everything louder in my head. the waves roll in and out, and the moon is bright enough for me to see out. it should be peaceful, but it’s not.

everyone’s still inside, but after i told cam what happened, she offered me two blankets and a bottle of tequila to clear my head, and i, for one, wouldn’t turn it down. i can hear everyone’s laughter, the music. i couldn’t stay there any longer, let paige stare like she still had access to me.

i dig my fingers into the sand, cool and grainy against my skin, trying to ground myself. it doesn’t work. my thoughts are too loud, too messy, tumbling over each other in a tangle i can’t unravel.

i hear the soft crunch of footsteps on the sand. a pause. then her voice.

“nai?”

i don’t turn around right away, because i already know it’s her. paige. she sounds hesitant, like she’s not sure if i’ll even let her talk. maybe she’s hoping i’ll stay quiet instead.

“what are you doing out here?” she asks, a little too casually.

i finally glance over my shoulder, meeting her eyes for the first time since i stopped her antics by the bar. she’s standing there, a few feet away, her hands shoved in the pockets of her blue jeans, shoulders hunched like she’s trying to make herself smaller. i almost feel sorry for her. almost.

when i don’t respond, she asks another question. “where’s ana?” she takes a seat next to me, and the blanket’s large enough for the two of us. almost like it’s fate again. she wants to know. she’s still jealous, and i can feel the weight of that jealousy in the way she says it. the way she looks at me. like she’s waiting for me to tell her something she doesn’t want to hear.

“she left,” i say, not bothering to explain further. i don’t owe her that. ana has work in the morning, and i wasn’t gonna keep her here any longer as my rebound toy. not while i was already feeling bad about it.

paige exhales, and i hear the relief and frustration in it before she bites down on her lip. she looks down at the ground for a second, like she’s working up the courage to say what’s really on her mind. “look, about earlier… i’m sorry. shouldn’t’ve been bickering with your girl like that.”

i finally turn to look at her. “she’s not my girl.” her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile, and it sets something off in me. “that all you’ve gotta apologize for?”

she shifts, close enough that her knee brushes against mine. “that’s not what happened with maya.”

“don’t,” i say, shaking my head as i look away. “don’t sit here and lie to my face.”

“i’m not lyin’, nai,” she defends, leaning forward, trying to catch my eye. she’s almost pleading for me to believe her. “you think i’d do that to you? again?”

“uh? you want me to tell the truth?” i spit, and those seven words shut her right up. “i know. i saw it. her pants were unzipped. she was smiling at me like she got what she wanted. what the fuck am i supposed to believe?”

“me!” paige runs a hand down her face. “me… for once.”

silence. the kind i hate.

“you’re never gonna trust me, are you?”

“no,” i mutter under my breath, closing my eyes for a second, like that might stop the storm brewing inside me. but it doesn’t. it makes it worse. i hate how she’s still able to pull at me like this, how she knows exactly how to get under my skin, how she knows how to feel like home in a way no one else does.

but most importantly, i hate that she can do all these things, make me feel all these things, and still not be a better person for me.

she flinches like i’ve struck her, but she doesn’t back down. “you think you can trust her? ana? you don’t even know her.”

i scoff. “and you wanna argue with me about trust?” i snap, turning to face her fully now. it takes a lot of effort to not yell.

she shakes her head, exhaling slowly. “i don’t wanna argue at all, ma. just wanna have you.”

“just wanna have you.”

the words leave my mouth before i can stop them, and i hate how badly i need her to believe me. it shouldn’t have had to be like this. i don’t want to say it, but i know it’s true. everything else can wait. it’s her. it’s always been her. i just need her to hear me, to feel me—because she hasn’t let me show her anything in too long.

nai looks at me, her eyes softening just enough, and i can see the battle inside her—she’s pissed, but she’s still here. when her lips meet mine, it’s like everything i’ve been holding back for the last week and a half explodes. i sink into her, tasting the tequila in her kiss. everything about this feels wrong, but it feels right too. she’s still here, still letting me touch her.

she pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes narrowed but warm. vulnerable. it’s a look i know all too well, one i never wanted to see again, but somehow, i’m grateful for it. i hate how much i’ve hurt her, how much i’ve fucked this up, but i’ll be damned if i let her walk away without trying.

“what can i do to make you believe me?” i ask, my voice cracking just a little. there’s desperation there, but there’s also hope—hope i shouldn’t have, but i can’t help it.

“explain,” she whispers, barely audible, her lips still swollen from our kiss.

i don’t even have to think about it. the words spill out like i’d been waiting for the change. “maya knows. she’s… she tried something out, tested you to see if it was true. she knew i was lying to her about us. i didn’t—i didn’t want that to happen. not like that.”

her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to read through me, and it makes me want to break. shit, she’s so close. her body is almost against mine, and the urge to touch her is too much to ignore. before i can stop myself, my lips are trailing down her neck, tasting the skin there, trying to get closer, to make her feel how much i need her to understand.

“i didn’t touch her,” i mutter against her skin, my hands finding their way under her dress, fingertips grazing her hips. “i swear, nai. you’re it. you’re all i want.”

the words are coming faster now, and everything about her—her scent, the way her skin feels beneath my fingers, the way her breath hitches as i kiss lower—it’s too much. i don’t know if i’m trying to make her believe me or if i’m just trying to keep her here, to keep her from leaving me again.

i look up at her, my lips just inches from her own, and i can see the hesitation, the fight still in her eyes, but it’s softer now. she’s softening, letting me in.

“i shouldn’t have made you doubt that,” i whisper, my breath hot against her ear as i lean in closer. i can feel her body trembling under my touch, and it drives me wild. fuck, i’m so close to losing it.

and then i’m kissing her again, this time deeper, more messy. i don’t have time for any more words. all i need is this. her. me and her.

before i know it, she’s guiding me down, her hands threading through my hair as she pulls me closer. she doesn’t say anything more, but i don’t need her to. i can feel it—the way her body moves against mine, the way she breathes my name like it’s the only thing that matters.

and then i’m all the way down in front of her, looking up into her eyes, feeling her breath catch. she’s so fucking beautiful. i don’t care about anything else. just the way she looks at me, like i’m everything she needs, like i’m the only thing that matters.

“fuck,” i murmur, my hands moving up her thighs as i hike her dress up over her hips. i hear her let out a soft gasp as my lips drag over her stomach, leaving kisses in its wake. my fingers hook into the band of her panties, and i look back up at her for confirmation that this is okay.

she’s lost in it, finding my eyes once i stop. i give her a smirk, and she rolls her eyes. “yes, paige.”

“tell me you want it.”

“so badly,” she retorts.

i move more of the grey fabric out of the way before i drop my head again. she spreads her legs further, just enough for me to dip my tongue in between her folds, and sure enough, she’s wet already.

i wrap both of my hands around her thighs, veins poking through from the grip as i pull her closer to my mouth. i suck a little harder, lapping up her juices and pushing it right back in.

she arches her back, indicating i’m doing something right. “feel good?” i mumble, and she meets my eyes, nodding rapidly. i chuckle against her, teeth grazing her cunt, and she jolts.

“shit, paige. don’t do that,” she scolds.

“why not?” i stick my tongue out again, swiping it through her folds slowly before sucking her clit into my mouth. her head falls back, jaw open to let out some whiny, pornographic moan, like she’d been holding it in.

“gonna make me c—ha—ome quicker.”

when i slide a finger in, she tenses up a little, body rising to the sky, not expecting the stretch. “relax, i got you,” i chastised her, diving back in to mouth at her clit. her moans are like music i never wanna turn off, and i’m enjoying myself way too much to think i couldn’t do this for the rest of my damn life.

“paige,” she gasps, biting down on her lip in attempt to refrain from being too loud. i don’t want that. i wanna hear her. my name falls from her lips in a breathless moan, and i groan.

“say my name again,” i purr, finger curling inside her like it’ll drag it right out. “i love hearing it, baby.”

“mm, paigeeeee.” she drags it out purposefully. it makes me smile.

she quickly grinds against my face, hand in my hair pushing me in further. deeper. i place my free hand on her stomach, pushing her dress up as it travels higher, right over one of her tits. she wasn’t wearing a bra.

i groan against her again, continuing my assault on her clit. “you taste so good, nai. so fuckin’ good.” i feel her dripping from my mouth, out her hole, and i know she’s closer to the edge, closer to soaking this blanket up.

she brings her hand up to her chest, embracing her own with mine, adding just enough pressure in the way she likes. “just like that,” she breathed. i added another finger that slid in with no problem, making her yelp out, tightening her grip on my scalp.

“so close, p. just like that,” she repeats.

with one quick curl and movement, i can tell the tension she feels building up in her stomach. i remove my hand from her breast, using it to keep her legs open as she lets go. she repeats my name over and over again. it sounds like sin on tongue.

i stare at her in awe as she finishes on my fingers. they catch most of it, and i dip my head down to taste that too as she falls back completely, chest heaving, dress disheveled.

i give her a moment before i move back up. she stays there, out of breath, not moving once. i place a wet kiss to her lips, and she winces at the sensation, pushing my head away.

“gross!”

i laugh, and my chest warms at her smile, even through the dark. “you were right, you know,” i finally say, leaning to sit up on my elbow, like i didn’t just wreck this girl.

she rolls her eyes. “i always am. about what, though?”

“‘bout me being good at making a mess.”

[cutehoons02]

Still hate me? Always

*pairing: Sunghoon F1 Red Bull Driver x Social Media Manager

*trope: Enemies to lovers

Speed or Love series

*tags: small problems of anger (sunghoon is fighting to win his first world championship F1), jealousy, attraction, humor, mocking, smut, some words will be written in Italian with obviously the translation in English, mention of an accident not for Sunghoon but for another driver, the story is set in the second part of the F1 season, i tried to write in a simple way some terms of F1 even for those who were not a fan of F1

* synopsis: Sunghoon doesn’t want any distractions especially in the season when he is fighting to win his first world championship with Red Bull but must deal with the hatred and attraction that he feels for the team’s social media manager

If you like i would write a second part with the final season and the continuing story between Sunghoon and Y/n

* word count: 6k (Tell me if you like this kind of stories:)

—REBLOG if you enjoyed

© cutehoons02 all rights reserved 2024.

(English is not my native language)

Park Sunghoon was not called "Ice Prince" by chance but because he was the most cynical, the most calculating, out of 20 pilots more than half were afraid to have a duel with him and when they found it behind the most made him overtake too easily according to many former pilots, had very few "friends" both inside and outside the paddock and hated all those superficial people who were part of that world from the countless influencers both male and female who were invited to do "advertising", he only thought to can win and demolish records on record, he didn’t care what people thought about him because few had the privilege of knowing him for what he was; only his other fellow track riders Jake, Jay, Heeseung and also the three youngest ones from the Sunoo circuit, Jungwon and Niki were his "friends" but with the first three he had spent countless hours of training and fights between karts since a young age and all four were landed in the world of F1. Everyone wanted to try to get to know Sunghoon, especially the girls, they had never been scandals, and his friends especially Jake how much fun because he knew that Hoon had a private life besides the competitions but they had never gone out of him with other women and this thing made the countless girls even more curious they tried to throw themselves at his feet because each of them wanted to melt Sunghoon’s heart but until now none had succeeded.

The only dramas or scandals that Hoon wanted to hear were those of him on the track beating people with more than 5 world titles with his car and maybe a little too much arrogance. However, it was also necessary if already at the middle of the season he had won almost half of the races and had many duels and also a few accidents, fortunately, they had never been serious but the team until the end of the summer holidays had made the jumps to get them back a perfect car and with expenses of the dizzying potter to fight for the world championship. The summer holidays were over and all teams found themselves in the circuit of Monza the "Temple of Speed" at the beginning of September, Sunghoon was in the company of his engineer reading various telemetries of the track that he now knew by heart but was scrupulous in reading the data that no one could disturb him, heard knocking at the door and thought it was his Team Principal. However, when he smelled the scent of cherries and vanilla he rolled his eyes and puffed, he didn’t even look at the door because only one person had that scent and was the team’s Social Media Manager as well as his worst nightmare when he wasn’t on track on race weekends.

"Buongiorno, i don't want to disturb but we are already late for the recording of content for Teen Vogue F1 and this week will follow the famous and the nicest pilot of the grid, as well as "Ice Prince" so i need her loving presence down in the fan zone in maximum 2 minutes" Hoon’s engineer laughed and watched Sunghoon give a snarky look to Y/n. "How many times did i tell you not to enter my Y/n box?, i don’t need a babysitter i already have the PR that checks me and tells those of Teen Vogue F1 that i’m no longer a "teen" and that i have more important things to do than record stupid videos, i have a world championship to win and you disappear from my view" You rolled your eyes slightly and counted to 10 to calm down, you worked for Red Bull for a year and a half and for your misfortune you joined working as Social Media Manager when Sunghoon arrived from AlphaTauri to Red Bull. "First of all this box is not yours, second get your ass up because if you don’t come i tell half the world that you’re a dick not only with the drivers but also with the people who are next to you and who do somersaults to see you happy in this team so don’t make me lose patience because not only i will receive words from your staff but also you and fire that PR who does not even know to be on this world, know more than i of your engagements that that individual" Sunghoon stood up unwillingly and began to stretch out and saw the various well-defined mountnoles of his muscles come out from the slightly too narrow pole of the team like every boy in his 20s had the classic Calvin Klein underwear and looked at you with a grin. "Don’t you know all my schedules because you like me and want to have control over me? It’s no secret that i'm attractive Y/n, and i would not change my PR for anything in the world, especially with someone like you who talks all the time; i need people who talk just enough to let me know or make me understand things."

You slammed the door shut and started walking towards the fan zone, you knew that Hoon was following you like a dog because he hated with all his heart to waste time filming videos or stupid challenges but he knew that in addition to the life of the pilot had to interact as much as possible with fans otherwise the whole brand and image he created could be put to the test with all those contents that did other drivers especially those more extrovert than him. Lots of fans from children to elderly people applauded him and to his annoyance, many guys also looked at Y/ n and some whistled and made compliments, Y/ n was used to receiving "compliments" but also comments of hatred for the fault that she was so in touch with Hoon but every time he cared because there was absolutely nothing between her and that human being with a heart of ice.

"Welcome to Monza at the temple of speed in the first place we find Heeseung with Ferrari, second place in the fight for the world title Park Sunghoon, third place Jay, and always in the second row with his Mclaren Jake. An incredible race is expected in that of Monza, the air temperature is almost 30 degrees and that of the track more than 55 degrees, all will make more than two stops and in less than two minutes will start the training lap and at 15 Italian exact will start the 72nd GP in the circuit of Monza" The F1 commentator spoke aloud and all the engineers were in the various walls, all the mechanics were waiting madly for the race start and all the other members of the team were standing 'a thousand screens that framed both the various machines, the car of Sunghoon, The one he saw in front of him on the track and Hoon’s face with his helmet still half open to let air in. Sunghoon started the training lap and Heeseung pushed too fast for his taste so he found himself waiting forever for the other cars when you will turn off the traffic lights as much as to pass Heeseung but had to be calm because it was called the temple of speed that circuit for a reason and under its seat had the most powerful car of the season, so for the first 5 laps he studied the various trajectories of Heeseung and at 6 laps in the straight he started to put them on the pressure but it seemed that every time he tried to approach with the DRS he could not get close to the right one to overtake him and so his tires began to To get too hot. "Sunghoon you are doing great but try to breathe the tires for a couple of laps and then try to overcome it, do not make any shit that even if you come second or third you have a margin of success to win the world championship".

"Copy", he didn’t want to be a jerk so he didn’t mind his engineer because he knew what he had to do so he cooled the tires for a couple of laps, He was looking forward to overcoming but also to duel with him because he did not want to admit it but it was almost at his level and he would enjoy dueling with him because he was always clean and accurate in every move, he had never lost the DRS from Heeseung and on the end of the straight he started to pass it but after a few seconds he did not see Heeseung’s car in the Alboreto curve and immediately saw "Red Flag" in the display and his blood froze. " Marco, how is he? Well? I swear that i did not even touch his car i didn’t throw him out, i swear i think he lost track. Jay was behind me and surely saw the accident better" Sunghoon had slightly trembling hands and heard his engineer call him.

"Box Box, you do not have any information yet but from the pictures, we see that you accompany him slightly out and after he loses control but it’s not your fault Hoon, he has lost control you haven’t touched it at all"

"Marco doesn’t give a shit, is he okay or not? Has he at least managed to move or come out of the car?

“Park the car in the pit line at first place Sunghoon, from the pictures it seems that he does not move and does not respond to the radio" Sunghoon punched his fists in the steering wheel and brought his car into the pitlane, he immediately got out of his car and ran into the wall Ferrari and Hee’s engineer looked at him angrily and signaled to him to leave, felt his hands become slightly cold and legs seemed not to hold them anymore, felt a warm hand intertwine his hand and eyes looked at him with concern and without even realizing it Y/ n took him inside his box and gave him a glass of water.

"God among all the people who had to see me in this state you are Y/n, happy to see me so distressed and with emotions, what is the PR that is in you has been quick to come to my rescue even though i did not need it!" You knew that Hoon was not thinking normally after seeing one of his closest friends crash and many thought it was his fault.

"Stop being a jerk even in these conditions Hoon, you’re not yourself at the moment and meanwhile the race will not start before half an hour is better that you are here and not out there to hear about you or the various sirens of the ambulance. Tell me whom you want to call i know you can’t stand my presence" You came to the door but a strong hand squeezed your wrist and Sunghoon looked at you with tears in his eyes "Don’t go and call anyone, Stay here and try those social media to figure out what happened to Heeseung and if he’s okay".

You were still in your phone and there was no news yet and this made you more and more worried about the conditions for Hee, but you felt the door open and Marco came in with a smile "Heeseung has answered the radio and at this moment they are taking him out with the car with the necessary precautions, from what we have heard he has some broken ribs will have to stay in hospital and surely will skip the three European races, in 25 minutes the race starts again i leave you alone but soon you come back down" Marco immediately left the small room and left Hoon kneeling on the ground with his hands on his head and with Y/ n that caressed gently his back, Hoon had not lost any important one in his life and at that moment he felt so powerless and hated the feeling of calm that gave him Y/n with only slight caresses.

"Right now there is no Ice Prince but only Hoon, i need a hug, could you give it or you’ll shrug me if i’m half sweaty?" a little laugh came out of your lips and you helped him to stand up and the 10 centimeters more he had were seen to dismeasure, felt Hoon’s big arms in your hips and the long fringe of black tufts tickled your neck, You hated how safe you felt with him because you had always hated him but at this time as he said it was only Hoon.

Sunghoon had won the race in Monza and dedicated it to Hesseung, he had visited three times before he left for the Dutch GP, he did not like that track at all but to win a world championship had to maximize as many points as possible because in Spa would change the engine of his car and would start not before the eleventh position. After the incident with Hesseung all especially the younger guys on the grid were shocked by that event and asked all teams to be more careful with gold, especially during interviews or various content they had to post because Hesseung one of his closest friends could seriously lose his life if there were not all the precautions in the car and the emergency response of the rescuers. Sunghoon looked from the roof of his box at the beach in the distance and saw below him Y/n laughing and joking with Jake’s Pr, Hoon knew that Jake had a soft spot for the Spanish girl and made her crazy by canvassing them with various celebrities or escapades during the race weekends, he was the opposite of the Australian boy and thought that if he didn’t have a head he could never fight for a world championship. The laughter of Y/n made him feel very strong and a sense of calm invaded him, this thing for him was not at all well, since he hugged her in Monza, he kept watching her to check what she was doing and was extremely annoyed when she paid attention to Sunoo his teammate or when she smiled or talked with other drivers; He chased away these feelings and went down to put on his suit, balaclava and helmet before going into the car and listening to his engineer for potter do pole position. He was extremely pissed because he had been out of pole for two races and he was extremely annoyed because his lap was extremely perfect for him instead Jay with the face of a movie star looked at him with a grin as he took his little wheel, did his post-qualifying interview and a fake smile took hold of his face while they were taking the picture for F1, he didn’t want to see and hear anyone so spend hours looking at his data, those of Sunoo and also those of Jay because he was the one who had to beat, So without realizing it slept in his box and the morning after a scent of waffles and caramel invaded the mini room that he had in his camper.

He opened his eyes and saw Y/n with waffles and coffee in his hand "Hi, i know that when you are not pole you always sleep in your camper so i thought to bring food, i’m not coming to make videos or content just woke up also because you’re not a nice show" a little moan came out of the mouth of Hoon "We all know that it’s not true Y/n, i’m one of the most beautiful drivers indeed if it were not for the fact that Jay is American and he has all those sponsors inherent to his image would be me in the first place and not second place. Who permitted you to come in here? you know that it is strictly forbidden to sneak into the motorhomes of the drivers if someone discovers us they might think we have an affair and i have no need for drama among crazy fans especially with you who are not at all my type" Hoon needed no sponsors inherent to his image because he already had a face card absurd but you would never say "Your PR told me to come to see how you were doing because he’s afraid that you might throw a helmet on their head after forcing you to go to that mini dinner with the Boss of beta yesterday, quiet nobody saw me and you’re not even my type, they’re right to put Jay first is much nicer than you and also much sexier and..." you didn’t finish the sentence that strong arms put over Hoon’s muscular legs and big hands went under your sweatshirt and Hoon’s cold hands made you feel shivers as he stroked the lower part of your back, a grin formed on his face "Did someone cut your tongue Y/n? Why don’t you go on with what you were saying" watch Hoon eat a small piece of waffle and caramel stopped right under his lower lip and immediately look away, in what mess you found yourself? You had come here only to see how he was because he had become even colder from Hee’s accident with everyone and now you were over his legs with his length pressed between your legs and he with his hair unkempt looking at you with slightly fleshy lips. So? You think Jay is nicer, sexier than me and other Y/n?".

"I think it’s even kinder" You felt his lips give you small kisses on the neck and after a few seconds without noticing came out a little groan when you felt his canines pinching slightly your lobe and sucking slightly that part of your neck, You put your arms behind his head and began to caress the thick black hair he had and every second that passed you felt its length becoming thicker and thicker below you; when he finished torturing your neck you had the short breath and you looked at his face dotted with small moles that seemed to be put to make him pronounce more nose or sharp jaw.

"Surely he will be nicer than me but not the one who makes you moan at 8 am Y/n, maybe it’s better that you go because soon my staff will arrive" you saw the cold Sunghoon come back and you walked away from him with your cheeks slightly flushed and carried the zipper of the sweatshirt as high as possible "Well i think i moaned your name but i’m the one who made you get that hardness at 8 a.m. and do not tell me that it is something that happens to all men before waking up because when i entered there was not so big Park Sunghoon, buona giornata!"

What was your mess? You had never touched Sunghoon in your life and in not even two weeks you had made him relax and even felt his meaty lips on your neck, you would run in the motorhome of Red Bull and prepare to go to Sunoo to make videos with the other young driver Niki.

The race had started for 30 laps and Sunghoon was complaining from the beginning of the race of problems with the engine, no one had heard him in Monza wanted to take penalties and change engines on that track, and m aybe without him behind the Ferrari, Hesseung would not have had that accident.

"Sunghoon we have to withdraw the car, the power of the engine is insufficient and there is also a small mechanical problem" Hoon gave light punches at the wheel and seriously wanted to forget everything that had happened to Monza, he did not care to win, He didn’t care about all the emotions that he had felt in those 10 days, he just wanted to get back the decent car he had before the summer break. " What the fuck i told you, we had to change everything in Monza but it seems that it’s only me who thinks of my world drivers and not you engineers and my fucking team" Hoon’s PR would have wanted to kill him, and the social media department too because he had said it via radio and everyone could hear it. "Hoon calm down, we are all thinking of your world fight now back to the boxes", "Copy", when Hoon skies from the car not even taking off his helmet and don't look anyone in the face and heads for the roof of the box Red Bull and called Heeseung to hear how he was.

From the roof of the box he saw Sunoo finish third, was very happy for him because he was in his first year in Red Bull and surely had better in many respects but he had a lot of speed and was also very good in defense, Sunoo loved to learn from Sunghoon and this made him feel proud of himself, he went under the podium and stood next to the engineer of Sunoo and felt his arms hold him in a brotherly embrace "to be in his first year is bringing home many points both for him but also for the world constructors, we certainly will not win it but we will win that driver with you this year Hoonie" a small smile formed in Hoon’s lips for the nickname he had given him and began to clap his hands when he saw Sunoo climb up the third place step, a few centimeters in front of him there was Y/n who was filming everything with his phone and had such a pure and sincere smile towards Sunoo that he was extremely annoyed because when he won he did not smile like this or give him so much attention? Champagne splashes made a lot of people run away from under the podium but Y/n and Sunghoon were enchanted to see Sunoo so happy and carefree while he was spraying champagne in turn to Jay and Jake.

"Missed seeing so happy Sunoo for a long time, he deserves a lot this podium and all the interactions that he will have with fans thanks to your videos" you sunflower to see behind you Hoon looks with a little smile Sunoo on the podium "I’m having a mirage or seriously for the first time in his life Park Sunghoon ran to see his rival but also teammate celebrate a podium even though they pulled your car" Sunoo was painting the scene at how unnoticed under the podium, Sunghoon was smiling at him and nodding a little, which he did in turn. " I know i’m an asshole but the whole team, especially Sunoo deserved to see me celebrate for him because he did a good race"

"You know that this will only help you a little bit to calm down after the radio team you made against your team live in the world?" Hoon saw you start to move away from him to go to Sunoo so he followed you "Well i’ll take my responsibilities but meanwhile, i have an excellent team around me of PR and also the department of Social Media/Content Creator is not so bad, so you will help me to come out of it."

"You know the world out there is not like this one Sunghoon, before you talk and be such a jerk to people who have given up everything for you since you were barely able to wipe your ass, think about it a little before you start talking shit on a world level because if you’re going to be in the middle of it, but we are the ones who have to clean up your face and ok you have this aura that brings you forward to being "the Ice Prince" but you should just be more human with people and have a little bit more respect for those around you because i know that under that ice prince facade, there is a guy who would give the world to see his dearest friends as you did today with Sunoo happy and who knows maybe even to love someone else than yourself."

The race in Belgium had gone pretty well, he started thirteenth and had maximized as many points as possible by finishing third but some drivers including Jay and Jake were getting closer to him in the standings and this thing was not good for him, it had been more than two weeks since they had raced in Belgium and now they were in Asia in their continent in Singapore, loved Singapore, loved that circuit, also loved sweating so much to win that race and make a perfect qualification in the city circuit, loved to race in his Asian continent and also loved the warmth that fans had for him, the Asians were crazy when they found out that not only one but 4 drivers came from Korea and one from Japan, already in the airport you could not walk by the huge amount of fans and so he found himself with his great surprise to be happy to make content with some fans, some fans had won the paddock pass and also the meeting of a driver of their choice and Hoon had accepted to be less cold and maybe a little more loving.

"What happened to your favorite pilot Y/n? I see it to the more relaxed and less cold a little bit with everyone from Belgium on" watch Sunoo open your mouth to look at the various interactions that were doing Sunghoon with fans and you were also particularly surprised. " Maybe in these two weeks' break you have relaxed and will surely have taken words from your team principal so you will be adapted to the new rules imposed by the team, and will always remain Ice Prince of the situation," Sunoo said "Maybe in these two weeks he met some influencer or billionaire in Montecarlo and he relaxed in his bedroom or the pool at sea or as you say he took words from the team" Which influencer he met in Monte Carlo? You knew he had a lot of girls who were after him but they never came out defying them at the same time you thought that he was not a saint and that he had a life outside the slopes and surely would have I don’t know how many chicks coming out of his apartment, a slight color flooded your cheeks and a sense of anger mixed with jealousy filled you all. " Uh, our Ice Prince got engaged to someone? How is this Influencer? Don’t tell me either Sunoo will be a viper like him who just thinks about himself and money" Sunoo looked at you slightly intrigued by his statement but there was no Influencer or girl in the life of Sunghoon "How come you’re so curious? Don’t tell me you’re slightly jealous of what he does outside of F1 and that you would like to be the one who wakes up with the view of the Côte d'Azur as soon as you open your eyes or that Sunghoon takes you into his pool to do dirty things!" You were slightly shocked by Sunoo’s statements, he was the cutest and most loving of the group. "Oh my god, even in my worst nightmares i would not be Sunghoon’s girlfriend, i’d get sick of thinking of his lips on mine i don’t dare to imagine doing other things together" God but what did you get yourself into? You had seriously thought about the little bite he gave you and his big hands behind your back for those weeks after the Dutch Grand Prix, Sunoo put a hand on his mouth when he saw behind you Sunghoon with a grin and felt a small breath in your ear and rolled your eyes because you knew there was Sunghoon behind you.

"Sappiamo tutti e due che ti era piaciuto stare sopra le mie gambe e sentire le mie labbra sul tuo collo, non essere bugiarda, sei italiane dovresti sapere la storia di Pinocchio, no? Più bugie dici più il naso si allunga e mi dispaicerebbe vedere quel piccolo nasino allungarsi solamente perchè non vuoi ammettere che sei attratta da me!"

("We both know you liked to stand on my legs and feel my lips on your neck, don’t be a liar, you’re Italian you should know the story of Pinocchio, right? The more lies you say, the longer your nose gets and i’d be upset to see that little nose grow only because you don’t want to admit that you’re attracted to me!")

You watched the two Red Bull drivers, Sunoo didn’t understand anything that Sunghoon told you in Italian and Hoon was slightly amused by the situation. "Let’s go Sunoo it’s up to you to go to the fans and make social content with them" you took Sunoo by the hand and you walked away from Sunghoon, god how much you hated him.

The air in Singapore was unbreathable because of the too hot and damp that made you sweat and stick any clothes on, The drivers before this race also trained in saunas at high temperatures to get used to the heat they had to feel during the weekend, inside the box there was air conditioning but it was still hot, Every girl in the team wore a skirt and a light polo shirt of course with the Red Bull brand and various sponsors but also with extremely summer things they sweated inside the boxes.

Qualifying started well 12 minutes ago and Sunghoon had passed Q1 in first place (each qualification is divided into three small programs: Q1 eliminates the top 5 drivers from 20th position until 15th, Q2 eliminates another 5 drivers and Q3 each of the 10 remaining drivers on track must make the fastest lap to win the Pole position and the first five rows of start).

"Sunghoon we left you the already used tires, do you think you can make a good time with these or do you want the new tires? From the data we see also with these you could be saved only with a perfect lap and no mistakes so tomorrow you would have a couple of new tires, if you make a lap like the one you did in Q1 it will not need you to restart"

Sunghoon already had his hair slightly sweaty and stuck to his forehead because of the humidity that was outside, especially for the high temperatures in the cabin "I think i can make a perfect lap, while i rescind me don’t talk to me please that i would save a set of tires for tomorrow night’s race"

"Copy".

Sunghoon had already to make time from Pole so as not to have to relaunch, the track would certainly have improved but if he had the most powerful car with the fastest driver then all the adrenaline that he had in his body come out, and ended with a mega time, He returned to the pits and gave him some iced vitamins to cool off and some ice steam flooded the cabin for those few minutes that he had to stay in the boxes before pottering and doing Pole.

The Pole for Sunghoon was extremely easy, in second place there was Jay and in third place Jungwon, he was looking forward to taking off his suit and throwing himself in the pool full of cold water and ice that each driver took with him in the hottest and suffocating Gp like the one in Singapore or Qatar. "Nice ride, Hoon, you want to come to the private pool i have in my camper with Jungwon and Jake?" Hoon wanted to be with his friends but if he went with them not before midnight would be back in the room so he refused and went with his trainer to the small pool to relax.

"Fuck every year is worse, with this temperature, I will seriously freeze my dick and balls, why did you lower the temperature? I’m 22 years old not 40, my physique is still able to not feel these temperatures!" The athletic trainer laughed and splashed Sunghoon’s face with cold water "Stop complaining, you know i do it for your good if it is slightly colder than last year nothing happens and it will increase the tension you have for tomorrow night’s race"

"To relieve the tension i would choose other things sincerely, not the frozen water unless i do not know how many degrees" Sunghoon was bored completely for a few seconds and moaned for the too cold temperature that had come in contact with his face.

"I let you relax for a while meanwhile soon, your PR or some content creator to make a half-naked tik tok to make views to the channel", Sunghoon rolled his eyes and got bored a couple more times until he leaned on the small impenetrable pillow and closed his eyes while he heard the music of the festival for fans from the other side of the circuit.

He had relaxed for twenty minutes and by now the body from the collarbones down had accustomed to the icy temperature of the pool until he heard small ice-cold splashes come into his face he raised his thick eyebrows before opening his eyes and lightning with a look at the person who had disturbed him.

"Snow prince i need 5 minutes after you can return to your natural habitat, we have to make a tik tok for your profile and also for your YouTube channel" Hoon rolled his eyes at the sight of Y/n with a phone in hand and in the other a camera of last generation, She was seriously beautiful even with a half-combed tail because of the too hot it was outside, had a skirt that for his standards was too short and the polo shirt wrapped his body and highlighted his breasts.

When did she find it beautiful? was a classic girl with nothing special but felt her body tremble when the girl in front of him did not pay attention or did not even throw him an appreciation look with his muscles in highlight instead he was writing something to the phone.

"Why don’t you go to Sunoo and make him do some content or i’m the most beautiful driver of the team all the whole grid and so to make views you need my face card and my half-naked body in the pool?" Y/n looked up and looked at Hoon with his locks of hair attached to his forehead and the image of his chest reflected in the water thanks to the soft lights behind the camper.

"Before coming to you i did the same content with Sunoo, don’t think that you are the center of attention because even Sunoo is full of fans and maybe they are even truer than yours who follow you only for your beauty and not for your talent"

"Hell, i thought i was the asshole of the situation not the other way around, Y/n"

"I’m just saying what i see Sunghoon, however first we do a tik tok, you go into the water and when I dip your hand in the tub you get out of it and make some funny expression for the video, i will not dive so much the camera will only take a small piece of your body and after your face" Hoon watched you while you set the music and professional light to make the tik tok, it had done well at first sight and while you were showing it to him Hoon took your wrist to approach the phone and felt how cold the water was, it was too cold for the temperature and humidity that was outside and a shiver permeated your whole body.

"If you are hot, immerse your hands for a few seconds and put them in your face Y/n, meanwhile the makeup that you had disappeared for hours because of the humidity."

"I can’t get my hands wet if I have to use the camera for more than a thousand dollars, I will endure the heat a little longer and then I’ll go to the hotel to take a good shower." You started to walk away from Hoon but he still squeezed your wrist slightly and made you sit in the small side not yet wet of his little tub panel "let me refresh your face and hair with my hands" felt his hands too cold for your taste lightly caress your face and moved small locks of hair behind your ear, You looked at his face a few millimeters from his and admired the small moles that had in his face and swallows because of the heat you were feeling.

"I think you’re hot now not because of the temperature but because of me Y/n, I see your slightly red cheeks and the shivers you’re feeling, and don’t tell me it’s because of the cold water because it’s a fuck" You hated how he made you feel, You hated everything about him from his lost physique, to the smile he gave to very few people and you also hated your body at that moment "Stop Sunghoon"

"Stop doing that Y/n thing, if you kissed me now tomorrow would you still hate me?"

"Always"

A little smile formed in Sunghoon’s lips and you felt Hoon’s lips delicatament give you a small kiss and then open his lips to kiss you more fiercely until you felt his tongue in your mouth and a little moaning came out simultaneously from your lips, You placed your hands on his shoulders and bowed slightly more to have more access in his lips, After a few seconds you detached your lips from his and began to kiss the corners of his mouth until you felt it rise slightly from the Sunghoon tub and was perfectly aligned in front of you, This time you stooped down and started leaving him some light kisses under his sharp jaw to the collarbones, he tasted good and that thing made you go crazy, how could he know well if before entering the pool was all sweaty but you did not think so much until you felt a big hand holding your lower back and the other caressing your legs, at that moment you maldisti the high temperatures of Singapore because Hoon only realized by caressing your legs uncovered by the skirt that you were crazy to feel his touch.

"Fuck y/n i hate you so much"

"Same goes for you, Park Sunghoon."

omg i hope you like it, the comments are appreciated because it’s the first time I write such a long story

taglist: @arclviie @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @jaylajakey @bamguetismee @misssparklyprincess s @stormy1408 @jakeswifez @d4-b1 @steadytacowitch @jakeswifez @stormy1408 @strxwbloody @drinkwateryouperson @haerinheartss @firstclassjaylee

[pomefioredove]

Hello! I hope you feel better soon :) remember to drink lots of water!!

Could I request a one-shot with Idia, where reader brings him a meal they cooked themselves since he hasn't had much to eat in the past few days? (Sorry if this is too vague I've just been having thoughts of taking care of Idia)

no this is perfect! <3 actually just what I needed to write rn

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ you have that effect on him

type of post: fic characters: idia additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, food, mentions of eating and not eating, depression👍, actually cute, reader is not there much sorry,,,

One breath in. One breath out.

Idia has been counting the snicks and scorches on the ceiling all weekend.

They're mostly his. Haywire robots and Ortho mishaps, which he always takes the blame for. One dark smudge is from his shoe, when there was a bug on the ceiling and his brother was out of the room.

Each like a star in his own sky, memories of the days he could get out of bed.

This is not one of them.

Nor was yesterday. Or the day before that.

Just one of those weeks.

One breath in, one breath out. Idia feels painfully aware of the rise and fall of his chest.

He'd sent Ortho on some pointless sidequest for the day. He needed to be alone- well, not really. He just didn't want his brother to worry about him.

He gives up sleep, and lies on his side instead, opening his phone to doomscroll again. The harsh blue light makes his eyes water in the dark of his room.

It feels like he's been locked in an unskippable cutscene all week.

What would you think of him if you could see him now?

He doesn't want to picture it. Idia feels pathetic enough as a cringey, awkward, social reject, even if you like him that way.

There's no going up. When he hits rock bottom, he starts digging.

Knock.

Idia cringes at the sound. He was hoping to be asleep before Ortho came back.

Knock, knock.

"Come in,"

But he doesn't. Idia finally looks up, at the door. Ortho will give the compulsory three knocks, then wait for a verbal command, and then come in. He was programmed that way. He usually talks, too.

But, nothing.

Not Ortho, then.

Idia cozies himself back up in bed, dressing himself in blankets as if they were... well, a shroud.

Another hour goes by. At nine PM sharp, Ortho's melodious knocks, his happy chiming, and the light from the hall follow.

"Find that thing?" Idia asks. He can't even remember what he asked Ortho to get.

"Yep! And guess what! You have a present!"

Psh. Wut? Idia looks up from his phone.

Ortho hovers to the edge of the bed and hands Idia something lukewarm, in a covered glass dish.

"Whatsit?"

His brother giggles. "Can't you guess? You don't even need a scanner for it!"

Idia can't help but crack a smile at that, and he slowly sits up. He peels off the lid of the dish. It's soup.

"Did you make this?" he asks, inspecting the lukewarm dish.

Ortho gives a negative chime. "It was by your door when I returned. Would you like me to heat it up for you?"

"Uh..." Idia hums. "...Yeah. That'd be good."

Within a few minutes, it's back in his lap, hot again. Idia cautiously takes a bite. It's rich, filling, and good, clearly homemade. Not some cheap junk out of a can. One spoonful is more filling than any of the garbage he'd eaten in the past week.

"Your hormonal levels and body language indicate that it's satisfactory. Do you know who left it?" Ortho asks.

Idia shrugs. "Someone came by earlier, but I didn't get the door. Who'd leave me a home cooked meal, anyway?"

He eats some more. It's hard not to enjoy himself, if only a little.

"Well..." Ortho says. "...I may have mentioned to the Prefect that you've been unwell."

Idia almost does a spit-take. "WHAT?! WHA- WH?! This is- th-"

"Calm, Idy! I just said you weren't feeling well! They must have thought you were sick!"

He almost collapses on his bed. His hands are shaking. How humiliating. And he already looked lame enough as it was.

One breath in, one breath out.

"They came all the way out here..." he mutters, stirring the soup around the dish.

"They must really care about you, Idy!"

Idia's face goes bright red. "Don't say it like that..." he mumbles.

But he'd be lying if he wasn't secretly hoping that was true. The thought of you having made something like this just because he felt bad... well... it's a nice one.

You care.

Idia makes a mental note to send you a DM later. As thanks. And to ask if you have any soup left. It's pretty good...

Maybe the promise of you coming over will motivate him to get out of bed.

You have that effect on him.

[monstersflashlight]

can you do a pt 2 of the hole in the wall with a tentacle monster? i’d think i’d pass out if that was me

A/N: Hi there! First of: thank you for your compliments :) Tried to mix all these requests together because all of them had tentacles in common, don’t know if I did a good job, but I hope this satisfies y’all, it was fun to write. Enjoy!

Good monster

Tentacle-monster x fem!reader || dom/sub (femdom), overstimulation, tentacles, double penetration (in the same hole), praise kink (light)

When the tentacle monster gave you your voice back to meet the prince, you were more than happy to get out of there fast. You didn’t think twice about why he did it, or why he would look so sad when you ran away from his cave. But you did it anyway.

And regretted it.

The prince was not only awful, but life at the palace was hell. You wanted to go back as soon as you two spoke twice, but you promised you’d be there for a while, you promised you’d make it work if you got your voice back. But the tentacle monster knew better than you did, he knew so much better. So when he showed up at the castle and eradicated every single one of the stupid royals who made your life living hell, you could only be grateful.

He took you back to his cave, and you stared at him for a long while before you were able to form words. “Are you going to take my voice away?” You asked him. You would gladly give it back if it meant not going back to those awful royals.

He sighed, as if your word pained him, his tentacles moving around his body. It was mesmerizing. “No, little human, it’s all yours to enjoy. A gift if you may.” He said and urged you to leave.

You didn’t fight him, but you regretted that, too. You regretted the pain in his eyes and the way he stared at you even when you were far away. You regretted so many things about him, but when you decided to go back and talk to him, he was gone. You didn’t see him again for a loooooong time.

And time passed. And you missed him in a way that made no sense but all the sense at the same time. He was like an old wound that hurt every time the weather changed. And you didn’t know anything else about him to find him, you made peace with that.

Until you were hired for a new human-monster experiment. (And maybe you only wanted to be fucked by a bunch of monsters until you couldn’t walk straight, that sounded like a great evening in your books.)

You were supposed to be fit into a hole, your lower half exposed to the air and ready to be fucked by as many monsters as they came. But that wasn’t what happened.

You were tied to the hole and completely naked when you heard the soft rustle of tentacles against the floor, your whole body trembling in anticipation as you heard someone behind you. Tentacles were one of your biggest fantasies, images of him flashing behind your eyes, anticipation and desperation mixing inside of you. You parted your legs a bit further, trying to look as enticing as possible to the monster behind you.

But they didn’t touch you. And after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a couple minutes, you asked: “Is something wrong?” You looked back, trying to peek through the hole but unable to do so.

“I- I don’t… I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed in a short breath. He sounded nervous and something inside of you stirred.

“What do you mean?” You questioned, your hand already pressing the button that unlocked your restrains.

“I’ve never fucked a human,” he let out, almost embarrassed.

You struggled out of the hole and turned around, you knew it was against the rules but you didn’t care. The monster was clearly having a hard time and you weren’t heartless. But when you were finally out and turned around your heart skipped a beat and you let out a gasp.

“You!” You both said in unison, looking at each other with utter surprise. “How? What? How”

Your stupor was short lived when a mechanical voice sounded over your heads: “Experiment over, move to the individual rooms.” You followed after him, grabbing a robe that was hanging next to the door. Your brain was swimming with a thousand possibilities.

“What happens now?” You asked to the researcher waiting outside the door.

“We detected abnormalities in your compatibility results, you need to be isolated and studied together. Follow me.” They lead you through the corridors until they open a door at the end of a hallway.

Your tentacle monster enters before you. “What are we supposed to do here?” He asked the researcher once you were in a cozy room that looked like an expensive hotel more than a lab.

“You fuck. We watch. Enjoy.” And they left, leaving both of you there, staring at each other with confused expressions.

“So… Do you want to…” He started, looking at you intently.

“YES,” you answered a little too fast and a little too loudly. He looks a bit dejected by your enthusiasm, and then you remember what he said earlier, at the glory hole. “Do you want me to take charge?” You questioned, all serious.

You wanted to be the one being fucked into oblivion and used like a fleshlight, but if your tentacle monster wants to be dominated you can totally do that. There’s more than enough time in the future for you two to play in other positions. In as many positions as your human body allows, actually.

“On the bed. Now.” You walked alongside him, and once he was looking at you pleadingly, you took pity on him and straddled his waist, his tentacles curling around your legs and middle. “Do all your tentacles feel the same?” He nodded. “Words,” you asked.

“Ye- yes,” he stuttered. You were rolling your hips slowly, spreading your juices over the tentacles trapped under you

“Yes, mistress,” you told him, falling back into your dom mode. He looked at you confused. “You have to say yes, mistress,” you explained.

“Yes, mistress,” he repeated.

“Good monster.” He blushed darker as you praised him, making you giggle as you caressed his chiseled chest. “Okay, so I’m going to tell you what we are going to do: I’m going to grind against the suckers of your tentacles and you are going to stay really still until I come once. Then, if you have been good, I’ll let you fuck me. You like that?”

“Yes, mistress.”

You ground against his suckers just as he said, your pussy was already so wet it made obscene sounds against his slippery skin. But looking down at him, seeing how flushed he looked and how his eyes were rolling back into his head, you knew you weren’t the only one having fun. He was enjoying you playing with him, and the slippery texture he was oozing was making everything more intense. You could see his muscles bulging as he tried to remain as still as possible, his hands going up to grab your hips and stopping just in time, pressing them against the bed and squeezing.

You smiled down at him. “You like that, monster? You like the feel of my pussy against your tentacles?” He nodded vehemently, making you chuckle. “You are a dirty, dirty monster, aren’t you? You say you didn’t fuck a human before but here you are, acting like a slutty monster for me.” He whined. “They all think you are so powerful, but right now you don’t look like it. You look almost pathetic with your groans and whines, but, so, so pretty.” And it was true, he looked great all flushed and frustrated, the noises he was making were driving you insane.

The orgasm caught you out off guard, too focused on him to notice it sneaking up on you. You fell apart over him, your head thrown back and your back arching as you convulsed. It was a good orgasm, but your body craved more. You reached under you and grabbed one of his tentacles with enough strength to make him whine again, chuckling at him as you guided it to your dripping pussy.

“Now fuck me like you mean it,” you instructed.

He looked at you confused for a couple seconds before his hands were darting up and grabbing onto your hips. He moved your body and his tentacles around you, touching and caressing all parts of your skin possible, fucking in and out of your wet pussy. It was almost too much, he was everywhere and the suckers were latched to every sensitive part of your body. Your brain was turning fuzzy with pleasure.

This time you felt your orgasm arriving, and you had enough time to order: “Come for me. Now.” And he complied.

He fell apart under you, and you didn’t give him any peace, your own orgasm going and going over him as you rode him to oversensitivity. He was crying out your name and you were desperate for more.

You grabbed another tentacle and pressed it against your already stretched pussy. You pushed it alongside the one already in, the stretch so big you could barely keep yourself from screaming. But you made it, the second tentacle curling around the first, creating the most amazing textured dick you’ve ever fucked. You rolled your hips slowly until his second tentacle was fully inside of you, until he was a whimpery mess of oversensitivity under you.

You leaned down, your chest pressing against his as you fucked yourself on his tentacles. “Be a good monster and give me one more orgasm,” you whisper against his ear.

“I- I don’t know if I can, mistress,” he whimpered, his tentacles twitching inside of you as you bite your lip to hold back a moan.

“Now,” you ordered. And he complied like the good monster he was, screaming your name until his voice sounded rough.

At the end of the day, he gave you your voice back for the wrong reasons, but you took his away for the good ones. And this time neither of you regretted it.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty eight

authors note: the infamous "discussion" has arrived.....

cw/tw: angst, graphic scenes depicting pregnancy complications

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

***gif courtesy of the lovely @dejameflorecer ***

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 10k

There are a couple different ways Solana played out the moment she would tell Roman about her pregnancy. Several cute ideas she entertained to break the news him. A cake that was half pink, half blue. Taking drugstore pregnancy tests and presenting them to him. She even considered coming up with a drawing of some sort. Regardless, with all of her ideas, there was a major theme of happiness.

And special.

She wanted it to be special. 

However, there’s absolutely nothing special about how this has played out. Nothing happy about it. 

She feels awful.

Because not only has he found out about her pregnancy in the most inconvenient way, he's found the letter too.

It couldn't have gone any worse than this.

Sniffling, Solana struggles with just how to respond to his question. “Roman, I—” 

He lifts the papers, asking in a steel voice, “where did you get this?”

Silence.

For some reason, speaking is a difficult, tricky task that has her trembling and stammering. “I—” Pause. “I—” Another pause. “She—” Another pause followed by her shutting down altogether, eyes closing. 

“Solana.” Hate. She hates the way he’s saying her name right now, the almost distaste present in his voice and painted on his face. “I asked you a question.”

And, he deserves an answer. He deserves a lot of answers right now. Taking a deep breath, she manages to pull it together just enough to finally answer him. “Fetu…..she…..she gave it to me.”

“When?”

Eyes closing once more, Solana responds in that same, small voice, “when you took me to meet her…..”

It’s an answer, the truth, but it’s not anything that seems to chunk away at his anger. “You’ve had this that long?” Closing the door behind her, she finds herself moving towards him. “You kept this from me—”

She sniffles, stopping in the middle of the room. “Roman, please—I—I can explain.”

“Explain? What the fuck is there to explain, Solana?” He snaps, and she finds herself jumping as he throws the papers onto the floor. “You had no right to keep this from me!”

“I was worried about you, okay!” She cries, trying to find her own voice and way to explain her thought process. “You were in such a bad place, Roman. I didn’t know if—if it would make things worse!”

His eyes widen ever so slightly. “How the fuck could a letter from my aunt who I just lost and didn’t get to say goodbye to make things worse?”

“Because I didn’t know what was in it!” She matches his tone and volume, unwilling to just let him explode on her without her even having a chance to explain. “Because Fetu gave it to me. Not you. She gave it to me and asked me to give it to you when I felt the time was right.”

“Yeah, because your judgment is so fucking good.”

Another pause. Hurt. She’s hurt by his cruelty in this moment. “That’s not fair.” Because it isn’t. Because she understands his emotions, but the way he’s expressing himself, the hurtful things that he’s saying are uncalled for. “That’s not fair at all, Roman. And you know it.” She shakes her head and gestures to herself. “I did what I did out of love and concern.”

“And this?” Solana stills as he reaches for the sonogram, holding it up between them. “Was keeping this from me out of love and concern?” Her eyes shut once more, emotion building, tears brewing. “I’m going to ask you this one time and one time only.” It’s just a second of a delay, but it feels like an eternity. “Are you pregnant?”

Excited. Nervous. Relieved. Happy.

These are just a several of the emotions Solana expected to feel in the moment and space where she shared this life changing news with her husband. There was even a part of her that anticipated him having not much of a reaction, because she knows feelings are hard for Roman. Knows that him learning to love and be okay with loving her took some time. Thus, him needing time to process this news was also a potential outcome. So, yes, she didn’t have this fantasy of this being the perfect moment.

But, this……this moment is the last thing she expected.

The last thing she ever wanted. 

Eyes closed, heart breaking, Solana answers, “yes.” Her chest feels tight, her stomach in all kind of knots. “I’m—I’m ten weeks.”

Silence

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t necessarily have to because the moment Solana reopens her eyes and sees him, that’s all she needs to see.

He looks gutted.

It must be a good minute or two before he asks in a low voice. “How long?” Her lack of an immediate response prompts him to ask again. “How long have you known, Solana?”

God, she feels miserable. Fingers grasping with the material of her dress, she stammers, “I–I started to suspect a couple weeks—”

“Weeks?” Again, another wide eyed, floored expression. “You’ve known about this for weeks and you didn’t say anything?”

“I—I went to Dr. Michaels and asked for a pregnancy test, because I didn’t—I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.” She adds on, almost desperately, “because I know how hard it must have been for you justifying and defending me not being pregnant yet.” Sniffling, her mind goes back to that night that was the perfect, heartbreaking combination of joy and devastation. “But, the same night I got the results back was the same night I got the call about Fetu, and it just—it was all just so much.” Because it was and still is. Solana’s voice cracks as she shares, “it felt wrong to tell you we've created life when you just lost it, Roman.”

The shattered expression on her husband’s face, however, is unchanging as he asks, “you told my doctor before you told me?” For all her efforts to be completely honest and forthcoming with him in this moment, it seems like every response she gives only digs the hole deeper. “Who else have you told?”

“Nobody!” She answers, desperate for him to know that despite how bad this situation is, this isn’t something that she’s been spreading and sharing freely. “I told your doctor, and he gave me the referral to the OB. And……and I had to tell Dr. Stratus—”

Roman stands up from the bed, his back toward her as he paces in a focused area of the room. “All these fucking people…..”

Solana hugs herself tighter, a slight attempt to self-soothe as she can feel her anxiety increasing by the second. “It’s only been the medical professionals, Roman. I haven’t said anything to Bayley, to Naomi. I just—I wanted to tell you first!”

“But, you didn’t, Solana.” He snaps, piercing gaze on her. “You kept me in the dark!” It’s taking everything in her to not break down in front of him, to not let the weight of the situation overwhelm her, because again, his emotions are valid. But his communication, so harsh, is crushing. “You kept the letter from me, you kept your pregnancy from me, what the fuck else have you been keeping from me!”

“Nothing!” She shouts back, her feelings shifting yet again from hurt to angry. Frustrated. Solana feels so damn frustrated. They can talk, they can argue, but she cannot handle this accusatory tone he’s taken. “You get to be angry with me. You have a right to be angry with me. But, you don’t have the right to yell at me and act like I did what I did out of spite. I was worried sick about you and didn’t know what else to do, okay?”

And that, along with everything else she’s said thus far is the God’s honest truth. She didn’t know what the hell to do, so she did her best and what felt the best option in the moment. 

Clearly…..very clearly, she was wrong.

“Ro…..” Solana continues, pleading almost, “you were in such a bad place, I felt like I had no other options.”

His eyes tell all the story. “And what do you think this puts me in, huh?” He looks just as frustrated as he speaks more to himself than her. “I started…..started to suspect that you were, but I pushed it away, because I knew—I thought you would tell me.” Another look of disdain and disgust. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

There’s something about his words, about all of the words and statements and accusations that causes Solana to lose the already grip she had on her emotions. It’s not really until this second that she allows herself to freely express how she feels versus focusing on helping him understand. 

“Do you think I liked keeping this from you?” A whispered, rhetorical thing weighed down by weeks of pent up emotions and hidden struggles. “Do you think I liked hiding the fact that while you’re working out or handling business or sleeping, I’m hunched over a toilet puking my brains out because I’ve had terrible morning sickness? Or the fact that I had less than an hour to be happy about my pregnancy because right after I found out Fetu was dying? That I liked being alone at our babies’ first appointment?” At this point, she’s no longer focused on him, on his reaction, because this is her space to now to speak freely and openly about all the things she’s been experiencing the past few weeks. “I’ve hated every second of this, Roman! The lying, the secrets, all of it! It’s not me, and you know it, but I did it because I was looking out for you! Because I was trying to do what’s best for you, because I fucking love you! Sometimes more than I love myself!” She throws her hands up, tears flowing freely. “And you want to talk about keeping things from people?” Anger is imbued in her voice as she demands. “Roman, how many things have you kept from me? Huh? How many times have you lied to me?”

His voice is slightly calmer and quieter than it’s been the entire conversation. “That’s different, and you know it.”

“No, it’s not!” Scoffing, Solana is no longer interested in trying to explain her reasons when it’s obvious he’s not interested in listening to her. “You keep things from me all the time because you think you’re protecting me, like—like I can’t handle it!”

“Because you can’t, Solana!”

“That’s not for you to decide!” It never was. “Don’t you realize that the more you hide from me, the more I worry? Like your blood pressure. Roman, I asked you about that, and you lied to my face. You lied to me.”

A slight pause. “How the hell do you know about that?”

“Why does that matter?” Her eyes widen at the fact that that is the question he decided to ask versus focusing on the issue at hand. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

He runs his hand through his hair that’s down and hanging as he shouts, “I didn’t want you to worry!” His voice is slightly lowered as he adds, “I had it handled.”

“No, you didn’t, and that was the problem!” Her volume increases as she covers her face with her hands, feeling so overwhelmed by all of this. “You try to handle everything on your own, and you can’t and that’s okay, because you’re just a human being, Roman. But, what’s not okay is to keep lying to me. Yes, I kept these things from you, but I’ve been honest about everything else. You have a pattern of lying and not telling me things not just because you don’t want to worry me, you do it because you don’t trust me!”

“That’s not—”

“Why don’t I know where my own medicine is, huh?” Because the minute they returned home from Fetu’s place, the medicine, her medicine, that she’d been administering to herself the whole week they were gone was now nowhere to be found. Only for it, her exact morning dosages, to be ready and waiting on her nightstand the next day. “Why have I never been able to drive myself to my own therapy appointments? Why did my husband’s doctor have to tell me the truth about your blood pressure before you did?”

He closes his eyes, fingers pressed to his temple, “Solana, stop.”

“Just admit it!” She can’t be quiet, even if she wanted to, because it’s all just too much. It’s all come to this very moment where everything is laid out on the table. Where all of the feelings, both pregnancy and life fueled, cause her cup to spill over. “You don’t trust me, Roman, and you can say it’s because of the pregnancy and Fetu’s letter, but we both know the truth. What it really is.”

And, it’s the flash in his eyes, something a mixture of something she can’t identify but understands that is her confirmation. “Just—just say it!” She’s a crying, shouting mess, a perfect correspondence to the weight of the tension that fills the room right now. “Say—”

“Fine! You want me to say it, I’ll fucking say it!” He finally breaks, voicing the words he’s clearly been suppressing for months. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you tried to kill yourself! When you tried to leave me!”

Silence.

It’s that piece. That one piece that’s needed to complete the puzzle, to finalize the picture, to fill in the blank. But, it’s a completion that crushes her. The fact that he’s finally acknowledged it, the pain in his voice, the hurt on his face. 

Nodding to herself, Solana is finding it even harder to put words together that accurately describe what she’s feeling in this moment. “It always—” Her voice cracks, crumbling under the tonnage of devastation. “It always goes back to that, doesn’t it?” He says nothing nor is he looking at her, his gaze instead focused on the ground. “It doesn't….it doesn’t matter what I do, the work I’ve put in, how many times I’ve apol—” She slaps her hand over her mouth, holding back a sob. A deep, heavy breath followed by a heartbreaking question. “Roman…..what kind of marriage can we have if you don’t trust me?”

To be fair, she’s not sure what kind of response she was wanting from him. What would have been comforting or even helpful for her to hear. But, that’s irrelevant and immaterial. 

It’s irrelevant and immaterial because he doesn’t say anything.

And that….that has to be the most heartbreaking thing to come out of all of this.

Wordlessly, Solana turns away to walk out the room, silently hoping—praying—he calls after her, that he moves quick enough to gently grab and turn her around. That he so tenderly cups her face and kisses her forehead, telling her that they can figure this out, that they can work through this. 

But, none of that happens. 

He says and does nothing. 

Just lets her walk out.

————

Years.

It’s been years since Roman has felt this overwhelmed. Since he’s felt so out of control. 

Since he’s felt lost.

And it’s the first time in a long time he’s not been able to go to his aunt for advice.

Fingers gripping the steering wheel, he easily switches from one lane to another, speeding past the fucking Honda in front of him that doesn’t seem to understand what a fast lane is.

It’s a silly, minimal thing to be irritated over, but he’s him, and he’d gladly welcome anything other than what he’s feeling right now. 

To push away the sight of Solana’s devastated expression when he finally admitted his not trusting her. 

A surprise to himself, in some ways.

He’s always thought his refusing to allow her access to medication, not letting her drive herself to therapy and other acts were done out of love. Came from a place of protection and rightful due diligence. And all of that can be true along with the fact that, again, in some ways, he doesn’t trust her.

Doesn’t trust that she won’t try to hurt herself again.

That she won’t try to leave him again. 

Arriving at his destination, a lookoff about twenty minutes from the house, a secluded place that allows for a safe sorting of all his thoughts and feelings. Roman puts the car in park and hits the lights before shutting off the engine. 

Eyes closed, head back against the headrest, only one word comes to his mind: fuck. 

The past two weeks have been some of the hardest of his life, and the fact that losing the person he’d normally confide in about how fucked up he feels just makes things infinitely harder.

He hates every single part of this.

Hates how hard he came at Solana, how she kept these things from him, how he has been keeping things from her.

It’s all just so messy and complicated. Some of it of his doing, some of it of hers.

But, what he’s realizing he hates even more is not knowing everything that she’s been dealing with while pregnant. 

She was pregnant when he hit her.

She was pregnant when he left her to go to Italy, even after she begged him to stay and work things out.

She was pregnant when he destroyed Fetu’s house in his state of grief and rage, a mess she had to clean up.

She’s been pregnant and apparently sick from said pregnancy while comforting and taking care of him.

It’s all been on her, and she hasn’t said a word because she’s been trying to protect him.

Yet despite all that, he’s still hurt. Hurt that he wasn’t the first person she told about them expecting. And logically, it makes no sense. He knows his wife. Knows why she made the decision she made, even with the letter.

Fetu giving it to her, leaving it up to her to decide when to give it to him, makes all the sense in the world.

Especially given the content in said letter.

But, it still fucking hurts.

Hurts that she’s been going through all of this alone. Because he’s only ever wanted to help and support her, and in a time where she’s probably needed it more than ever, he’s been MIA.

Too lost in his own feelings and grief to pay attention to what was happening before his very eyes. 

And then brings on the guilt. The guilt of not supporting her the way she’s been supporting him, of not trusting her the way that she trusts him.

That’s something else he can’t not think about and focus on.

Trust.

Up until this point, he thought he’d “moved past” her suicide attempt. Thought whatever feelings that still lingered there were inconsequential. Though that is clearly not the case.

He still very much has not fully processed it, and it’s been prevalent in all the ways Solana pointed out.

He does hide her medication from her, hides all the pills in the house, and he doesn’t allow her to take herself to her own therapy and psychiatrist appointments. And to some extent, administering her pills came less from a place of what he was told by Stratus and more from a place of his comfort.

The same way counting her pills does.

And all of that very much does come from a place of trust. A lack of trust. 

A lack of trusting her to not try to take her life again.

To not leave him. 

Because that’s what it boils down to. His fear not just of losing her, but of her leaving him.

The same way his family did.

But, in a cruel twist of fate and potentially irony, as he sits in the car instead of being at the house with his wife trying to actually talk through these things, Roman realizes he does the same thing.

He leaves.

He left he when he was trying to figure out whether to tell her about Xavier being behind her rape and her mother’s murder.

He left when he accidentally hit her and couldn’t stand to be around her, to be reminded of the pain he’d inflicted on her even when she tried her damn hardest to help him not feel so guilty.

He tried to leave, in a sense, when he kept pushing her away in her attempts to help him process Fetu’s death.

And he’s left just now when the very thing he should have done is stayed.

Sure, in one of those examples, he left to receive clarity. To pick his aunt’s brain over what he should do, but in the rest, he left because he was avoiding things.

The same way he’s avoiding things now. 

And it doesn’t work. 

It never has, and it never will.

Beyond that, it’s messing with his marriage, forming cracks that will continue to grow until it all comes down, shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Roman can’t have that.

He won’t.

Because as fucked up and confused as he feels right now, it won’t get better by sitting in this fucking car. 

This can only be fixed by talking with and to the one person he keeps walking away from.

His wife.

Roman doesn’t hesitate to start the car back up and get right back on the route that took him to where he ran away to in the first place. The drive back to the house consists of him mentally going over what he wants to say, how he wants to say and what he wants to tackle.

And at the top of all that is an apology. 

She deserves that and so much more.

But, the minute he steps into the house, the plan is shelved. Tossed to the back of the line, because he’s barely in the doorway when Dulce is moving her little self down the steps, whimpering along the way. 

Roman frowns. “What’s wrong?”

She reaches the floor and runs up to him, hitting his legs, barking at him followed by more whimpering. And when she turns around to return up the steps, looking back at him as if to make sure she’s following him, he knows.

Knows that something is wrong. 

“Solana.”

And just like that, Roman is following this little dog who is clearly hellbent on guiding him somewhere.

Or to someone. 

On the second floor, Dulce is panting as she runs down the hall to the master bedroom, Roman right behind her as she rushes into the room and makes a right for the master bathroom where she stops. 

Roman is standing in the doorway of the bathroom when he freezes, partially incapable of processing the scene before him.

“No….”

Solana is on her knees on the bathroom floor, hunched over, dressed in only her bra and underwear. She’s trembling, one hand on her stomach, the other hand planted on the natural stone flooring. Flooring that has bright red liquid glistening off of it, liquid that’s dripping down her inner thighs, a large splotch of red covering the crotch of her underwear. 

She’s bleeding.

Dulce sits besides her, whimpering and attempting to lick her arm. 

It’s only when the shock of the visuals wear off that he becomes tuned to the fact that she’s crying and hyperventilating, stammering, “I can’t—I can’t lose them.”

Them

The babies. 

Roman takes a few steps back into the room to shout out the open door, “get the car ready!” He grabs a random jacket out of his closet and moves back over to the bathroom.

Placing the jacket to the side, he’s on the floor, by her side, “Solana—”

Gasping, she shakes her head, looking at him with puffy, teary eyes. She's a mess. “I’m—I’m s–sorry. I—” 

“Shhhh,” he comforts her, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be alright, okay?” 

She’s crying even harder as he moves to stand her up, but she’s shaking her head, clearly not thinking straight, as she seemingly protests. “I—I can’t—please—” She cries out in pain again, almost falling over, but he’s quick and has her in his arms. Solana’s head is against his shoulder as she grasps at his arm. Roman is uncaring of the blood on her palm that’s now on him. 

It’s not important.

What’s important is getting her help.

And fast.

“Solana, listen to me, I’ve gotta get you to the hospital, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she cries into him, Roman suddenly having the hardest fucking time holding it together in a moment where he absolutely has to be the sound one here. “I’m sorry.”

Roman kisses her temple. “You’re gonna be fine.” One arm supporting her, the other reaches for the jacket to place it around her. Once she’s covered up well enough, he’s gentle and careful in the way he helps her stand only to quickly pick her up bridal style. 

“Stay,” he directs the command to Dulce who lays on the bathroom floor with her ears down, still whimpering. 

He’s carrying her out the room and down the steps to the SUV that’s already waiting for them. Bautista opens the back door, concern in his brown eyes as Roman instructs, “get in touch with the Bloodline OB. Have her meet us at the hospital.”’

There’s questions Roman didn’t get the chance to ask, questions such as the name of the doctor that Solana saw, but given that he does know she went to and received the referral from Michaels, there’s no doubt in his mind he sent her to the Bloodline’s OB.

He just hopes the woman can get there in time.

Roman doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything except his wife who clings to him, silently crying into his chest, continuing to murmur apologies and sayings in Spanish. 

A prayer, it sounds like.

And for the first time in a long time, he closes his eyes and mentally does the same.

————

Solana is taken back immediately, largely because Roman demands as such, and one only needs an order barked at them once from the Tribal Chief to know he means business. 

“Mrs. Reigns, can you tell us what’s going on?” Someone asks as he carefully lays Solana down on the medical bed, and the question instantly has him scowling.

“Isn’t it fucking obvious?” He snaps, cognizant of how Solana instantly reaches for his hand, holding it tightly. 

“I’m—I’m cramping bad and—and bleeding,” she answers through her tears, Roman unaware why hearing her state as such hits him so hard. It’s not like he can’t see what’s going on, but there’s just something significantly worse about her actually saying it.

It makes it that much more real.

“When did this start?” Another nurse or maybe doctor, shit should he know, asks as they start rolling her back. 

“Half–half an hour ago. I was going to take a shower when I first felt the cramps and then I saw that—that I was a bleeding—” She starts hyperventilating again, asking through infrequent breaths, “am I—am I having a miscarriage?”

Of all the things said and heard tonight, that…..that has to be the hardest of them all.

Roman doesn’t…..he can’t allow himself to imagine that could be what’s occurring, even if….if that’s what the signs point to.

An older nurse is the one to speak up, “let’s not go there just yet, okay, honey? Bleeding and cramping during a pregnancy doesn’t always mean a worst case scenario.”

The words are objectively reassuring but do little to abate the anxiety he’s masterfully hiding for a variety of reasons with the main one being he needs to maintain his composure for his wife’s sake.

Finally in the room, Roman watches closely as they work to change her into a hospital gown, hook her to an IV, and take her blood pressure, one of the nurses calling out, “140 over 90” followed by the older one advising, “Mrs. Reigns, your blood pressure is considered high for a pregnant woman. I know you’re scared and upset, but I need you to take some deep breaths for me, alright?”

And then someone has the fucking audacity to say to Roman, “would you like to wait for her in—”

Roman is briefly considering murder, on the verge of a vicious, verbal assault when Solana is the one to protest. Shaking her head, she squeezes his hand even tighter. “No! I need him!” Terrified gaze falling on him, she begs, “please—please don’t leave me.”

Moving his free hand to her forehead, he vows, “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He’s partially relieved to see her relieved by this. Roman lifts his now hardened gaze to the staff, “where the fuck is her doctor?”

Because he’s almost certain, if the doctor who Solana saw earlier that day was present, his wife would have had a reaction of some sort. Or, at least the doctor would have addressed her differently.

And none of that has happened, so Roman is livid.

A brave—or stupid—nurse speaks up, “Dr. Sharmell is coming. She was in the middle of a del—”

“Do you think I give a fuck about that?” His voice is filled with disgust that matches the disdain written all over his face. “I want her here now.”

Another nervous clearing of a voice. “Sir, there is another OB on staff, Dr. Miz, but your wife’s chart says no men on her care team, unless—”

“No,” Roman shoots that down instantly. 

To be fair, if this was any other type of medical emergency, Roman might agree, might work to help Solana understand this is a necessity. And it’s not that they’re not currently in the midst of a medical emergency, because they clearly are. But, he knows his wife. She’s already freaking out, her blood pressure raised which is exacerbating the situation, and having a man evaluate her in that manner is only bound to make things significantly worse.

“Solana.”

A new voice enters the conversation, a middle aged black woman walking in, the group almost naturally clearing a path as she walks over to the bed. “It’s Dr. Sharmell.”

And the reaction Roman was anticipating finally occurs, Solana turning to her and crying again. “Something’s wrong with the babies.”

It’s this, this heartbreaking statement that confirms what Roman thought he saw in her sonogram photo but wasn’t entirely sure. What he heard Solana say just earlier.

Two.

There’s two babies.

She’s pregnant with twins. 

This….this just got infinitely worse. 

“That’s what I’m here to see about,” this doctor says in a calming voice, glancing at the machines that his wife is plugged up to. “Her BP is too high. Give her 5mg of diazepam and 400mg of acetaminophen for the pain.”

“Sweetie, I need you to listen to me.” Dr. Sharmell’s voice is somehow the perfect combination of pressing and comforting. “I need to examine you, and I know you’re uncomfortable with a transvaginal ultrasound, but for me to get the best look, I need—”

“It’s okay,” Solana interrupts, shaking her head and squeezing his hand again. “Just—just do it.”

Dr. Sharmell doesn’t seem to question it, just nods and goes to pull a machine over as she moves to get started. 

Roman doesn’t leave his wife’s side, thumb gently caressing her knuckles as he watches her close her eyes and lean her head back. Her discomfort is palpable and blaring, and it kills him to not be able to take away her pain.

It kills him to see her like this. 

“What are you doing to her?” Because she’s already in pain, and if this woman is about to do anything to make that shit worse, he’s about to cause a ruckus.

The doctor continues to prepare for whatever she’s about to do while explaining said procedure. “It’s an ultrasound done through the vaginal canal.” 

It’s that explanation along with seeing the probe Dr. Sharmell is holding that helps Roman understand why Solana was uncomfortable with this. 

He moves his hand back to her forehead, murmuring, “it’s okay.”

It’s not, but he doesn’t know what else to do. How else to make the ‘best’ of this nightmare of a situation. He’s observant of the moment Solana is “penetrated,” seeing the small wince on her face and the way she tenses. 

Fuck. He hates this. 

Hates it with everything in him.

“There it is….” Dr. Sharmell speaks to herself, looking over at the screen.

Roman immediately asks, “what’s wrong?”

The word ‘wrong’ is clearly not the best choice because Solana is sniffling again, asking that devastating question, “am—am I having a mis–miscarriage?”

The answer comes relatively quickly but feels like it’s taken an eternity to arrive. “No, Solana, you’re not having a miscarriage.”

Roman’s eyes shut as he takes in the powerful and borderline overwhelming relief he feels at hearing those words. At hearing that this isn’t that. In a situation that’s arguably one of the worst he’s been in, that response is one of the best he’s ever received.

“What you are having is what we call a Subchorionic Hemorrhage. It means there’s blood forming between your babies’ amniotic sac and the uterine wall, which is why you’re bleeding. Cramping isn’t as common of a symptom, but it can happen. This obviously isn’t anything any pregnant woman would want to experience, but it happens more than people realize. And listen—” She gestures to the monitor, both Roman and Solana focusing on the screen and the sound.

A rhythmic beating.

Roman is the first to speak. “Is that….”

Dr. Sharmell nods. “That’s the sound of your babies’ heartbeats. Strong as ever.”

And it’s that last sentence that seems to provide Solana an abundance of relief, as she takes a deep, shaky breath covering her mouth to conceal a sob that comes from a place of joy versus despair.

Roman has so much to take in in this moment. 

She’s not miscarrying.

She’s pregnant with twins.

Twins whose heartbeats he’s currently listening to.

It’s all so….strange and unbelievable and stirring up a new cocktail of emotions he manages to push back. For now….at least.

Because pushing shit back, avoiding shit….it’s partially why they’re here right now.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “so how do we fix it?”

Shaking her head, she removes the probe, a nurse taking it from her while she takes off her gloves. “Unfortunately, there is no cure, but these things usually go away on their own. Typically in a matter of weeks. What we do recommend is bedrest, pelvic rest specifically, so no sex, no heavy lifting. Lots of fluids, and I’ve already scheduled your wife for appointments every two weeks given it’s a multiples pregnancies, so I’ll already be monitoring her closely.”

It makes sense, but it’s also not the type of answer he was hoping for. Nevertheless, it’s a much better outcome than the grim alternative.

She moves to the side of the bed, speaking directly to Solana, “now you might start bleeding again, though judging by the size of the hematoma, I wouldn’t anticipate as much as you’ve experienced this time. Just treat it like you would a menstrual cycle, pads only, no tampons, and make sure to call me and let me know if it’s happening again, alright?” Solana nods, a sudden quietness about her that Roman would guess is one of the medications she was given kicking in. “I’m gonna keep you here overnight for observation, but I have no doubt you’ll be ready to be discharged come morning."

“Thank you,” Solana whispers, voice laden with appreciation and comfort. “Thank you so much.”

Roman looks at his wife, informing, “I’ll be right back, okay?” He waits for her to nod, to show confirmation before he looks over at the doctor and gestures to the door.

Dr. Sharmell gives a small nod and makes a few comments to the remaining nurses before heading in that direction.

It’s once they’re outside the room, Roman crosses his arms, asking in a low, pained voice, “can stress cause this?”

It’s a question he’s been sitting on since finding his wife, crying and bleeding on the bathroom floor. His knowledge base is large and broad, but medical shit is where it’s relatively limited. Not limited enough to not know stress can cause pregnancy complications.

And Solana has had no shortage of that the past few weeks, this evening specifically.

Because of him.

But, he’s taken a bit by surprise when she answers with a simple, “no.” She mimics his stance, also crossing her arms while explaining, “but we’re also still not sure specifically what causes them. There are some guesses that a history of miscarriages, high blood pressure, and early onset of preeclampsia are precursors but nothing we can prove.” Dr. Sharmell lowers her voice, clearly wanting this conversation to remain between the two of them. “I did notice in her medical records an extensive amount of hospital visits for accidents indicating severe physical abuse when your wife was younger, and she also disclosed childhood sexual assault.”

Roman straightens his posture, voice even. “Yes.” Nothing more. Nothing less.

The older woman sighs. “There’s a possibility that your wife has some form of uterine trauma from her prolonged abuse and/or the sexual assault that could have contributed, but it’s nothing I can confirm medically.”

There’s slight relief at knowing that…..that he didn’t play a role in what happened is helpful, sure, but hearing that all of the other horrific things done to his wife may be the cause is the opposite of helpful.

It just pisses him the fuck off. 

Fist forming at his side, Roman has to remind himself where he is. Hearing about Solana’s abuse never fails to put him in a position where his minimal resolve is always tested. Unbridled rage with nowhere to go except inward.

���She’s going to be okay though, right?” Focusing on the most important topic at hand, he asks in an even quieter voice, “the babies….they’re going to be alright?”

Her smile is amenable. “They’re gonna be fine.”

Roman won’t outwardly express and show how comforting her words are, because a part of him was wondering if she was just saying what she knew Solana needed to hear to calm her down. But, away from his wife’s sight and auditory range, hearing the same positive prediction is beyond reassuring.

Nodding to himself, Roman finds himself uttering, “thank you.”

Words few are privy to hearing from the Mafia head but deserved giving what she’s done and what she’ll continue to do for his wife.

And his children.

She maintains her smile. “Of course.” Stepping back, she informs, “I’ll check back on her in a little bit.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, just watches her move down the hall. Blowing out a deep breath, he runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes. 

Heavy footsteps precede a deep voice asking, “is everything alright, sir?” Roman is leaning against the wall, next to the door where he overhears the nurses asking Solana questions about her comfort. Bautista stands before him, still looking slightly concerned. “With….Mrs. Reigns and…..?”

There seems to be some sense of duty and loyalty to Solana in the man, traits that Roman didn’t quite recognize until just now. It’s appreciated and why he answers honestly. 

“She’s going to be fine,” Roman mutters. “They all are.” Bautista’s expression shifts to something akin to shock. “It’s…..it’s twins.”

Breaking the news of not only a pregnancy but a pregnancy involving twins to his wife’s bodyguard is just another twist in this story that he could have never anticipated. And yet, here he is.

But, it’s also something that would be stupid for Roman to try to hide. He knows the guard isn’t stupid. Calling for an OB-GYN in the middle of the night, rushing her to the ER, it all points to the obvious. 

“I need you to go to the house,” Roman changes subjects, not willing to disclose anything more. “Check on Dulce.”

Because as traumatic this has been for him and Solana, their puppy finding her "mom" in a dire state yet again has to be difficult for her too.

“Of course,” Bautista nods, moving to walk away when he stops, turning to Roman to simply say, “Congratulations, Sir.”

Roman offers no visible response. 

Ignoring the small trace of pride at such an acknowledgment. 

————

By the time Roman re-entered the room and the rest of the staff dispersed, Solana was already falling asleep, something he did nothing to interfere with. A necessity. It’s been a long ass day. 

For them both.

But especially her. 

For obvious reasons.

Pulling the chair to the side of the bed, Roman doesn’t use the time to get in some much needed sleep of his own. He’s far too wired for that. Besides, he needs to be up and awake in case she awakes and needs something. 

He spends time making adjustments, sending off texts and emails to the appropriate parties. Though the main ones are sent to Paul, Roman informing his Wise Man that he’ll be working from home the next couple days. Maybe a pop in at Bloodline HQ here and there, but nothing consistent like usual.

Roman needs to be home with his wife.

His pregnant wife.

There’s still something so strange about that, something that feels a bit unreal to be true. But, it is. He saw the sonogram, heard the confirmation, heard their heartbeats.

This is real and happening. 

Roman’s hand reaches and settles on Solana’s stomach as she continues to sleep, a peaceful expression on her pretty face. Emotions start to stir once more as he takes in the fact that she’s with not just one child but two. Two children that they created.

His children.

He’s never really given fatherhood much thought, maybe some deeper level of consideration from time to time but never to the point where it could become an actuality. 

Sure, he knew he’d eventually have a kid, but not even a year ago, he’d imagined it under very different circumstances. A marriage that simply allowed him to create an heir with a woman who would understand that there would never be any significance or sincerity behind their union. Truly, in every sense of the word, an arrangement. One where he has his on the side, she could have hers, and they’d come together when necessary for the sake of offspring. 

That’s exactly what he thought it would be. 

It couldn’t be farther from that. 

Because Solana is every good, redeemable part of him that exists. There is no life that could exist for him without her in it.

She is his better half in every sense of the word.

She completes him in a way he didn’t know he needed to be completed.

And now….now she’s carrying his babies.

Their babies.

Because he wants them to have every bit of goodness that fills her and none of his darkness that weighs him. It’s truly his hope and prayer that they take every bit from her and very little from him.

It’s just better that way. 

It’s a few hours into their admission and Solana’s sleep that she begins to stir. Roman easily sits up in the chair and pockets his phone as her eyes blink open.

She whines quietly, a small smile setting on her sleepy face as she focuses on him. “You’re still here….”

“Of course, I’m here.” There’s not a single place in this world he’d rather be than sitting here beside her. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.” And he meant it. Moving his hand from her stomach to atop hers, he asks, “how you feeling?”

“Better.” She looks and sounds it, too. He finds immense solace in that. Eyes squinting, she asks, “what time is it?”

A quick glance at the Hublot watch on his wrist. “Quarter to five.”

And just like that, her smile shifts into a bit of a frown. “You’ve been up this whole time?”

Knowing where she’s going, he moves to assure her. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” There’s a teasing note to her single word response, the smallest smirk on her full lips. 

Chuckling, he quiets down, his own mouth shifting into a frown. “Solana….”

“We were both wrong,” she interrupts. Roman doesn’t try to hide his surprise at her jumping right into what he planned to ease into, borderline tap dance around to take accountability but not bombard her with a conversation that’s better served when they’re home and not in a hospital. “I shouldn’t have kept the letter or my pregnancy from you, and you’ve been wrong for keeping things from me.”

“Yes.” Because there’s no disagreement to that simplified assessment of the issue from earlier. “But, Sol, we don’t need to discuss this right now….”

“Yes, we do.” Once again, she has him taken back by her borderline assertiveness in this moment. “We….we push things off because we think we’re protecting each other, but….but we’re not. We….we only make things worse.”

She won’t find any disagreement from him. “You’re right.” He closes his eyes, admitting, “you were right. About everything.”

Roman still believes this isn’t the time or place to be having this conversation, but he also recognizes ideal circumstances have escaped them almost entirely the past few weeks. If not longer.

It’s time to stop pushing things off. 

“Solana, I met with Gail virtually while I was in Italy, because hitting you really fucked with my head, and I thought….I’d convinced myself that you being with me was dangerous. That you’d…..you’d be better off if we weren’t together.”

And if he hadn’t realized before that was probably one of the worse ideas he’s ever had in his fucking life, Solana’s devastated expression is all the confirmation and more that he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Her voice is heavy as she starts to ask, “how you ever think—”

“I wasn’t in a good place.” He knew it then but can only openly acknowledge it now. And in some ways, he still isn’t. “I asked her to work with you on not being so attached to me, so that a divorce wouldn't be as hard on you, and she asked me something in return that I didn’t know how to answer.” Roman can still vividly recall and hear the sound of her voice, understanding but challenging. “She asked me how I planned to not be as attached to you, and it made me realize that I really do need you, Solana.”

“I told you before the only thing I fear in this life is losing you, but I think….I think it goes deeper than that.” He looks away, partially uncomfortable with this conversation, with having to acknowledge things he’s pushed away for so long. “I think….I think that there’s a lot of things I’ve avoided over the years, but I can’t….I can’t avoid them anymore.”

Not when he doesn’t have Fetu to go to anymore. And, he can’t put this on his wife.

“I—I started therapy, and I don’t hate it, but I don’t like it either. But, I know….I’ve realized that I need to do it for you, for us, but mainly for myself.” Because as much or maybe even as well as suppressing and repressing shit has “worked” for him over the years, it’s not sustainable, and he can see the strain it’s causing in his marriage.  

Roman can’t have that shit.

He’ll do anything to make this work.

To not lose his wife.

A glance at Solana reveals her small smile. “It’s not easy.” Roman won’t disagree. He hasn’t even started talking about actual shit, but even bringing himself to attend that first appointment was difficult. Her hand tightens around his. “I’m proud of you, Ro.” Roman can’t remember the last time commendation affected him as deeply as her kind words do. Solana smiles wryly, “I’m gonna have to make you a therapy journal.”

He can’t help the scowl on his face. “I’m not doing that.”

Her light giggle lifts his spirits and warms his soul before she softly murmurs, “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you right away.”

He swallows. “Solana—”

“I hurt you by not telling you. About the letter and the pregnancy. I see that, and I’m sorry. Regardless of my intentions, it was….it was wrong to keep you in the dark.” Her apology is appreciated and while a part of him wants to tell her she doesn’t need to do so, a larger part of him appreciates hearing as such. Appreciates having his feelings validated. 

It’s….different.

“I don’t wanna tell anybody about the pregnancy. Not….not yet.” Roman wants to ask why, not in disagreement per se, but curious about her thought process. If it’s based off what happened this evening. “I just want to keep it between us. At least until I start showing.” She lifts her hand to his face, cupping his cheek. “I wanna just focus on me, you and the babies, okay?”

He nods against her, more than okay with this arrangement, because it’s similar to what he was going to tell her. Her pregnancy is on a need to know basis moving forward, her security is getting increased, and her training is on pause until further notice.

He’s not taking any chances whatsoever moving forward. 

“There’s….there’s more I need to tell you.” His gaze is focused on her as she breaks eye contact, focusing on her stomach instead. “I—I found an old letter my mom wrote me, and….there’s a lot to unpack there but….that needs to wait until we get home, because I want to let you read it yourself.”

“Solana, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupts, softly. “Plus it’s…..it’s a lot to explain, and I think it’d be better if you just saw it for yourself.”

He nods. Roman was already planning to share the contents of Fetu’s letter with his wife, so her offering to let him read her own “message from beyond” just affirms that decision. Affirms that they both are trying to do better.

“Roman…..” She’s looking back at him, eyes watering. “I need you to know that I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. I could never do that to you.” She moves her hand to her stomach. “I could never do that to them.” His eyes close as he takes in her sentimental, vulnerable disclosure. “I want to be a mom. I want to be with you. I want to live, and I know that my attempt is something that may take longer for you to process, but I just….I just need you to know that.”

And on some level, he does. He knows that Solana has shown no indication whatsoever of falling back into that dark headspace. As she pointed out earlier, she’s put in so much work and continues to do so. She’s done everything right since then.

It’s just that what if that he can’t seem to pull away from.

“I know,” he finally responds, opening his eyes and reaching to wipe away her tears. “I’m gonna work on it, alright?”

He will. 

He has to.

She nods. “Thank you.” 

She sounds immensely appreciative and hopeful, the same type of feelings gradually starting to fill within him. They’re gonna figure this shit out. 

One way or another.

Roman drops his hand and gaze from her face, moving it to her stomach. He swallows, murmuring, “twins….”

Moving her hand on top of his, she echoes, “twins…..” Roman chuckles to himself. Their first pregnancy would be twins. “Dr. Sharmell ran a blood test that will check for any chromosomal disorders, but it will also…..it’s gonna tell us the sexes.”

His eyes lift back to her. “Already?”

Her small smile is back. “She said we should get the results in two weeks or so.” Roman doesn’t know a lot about pregnancy in general, but he was always under the impression that they wouldn’t know what they’re having until later on. A few more months, so to know he’ll know the sexes of their babies by the end of the month….it’s something.

“I’m really hoping at least one is a boy…..” Her voice shifting into something almost nervous makes him frown. Solana adds in a low voice, “I need to give you an heir…..”

Instantly, Roman is shaking his head. “You don’t need to do anything.” For the sake of openness, he opts to continue on the path of honesty with her. “Apparently the Elders have decided to put a timeline on things.” Roman has to contain his irritation at just the thought of them trying to put pressure on his wife. Trying to dictate his marriage. “Either we conceive by the end of the year, or they want us to divorce and they’ll pick a new wife for me.”

Solana’s eyes widen, anxiety ready to build. “Roman—”

“Whether you were already pregnant or not, over my dead fucking body would I ever let that happen.” His voice is pure steel, his determination indisputable. “I told you before. Nothing and no one can take you from me. I’d walk away from all this shit before I lose you.” Her face lights up in surprise, some of which is felt by even Roman at his admission. It’s not a lie though.

He’d rather step down as Tribal Chief and Capo before losing her. 

Solana is everything to him. 

And more.

Her voice is bristled with nervousness. “You have to tell them about the pregnancy then.”

“No,” he answers, shaking his head. “They don’t run this shit. I do. I’ll tell them when I want to.” I.e. not until the end of the year. He’ll allow them to do their plotting and planning behind the scenes, let them believe that they’ll have ‘won’ this. And only then will he tell them about the babies. 

Until then, they can fuck off. 

She seems unconvinced and still worried. “I just don’t want you to have to deal with unnecessary problems….”

Roman’s life is filled with as such, many of them he has to tackle and deal with on a daily basis. This is most definitely not one of them. “It’s not a problem. Trust me.”

His simple sentence of reassurance seems to chip away some of her anxiety as she asks, “can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything, Sol.” 

Always could. 

Always will.

Roman is happy to see her smile return. “I’ve been having….dreams the past couple months.”

Utterly curious and focused, he presses, “about?”

A brief hesitation followed up with an emotional, “us as parents.” Roman tenses, doing his best to maintain a neutral expression. “We have….we have twins in the dreams. Twin girls. Li—”

“Lina and Leya,” he finishes for her in a quiet voice. Roman is very much cognizant of the floored look on Solana’s face. 

She’s just as taken back by his knowing as he is about what this means. “How—how did you know that?”

A simple question with a layered answer that takes a minute for Roman to supply. Scoffing with disbelief, he responds calmly, “because I think we’ve been having the same dreams.”

Solana continues to be filled with shock as she moves around on the bed, turning on her side, shifting their still conjoined hands. “Wh—what?”

He closes his eyes, partially unsure of what to make of this. Of what it could mean, some deeper, higher power that’s just furthered and deepened the connection between himself and his wife. “I started having the dreams when we were in Mexico, and I’ve had them intermittently since then.” Swallowing, he shares, recalling from said dreams. “Leya is…..she’s like you. Quiet. Soft. A big heart.”

“And Lina is like you,” Solana adds, watery eyes reappearing from the emotionality of it all. “Protective. Outspoken. Also a big heart.” Her smile deepens as she wonders aloud, “do you think….do you think that’s what we’re having….them?”

Roman sits on her question for a good minute. “I think it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Because with all his intelligence and knowledge, Roman can’t for the life of him think of any reason why he and his wife would have shared dreams of the same future. 

A future that seems to be playing out before them.

Solana chuckles, sharing, “you know those are nicknames, right? Lina and Leya?” He nods. Up until this point, Roman hasn’t had a dream that included the full first names, but based on the look on Solana’s face, he’d bet she has. “They’re short for Catalina and Cataleya.”

Catalina 

Cataleya 

That emotion is climbing again, the awe and wonder of the shifting of fantasy to reality stirring up all sorts of feelings. 

“That’s what we’ll name them then,” he finally announces, moving his hand around her stomach. “Catalina and Cataleya.”

And the emotion he feels in said emotion is written all over his wife’s face as she asks, almost nervously, “so….so you’d be okay if….if they were both girls?” A part of him hates that she even has to ask that, that there’s any part of her that may wonder if he’d somehow be upset with the babies being girls versus at least one being a boy.

“Of course.” Because while there’s still a part of him that is nervous, unsure of what this new role of fatherhood will entail and look like for him, one thing is for certain. He’ll love, care, and protect them just the same as he loves, cares for and protects their mother. 

Solana is visibly relieved and comforted by his confirming answer. “And if they are girls—”

“They are,” he supplies. He’d almost bet his life on that. Too many coincidences for them to not be.

Solana grins. “Then we’ll try for a boy as soon as we can.”

“Solana, we don’t—”

“Yes, we do,” she sighs, sharing so calmly. “I want more kids with you. As many as we can have.”

On top of the fact that the first set haven’t even been born yet, it's the as many for Roman that has him straightening up in the chair. “Baby, you know I’m almost 40, right?” She rolls her pretty eyes, forcing him to straight up ask, “how many kids you trying to have?”

Solana shrugs as best she can from laying on her side. “The girls will have each other. We’ll still need a son, and he’ll need a sibling too around his age—”

Roman’s eyes widen a bit as he points out, “Solana, that’s four kids you talking about.”

He loves this girl with everything in him, but four children? 

He briefly recalls one of his dreams, a dream in which she disclosed her third pregnancy, a pregnancy that included another set of twins following the three children they already had.

Roman shakes his head, not even allowing himself to share that dream with her.

Nor will he even allow himself to consider if she had the same dream.

All them damn kids…..

He’d never know another day of peace again.

And yet…..

A small, minimal part of him wonders. Wonders what it might be like to have a big family of his own, to have several children, the perfect physical combination of himself and Solana. For their large home to be filled with laughter and happiness they were both deprived of. 

A chance to give said children the childhood they never had.

Solana’s smile deepens as she bites down on her bottom lip. “I know.” The almost playful smile shifts into something serious and poignant. “Roman, you lost your family as a child. So did I.” Solana swallows, shaking her head. “We can’t get back what we lost, but we can….we can start our own. We have.” Voice dripping with determination and conviction, she vows, “and no one is going to take that from us this time.”

Up until this point, Roman hadn’t considered that. Not in that specific way. They’ve both lost so much over the years, experienced immense loss and trauma. Having and starting a family of their own could be…it could be a fresh start.

A new beginning. 

“I love you.” In every sense of the word, with a depth that rivals the ocean and duty that defies logic. 

Solana doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the words he’ll never get tired of hearing from her. “I love you, too.”

Roman still has so many doubts, so many insecurities, things he’s unsure of. He doesn’t know the first thing about fatherhood. Doesn’t have that nurturing, loving instinct that Solana has. Her ability to comfort and love so naturally. 

He’s….he’s going to need her help with this, and he’s not afraid to acknowledge as such.

What he does know is that he’ll do whatever it takes to figure it out, to be the best husband, the best father he can be. 

For himself. 

For Solana. 

For Fetu.

For his daughters.

Cataleya and Catalina Reigns.

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter seven ♡

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, listen—"

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

“Joel, I didn’t mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Joel wasn’t sure he could handle that.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, a week later, she left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With the Millers, though, it was different.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something broke inside him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had ruined everything. 

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

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

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

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

“You don’t mean that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s mine,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But just as quickly as that fragile peace had settled—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[revelboo]

I like watching you update your pfp lately since youre getting back into drawing and now that its colored i just wanna say live your purple eye dreams!!! I love them and I fully believe no one ever grows out of the 'purple eyes are cool' phase💜💜if I could handle contacts I would SO have purple ones💜anyway love the art, love the writing, love the life tidbits at the start of each chapter and I hope you have a great day🔥💌

🤣 Thank you so much! I’m just silly

Even If It Kills Me Pt 5

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Entering his quarters with food he’d thieved from the kids, he stops short realizing you’re singing to the mini-cons. Treating them like your sparklings and he really isn’t sure how to respond when you notice him and fall silent, smiling up at him. “They’re adults,” he mutters, bending to drop the little packet in your lap. Growling softly in reprimand when Runaway grabs for it.

• “Oh.” That still doesn’t explain if they’re his adult kids, though. “Thank you.” And his wings flick slightly as he frowns down at you. He’s watching you take the package back from Runway and open it to pop a cookie in your mouth. But then he’s always watching you even if he goes to great pains to not touch you unless he has to. You can feel the weight of his stare now, almost a physical caress.

• “You don’t need to thank me,” he growls, shifting uncomfortably when you just smile up at him. Like he said something funny. But it’s more than that, though, you’ve been smiling more lately, relaxing around him and the mini-cons. Apparently taking his decree to watch over them seriously. And maybe he enjoys watching them follow you around, Runway grabbing at the back of your shirt like he’s afraid of losing you. Maybe he looks forward to having someone to talk to in the evenings even if you are just a human.

• “I want to.” Because he can’t know that taking you, might have saved your life. That you hadn’t realized how numb you were, until you weren’t scared all the time. And despite his gruff indifference, you think he does care. Maybe not for you, but you’ve seen the way he worries over the mini-cons. “Are they your kids?”

• Wings flicking straight up, his lips thin. Oh, definitely not his kids. “No,” he growls and you bite into the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the look on his face. Turning away to eat another cookie so you don’t start laughing at how offended he looks. Definitely not daddy then.

Previous

[marauder-misprint]

Hii!! I just wanna say, ur writing is genuinely AMAZING. Like, actually tear inducing, feet-kicking, giggling-in-bed kind of amazing. This is my first ever request so bear with me 😔: for your 200 followers celebration (congrats by the way), I was wondering if you could do the prompt 10: “Too good for you? Don’t be ridiculous—they don’t deserve you.” Where reader is in a kinda toxic relationship and Remus, her bestie makes her realize this while also realizing her feelings for him?? Idk if this makes sense I’m sryyy 😭. Totally fine if u don’t feel comfortable doing it, or are to busy! Ignore my ineligible ranting, I for ur I hope ur doing well! Have a good rest of ur day/night!! :)

- 🌅

Thank you!!! This was so much fun to write ♡ Hope you enjoy it

Fireside Conversations

Remus Lupin x fem!Gryffindor!reader

2k words

cw: fluff, toxic relationship

The Gryffindor Common Room was quieter than usual. Which is why everyone there heard your disgruntled groan followed by you basically yelling, “Would you just listen!” as the portrait opened and closed. Peter was shaking his head as he approached the rest of the Marauders where they gathered on the couches by the fire. 

“They are fighting again,” he says as he sits down next to James. He didn’t need to say who. They knew. 

“That’s, what, third time this week?” James asks.

“At least,” Peter responds.

Remus stands up, looking at the portrait hole concerned.

“Moony, don’t,” Sirius says with a warning tone. “She doesn’t want us meddling, remember?”

“I’m not going to meddle,” he says unconvincingly. He wasn’t planning on meddling, rather eavesdropping, which in his defense, you never said he couldn’t do. He found it was easier to comfort you when he knew exactly what the bastard you called your boyfriend did this time. That was why he was going to listen… and to step in or meddle if things got out of hand. 

Remus walks over to the portrait and cracks it open the tiniest bit. He cast a muffling charm behind him so that your voice wouldn’t carry too far into the common room and then hoped you and your boyfriend would be oblivious to the ever-so-slightly open portrait.

“You need to stay away from them,” Remus hears your boyfriend tell you. “They’re using you to get into your pants.”

You scoff. “You’re being ridiculous! I’ve been friends with them since first year, and that’s all we are! We’re friends. Totally platonic. It’s you I like and that’s all that matters!”

“I know you like me. It’s them I don’t trust. So you need to stay away from them.”

“But I trust them. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, it’s really not. I think you’re blinded by them being in Gryffindor with you. You can’t trust everyone in your house, darling.”

“But they’ve earned it.”

“Listen, listen, I’m just worried for you. You spend so much time with them that it feels like you’re putting space between us. I think they’re trying to break us up.”

“They wouldn’t!” you protest. “And even if they were, I wouldn’t let that happen.” 

“Baby, just listen to me, okay? I wouldn’t steer you wrong, would I?”

You sigh and say in a mumble, “No, you wouldn’t.”

Remus lets the painting close quietly and he returns to the couches looking more grumpy than usual. 

“What’s birdbrain up to now?” Sirius asks. 

“Apparently the four of us are trying to seduce her.”

The three boys burst out laughing, a tiny snippet of the rambunctious noise that usually filled the common room. The grumpy look did not leave Remus’ face. It remains as you enter the common room, still looking upset and rubbing your eyes. You give the boys the briefest of glances before looking away and beelining it to the girls’ dorms. 

“Of course he made her cry,” Remus scowls. 

---

He loves me. I love him. He loves me. I love him. 

You kept repeating that in your head. Your boyfriend just cared for you, that’s all. He just cared so, so much. Almost too much. Was that something to fault him over? Goodness, you didn’t want to.

He loves me. I love him. 

Maybe if you said it enough, it would soothe your uneasiness. You’re laying in bed. Sleep was refusing to take you so you toss and turn, trying to make the least amount of noise with your rustling sheets. You really didn’t want to wake Lily or Marlene or Mary and have to have a heart-to-heart about why you can’t sleep. 

He loves me. I love him. 

Eventually, enough is enough. You climb out of bed, grab your robe and go to the common room. You almost laugh when you see Remus already sitting by the fire. From the way he’s sitting, he most definitely has a book in his lap. You stand quietly next to an armchair near him.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask softly. 

He jumps slightly but smiles as soon as he recognizes your voice and looks up. 

“Please,” he breathes, gesturing to the chair you’re standing by. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You nod as you tuck your legs underneath you.

“What’s eating your mind, love?”

“Nothing. Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was so knowing yet gentle. And he always could tell when you lied and he refused to tell you what your tell was. 

You sigh. “Can you love someone too much?”

Remus doesn’t respond right away; he doesn’t know how to. Did you love your boyfriend too much? Did he love you too much? Was it a good thing or a bad thing to love too much? 

You look at the fire, waiting for Remus to answer. You don’t mind that he isn’t answering right away. You like that he’s thinking about it, choosing his words carefully. It was one of the things you loved about him.

“I… I don’t think you can love the right person too much. Your love won’t be too much or too little when it’s right.”

When you look at Remus, he’s already looking at you with so much concern and love in his eyes. You rest your head on your hands.

“When did you get to be so wise, Lupin?”

He shrugs. “One of the perks of being an old man, I guess.”

You sigh. You think Remus looks very cozy in his sweater and pyjama bottoms. There was something about him that always seemed cozy and comfortable. Being with him was one of the places you felt most at ease. 

You need to stay away from them. 

Your boyfriend’s words echo in your mind. It makes you want to cry. You want him to be the right person, but you couldn’t stay away from the Marauders, most of all Remus. He was your best friend. What if your boyfriend was the right person for you but you weren’t his?

“I… I don’t think I’m enough for him,” you mumble. “He’s too good for me.”

Remus stares at you dumbfounded. 

“Too good for you? Don’t be ridiculous — he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Remus-” you start to say. 

“No, darling, listen. I know it’s not my place and I’m not trying to meddle, but he’s not right for you. He told you you couldn’t cheer for your own house’s Quidditch when we played Ravenclaw and he’s not even on the team.”

“He just really wanted us to be cheering for the same team.”

“He told you to stay away from us.”

Your face hardens and your lips form a thin line.

“You heard that?”

He nods and says, “Your boyfriend shouldn’t be so insecure in your relationship. He should trust you to be around other people, around your friends. Especially around your friends who you’ve known for years.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But-”

Remus cuts you off again. “No buts, darling. Have you ever given him a reason to doubt your feelings for him?”

“No.”

“You give him all your love and that’s how he responds? You don’t deserve that kind of treatment. We’re not dumb, we know how much you’ve been fighting. If he can’t see how lovely, strong, loyal, smart, perfect you are, how devoted you can be when you care for someone, that’s on him. It’s on him for not trusting you, not seeing how you are more than capable of handling yourself and able to come back to the ones who care for you most.”

You close your eyes. Tears are building and you really don’t want them to fall. You know if you start crying, you won’t be able to stop. Something about Remus being right struck a nerve. You should be enough for your boyfriend. If Remus was able to see all of this in you, why couldn’t he? 

You feel a hand on the side of your face. You open your eyes to Remus crouching in front of you, one hand holding your face and the other placed next to your leg, helping him maintain his balance. 

“I know you said not to meddle, but that’s truly what I think, sweetheart. I think that relationship isn’t worth the arguing. I think it’s run its course.”

You feel the tears beginning to fall as you nod. “I-I, I think so too.”

“Oh, darling,” he coos as he pulled you into a hug.

You let the tears fall more freely as Remus holds you tight to his chest. He doesn’t shush you. He just holds you, softly rubbing your back. You could always be vulnerable with him. He understood in a way that you felt no one else did. He never judged you. He was your safe place. 

“Rem?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Mhmm?”

“Will you be there when I end things?”

“You want me there?”

You nod. “I won’t back down if you’re there.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

---

He was there for you. He was there for you when you broke up with your boyfriend. He was there for you when he tried to convince you that breaking up was a mistake. Remus was there for you when you broke down crying later. He never left your side. And you liked it. You had your own traveling safe place in Remus. 

With each passing day, being without your now-ex was easier. Being with Remus was easy. 

But you weren’t with Remus. The more you considered it, the more you wished you were. He already treated you better than your ex did. He never made you feel like you were too much or not enough. You knew he trusted you more than life itself. You didn’t dare say anything though. What if you ruined the friendship? What if you said something and lost your four best friends in one swoop? 

It really hits you one night, a few weeks after the breakup. Today had been nothing special. Just classes and studying in the library with Remus. But it had felt so special and every time your hands accidentally touched, you swear you felt fireworks. 

I love him. … Does he love me?

Why did you always think about things when you were in bed? Once again, you’re tossing and turning. You groan quietly as you get up. You know you won’t get sleep. 

This time, you do laugh when you see Remus already in the common room, sitting by the fire with a book as usual.

“Do you ever sleep?” you ask with a laugh as you join him on the couch.

You rest your head on his shoulder and look at the pages of his book.

“Usually during History of Magic and from three to seven.”

You giggle and Remus turns his head to look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“What’s on your mind tonight, sweetheart?”

You don’t respond right away, the worry of ruining a perfectly good friendship festering inside of you. 

“Do you fancy anyone?” you ask quietly.

His eyes go wide and he chuckles awkwardly. He looks away. 

Oh, he so does.

“Erm, yeah. I do…”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Do you think she’s the one? The right one, I mean.”

“I’d like to think so. Only been in love with her since third year.”

“How do you know?”

“She’s my safe place. More than James, more than Sirius, more than Peter. She’s the loveliest person I know. She’s brilliant. Beautiful. Loyal. Perfect.” He pauses. “She has her flaws but doesn’t everyone? I mean, I got my furry little problem.”

Without thinking, you say, “You’re my safe place.” 

He looks back at you, the softest look in his eyes.

“I am?” he whispers. 

“You are.”

“So we’re each other’s safe place, huh.”

She’s my safe place. 

The realization hits you. Your face heats as you stare into those warm brown eyes. 

“You think I’m beautiful?”

He hums in response. There’s a silent conversation happening between you as you maintain eye contact. You nod. He places his hand underneath your chin and lifts your face. He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away in case he misunderstood you. You don’t. You lean in too, meeting his lips with your own. The fireworks you felt when your hands accidentally brushed paled in comparison to when he kissed you. The hands were barely a spark and this was a firework show's finale. 

Maybe Remus really was your right person. 

[loveandleases]

Hi Lea,

I was listening to Sweater Weather by Neighbourhood when a question jumped at me. Since it's getting genuinely cold where I'm at, I have chronically cold hands. I wondered if the ROs would warm up MCs' hands or if they struggle the same.

If they wanted to get MCs' hands to a regular temperature, how would they go about it?

I wish you a wonderful day!

Much love, Lee

Hi again Lee ~

Hope you're staying warm!

❤️Cam - He won't second guess what he's doing, each movement is almost instinctual. He lift's Mc's hand, rubbing it gently between his before blowing warm breaths along their skin. If that's not enough, he slips their hand into his pocket, still holding it. He tends to run a little hot, so he's more than willing to let MC use his body - for warmth, of course! Think of him as your personal furnace, always ready to chase away the chill, or a certain ex-fiance.

💙 G - They tend to run cold, especially their hands. You'll quickly find that G keeps a supply of hand warmers they tend to stuff in their pockets for these types of moments. They'll readily have some available for MC, not to mention warm soup and tea. Nothing like warming the body than something delicious, and piping hot. G will also offer their coat (even when upset with MC). It's just the right thing to do.

💚 Kara - Expect Kara to bundle MC up in the thickest coat she can find - think walking comforter. Just the idea of anything under 70f/21c causes her to shiver, albeit dramatically. She spares no effort when it comes to cold weather prep. For her, more is more, and that extends to her partner. She'll have MC swathed in scars, their hands buried in thick wool gloves, and maybe a hat.

MC will look like a giant marshmallow by the time she's done. But, at least they'll be warm.

💛 M - The resident cuddle bug, always ready to offer the simplest solution : themselves. They're usually wrapped up in oversized sweaters, never too cold - and they don't see why MC should be either. "H-here, warm up," they'd whisper, gently guiding MC's hands to their cheeks, which are comfortably warm.

When it's colder, M would try to coax MC into staying home for the day. "Just this once," they'd plead, following it up with puppy-dog eyes. They'd happily nestle under blankets with MC, just have their bodies intertwined for the remainder of the day.

💜 Isaac -Expect MC to get dragged along for some exercise. Jumping jacks, lunges, and a short jog are their go-to solutions. When that's not enough, they'll nod toward their car trying to maintain a serious face. But it's not hard to see the glimmer of a smirk hidden beneath. "Plan B, then. I'll let you sit in the driver's seat...just this once."

Once inside, Isaac would let MC take full reign of the temperature and heated seats. They'd just lean back with a mock sigh, "Spoiled already." They jest. When they're both comfortable, Isaac would slip in a sly comment about other ways to warm up, but they are strictly for when you're at home together.

🖤 Ardent - The grump has several ways to warm MC. Ardent is quick to offer practical advice, mentioning layers and a hot drink. He's so used to his niece catching a cold, that he's prepared with ample supply of medicine and cozy blankets - though he'd insist it's just coincidence. When that doesn't cut it, he takes matters into his own hands. He'll complain that MC is "hopeless in this weather," and pull them into his arms. Wrapping them snugly against his broad chest. Before MC can protest, he zips them both into his oversized jacket, trapping them in his warmth.

He'll make some offhanded joke about skin-to-skin contact being the best cure, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrays him. He'll mumble that it's just too cold outside - and absolutely not because holding them close is making his heart race. It's practical, that's all. Nothing more to it than that...

[star2fishmeg]

heyyy :>> can i get an angst no. 107 with jack ?

Thank you for requesting <3

ANGST #107 “I can’t do this anymore. Sometimes…sometimes I need you and you’re just not there.”

📞 dialling…

Useless was too weak of a word to describe how she felt. Phone playing the voicemail tone she could lip sync off by heart, laying on the coffee table while she hung her head in her hands, tears smeared across her cheeks. 

Hey, it’s Jack. I can’t take your call right now so, uh, leave me a message and I’ll get back ASAP! 

Except he never did reply as soon as possible, ever. He barely saw her anymore as if she’d never existed at all. Y/n spent the nights she usually would be on a cute date with him, alone in front of the TV with a meal for one. It started as a meal for two, cooking for him but the more he didn’t show up, the less she bothered. She’d sometimes attend his games, but after his brother paid more attention to her, she stopped, opting to stay home and watch on the TV, maybe drop a text if they won but it wasn’t like she’d ever receive a reply. 

She ended the call, inhaling deeply and shakily before puny sobs echoed around her living room. Where did she go wrong? What did she do wrong? The sinking emptiness in her stomach consumed her, a numbness to an unsolved problem that couldn’t be solved and she wondered what Jack was running from, or what repulsed him so much that he couldn’t bring himself to step foot near her. So much for being his girlfriend, he wasn’t much of a boyfriend anymore at all. 

Tears came to a halt automatically with three knocks on the front door, the room falling into an eerie silence with nothing but the clock's ticking lurking in the background. She didn’t expect anyone at eight at night and she wasn’t expecting any deliveries either. Regardless, she approached, peering through the peephole and eyes widening. Her heart thumped in her chest and to her ears, stomach twisting uncomfortably and adrenaline clawing away at her. She could have been a coward and gone to bed, or she could move forward with the ball chained to her ankle. 

The door opened slowly, sunken eyes meeting vibrant blue. Jack pursed his lips, his voice hoarse either from hockey or crying, “...Can I come in?”

Y/n nodded, stepping aside and closing the door behind him, gaze following him as he shuffled into the living room, perching on the arm of her sofa. Folding her arms over her chest, she waited. Tear ducts throbbing, waiting to spill and her breathing hitched. He looked like he always did, with a backwards hat, hoodie, jeans, and a guest appearance of a guilty expression on his face. He wasn’t expecting to be let in, he wasn’t expecting her even to answer the door.

“So…I got your call, I was driving so I, uh, couldn’t pick up.” He mumbled, fiddling with his hoodie sleeves. He couldn’t meet her eyes; he didn’t deserve to bask in them like he used to. The woman who stared at him with stars in her eyes was dead and he killed her. 

“Mhm,” she hummed, nodding slowly, almost scoffing, “Were you driving the other times too?”

He knew that was going to come, he felt that arrow through his chest, a weighted feeling that made his cheeks flush. Shaking his head shamefully, his head dropped, and for the first time in a long time, tears welled in his eyes. Maybe it was shame, disappointment in himself but perhaps it was because she was crying, he couldn’t tell, he just felt guilt shaking him to his core.

“I’ve fucked this up…I know. Everyone’s reminded me and I, fuck,” he wiped his eyes with his sleeve, “I know you won’t believe me, but I do love you. Princess, I need you more than anyone and-”

“Jack, I can’t do this anymore.” Her lip trembled, if he could neglect her once, what was stopping him from doing it again? Salty tears trickled down her cheeks, “Sometimes…sometimes I need you and you’re just not there. Where have you been? What did I do? I can’t do all this waiting and hoping that you’ll remember you have a girlfriend. I call, I text, fucks sake, you barely notice when I come to your games. Everyone else can do those simple gestures except you. Sometimes I wonder why we’re still together…” 

Jack stood up, swiftly stepping closer to her but resisting reaching out to touch her, he knew better than to give her affection she didn’t want in that moment. “Y/n, please, can we talk, please let me explain because I can. Not excuses, explanations, with feelings. I want to be with you, I know that I’m sure of that.”

Two sets of blurry eyes locked with each other, her arms crossed, his awkwardly stuffed in his pockets. It was such a shame that the longest conversation they’d had was one on the verge of the end, the last one they’d ever have. She could have told him to leave, that she never wanted to see him again, but she couldn’t do that without closure. It would eat her alive more than anything else.

“Fine. In the morning. Sleep on the sofa.” She murmured, nodding and leaving him to stand alone. He didn’t wipe his tears; he watched her figure disappear down the hall until it was just him and the clock’s ticking. He’d arrived late before; he knew his drill. Lock the front door, turn off the lights, and take his shoes off. Now, the hat lay on the coffee table, the throw blanket over his body and he’d never been more grateful for all the times he slept in her bed.

[authortelevision]

arthur frederick and the new producer: chapter 1 ₊˚⊹♡

words: 3,192 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆arthurtv slow burn, bach and arthur podcast

after lara leaves bach and arthur’s podcast, you become her replacement. after discovering that arthur hates change, it takes a lot for him to warm up to you and become friends. it also takes a lot for him to admit how he truly feels about you.

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Chapter One ₊˚⊹♡

The building doesn’t exactly scream “successful podcast studio.” It surprisingly has a weathered brick exterior and rusted door number that makes you double-check the address on your phone. But this is it, according to the email, Bach & Arthur Podcast – Recording Studio 2.

You try the handle. Locked. After fishing through your bag, you find the key they sent you and slide it into the lock. It groans in protest, but after a sharp twist, the door swings open, revealing a narrow staircase that smells faintly of food.

The email didn’t mention a receptionist or anyone to meet you. It had, however, been clear about the time, 11 am. You’re determined not to be late on your first day.

At the top of the stairs, two doors face you. One has a taped-up sign reading Bach & Arthur Podcast in Comic Sans. You can’t help but smile to yourself. Professional. You knock, just in case, but the heavy door muffles any response.

Pushing it open, you step into a much larger, cluttered room. The recording setup is decent, microphones on boom arms, a grey sofa, with a blue curtain behind it. A black table, in front of the recording situation, is covered in half-eaten food, crumpled notes, and what looks like many cups of tea or coffee or whatever they have been drinking to get them ready.

“Hello?” you call, stepping carefully around an errant cable.

From behind a makeshift partition comes the sound of muffled voices, followed by a thud and a sharp “Ow!”

A moment later, two figures emerge. The first is tall, muscular, and bright-eyed, with a dark mullet that looks like it’s been perfectly combed through. He grins at you immediately, his energy warm and infectious.

“Hey! You must be the new producer!”

“That’s me,” you say, smiling as he approaches.

“I’m Isaac,” he says, offering a hand. “Welcome to our team.”

Behind him, the second figure appears, shorter and thinner but very toned, with brown hair and thick eyebrows. He hangs back for a moment, studying you intensely enough that makes you resist the urge to straighten your posture.

“You’re Lara’s replacement?” he questions, his tone polite but with a slight hesitation.

You state your name, stepping forward and shaking his hand when he finally extends it. His grip is firm, and his voice, when he speaks again, is softer.

“I’m Arthur. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you say. He nods but glances at Isaac almost immediately, murmuring something too low for you to catch. Isaac smirks but doesn’t reply, his gaze flicking back to you.

“We’ll miss Lara, obviously,” Arthur says after moment, meeting your eyes again. His tone is more formal this time, like he’s trying to smooth over something. “She was here from the beginning. But I’m sure you’ll be great.”

“Thanks,” you say, offering a small smile. You’re not sure what you’ve done to earn the slight edge in his voice, but you’re not going to let it rattle you.

Isaac claps his hands together, breaking the tension. “So, how are you with tech stuff? Mic levels, soundboards… all that fun stuff?”

“I can handle it,” you say, glancing at the recording setup. “I’ve been working on podcasts for a while now.”

Isaac grins. “Good answer. See, Arthur? We’re in capable hands.”

Arthur gives a tight smile, then leans toward Isaac and whispers something you can’t hear. This time, Isaac’s grin widens, and he shoots you a quick glance before whispering back.

You try not to read too much into it. People are allowed to have their doubts, it’s not your job to win everyone over on day one.

“Well,” Arthur says after a moment, more to Isaac than to you, “we’ve got a recording in twenty minutes.”

“You’re on it, right?” Isaac says, nudging you playfully. “Check the mics, make sure we’re not awkwardly out of frame, all that stuff?”

“Yes yes, of course,” you say, moving toward the desk.

Arthur watches you quietly as you adjust the boom arms and check the camera height and recording software. You can feel his gaze even when you’re not looking directly at him, and when he leans in to whisper something else to Isaac, you resist the urge to ask if they want you to leave the room.

But as you work, you catch something in Arthur’s expression that isn’t unkind, more cautious, like he isn’t quite sure how to fit you into their established rhythm. It isn’t hostility, just hesitation.

Isaac, on the other hand, seems determined to make you feel at home. “So, what’s the best podcast you’ve worked on?” he asks as you fiddle with the gain knobs.

“Probably Passing Notes,” you say, glancing up. “It’s all anonymous confessions. It’s like set in a classroom kinda thing, so you’d like pass notes secretly. I spent way too many late nights editing out overshares.”

Isaac laughs, the sound loud and easy. “That’s such a cool idea!”

Arthur offers a small, polite smile but doesn’t say much. As the recording time approaches, he leans over to you, his tone soft but unfortunately still professional.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says. “We have a way of… winging things sometimes, but I’m usually good about staying on schedule.”

“Got it,” you say, meeting his deep brown eyes.

Arthur nods once, then moves to the filming sofa, his movements a bit rigid but calm.

As the recording starts, you settle in behind the controls, noting the interest in science between the two of them. Arthur’s laughter is quieter than Isaac’s, but genuine when it comes. And though he glances at you occasionally, it isn’t the skeptical look you feared.

It’s more like… curiosity. A guarded one, but curiosity still.

This isn’t going to be easy. But you’ve made it through worse.

After the recording wraps, the studio settles into a quieter hum. Arthur and Isaac stand from the sofa, their usual post-show energy fading into something less energetic. You busy yourself with jotting down notes from the session, cataloging timestamps for edits, and mentally prioritising what needs to be done before uploading the final cut.

Arthur is already rolling up a spare XLR cable when he looks over at you. “I think that went well,” he says. “Thanks for keeping us on track.”

“No problem,” you say, glancing up from the soundboard.

He nods and places the coiled cable neatly on the desk. “I’ve got an edit I have to send off tonight,” he says to Isaac, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Sure thing,” He replies, giving him a thumbs-up as Arthur grabs his coat from the back of a chair.

Arthur’s gaze flickers to you one last time. “See you next time,” he says, his words careful.

“You too,” you reply, watching as he disappears through the door.

The room feels lighter without him, though not necessarily in a bad way. Arthur carries a weight that seems to press on the space around him, a quiet intensity that isn’t unpleasant, just… noticeable.

Isaac turns to you as you shut down the software and begin powering down the equipment. He leans casually against the desk, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, his tone quieter than it had been all morning. “I just wanted to say, uh, don’t take Arthur too seriously.”

You pause, glancing at him. “What do you mean?”

Isaac shifts his weight, his eyebrows slightly furrowed with a genuine look of concern. “I mean, he’s not trying to be rude or anything. He just… he’s kind of like that. Especially with new people. He’s not big on change, you know?”

You nod, turning back to unplug one of the microphones. “I got that impression.”

“It’s not personal,” Isaac says quickly. “I promise. He really liked Lara, and he’s probably just… figuring out how to adjust to not having her here.”

You hesitate, then smile faintly. “That makes sense. I wasn’t expecting him to roll out a red carpet or anything.”

Isaac laughs softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Yeah, but I know how he can come off sometimes. He’s actually a good guy, I swear. It just takes him a minute to warm up to people.”

“Well,” you say, straightening up and meeting Isaac’s eyes, “I’m not in any rush. I’m just here to do my job and make the podcast sound good. If he comes around, great. If not, I’ll survive.”

Isaac grins. “That’s it man. Honestly, I think he’ll get there. He’s just— what’s the word? Particular. And maybe a little protective of the pod.”

“Protective, huh?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Isaac scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “This whole podcast thing was kind of his baby at first. I just showed up for the jokes. But Arthur? He’s all about the details. He’s, like, scary good at making things better, except when it comes to people.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Good to know.”

Isaac smiles, then gives the desk a light tap. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, seriously. It’s nice to have someone new around. Keeps things interesting.”

“Thanks,” you say, your voice softening. “That means a lot.”

“No problem.” Isaac pushes off the desk and stretches. “Anyway, I’ll let you finish up. First day down, how’re you feeling?”

You look around the now-empty studio, cables half-coiled, the faint smell of their breakfast still lingering in the air. “Good,” you say finally. “I think it’ll be a good fit.”

“Good answer,” Isaac says with a grin. “See you next time.”

“See you,” you say, watching as he slips out the door.

The quiet returns as you finish shutting everything down, your mind replaying the day. Arthur might have been a bit off, even a little distant, but Isaac’s reassurance reminds you it’s all okay.

This isn’t going to be easy. But, somehow, you feel a little more confident that it will work out.

The chill of the November air nips at your cheeks as you walk home, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The sun is already dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of orange and gray. Your breath comes in small, visible puffs as you navigate the uneven pavement, your thoughts circling like restless birds.

Arthur doesn’t hate you. You’re almost sure of that. He’s been polite enough, friendly, even, in that formal way people are when they’re trying not to be unkind. But there’s something in the way he watches you, the quiet whispers to Isaac, the slight hesitations.

He’s not sold on you.

And that’s not a crime, of course. People don’t have to like you. You know that. You know that. But the thought still worms its way under your skin.

What if he doesn’t think you’re good enough? What if he thinks you’re messing up an important rhythm they’ve spent months building? You’ve stepped into something that’s already been established, something Arthur clearly cares about deeply, and now you’re supposed to make it better, or at least keep it from falling apart.

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, kicking at a stray pebble on the pavement. You did your best today, and Isaac was kind, even reassuring. Still, the weight of Arthur’s cold interaction presses on you, and you can’t shake the gnawing feeling that you’re already letting someone down.

It’s not a long walk to your flat, but the cold makes it feel endless. By the time you reach the old brick building, your fingers are numb and your shoulders tense. You fumble with the keys, finally managing to push the door open and climb the creaky stairs to the second floor.

The familiar smell of tomato soup and bread greets you as you step inside. Your flatmate, Emma, is perched on the arm of the sofa, scrolling on her phone with a steaming mug in hand. She glances up as you enter, her light curls bouncing.

“You’re home,” she says lightly. “How was day one?”

You kick off your boots and shrug out of your coat, the warmth of the apartment already seeping into your frozen limbs. “It was… good,” you say, though the words come out slower than you intend.

Emma raises an eyebrow. “Good doesn’t sound convincing.”

You sigh, dropping your bag onto the floor and collapsing onto the sofa next to her. “I mean, I like the job. The studio’s fine, the setup’s fine, Isaac is nice. But…”

“But,” she prompts, her eyes narrowing.

“But I think Arthur doesn’t like me,” you admit, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“Arthur?”

“Co-host. The one people say is like lowkey autistic.” You rest your chin on your knees. “He wasn’t mean or anything. He was polite. But he wasn’t exactly warm, either. And I feel like… I don’t know, like I’m already not meeting whatever expectations he has.”

Emma tilts her head, looking at you. “So, you’re worried you’re not living up to the standards of a guy you just met, who might not even have an issue with you in the first place?”

You groan. “When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she says, setting her mug down. “You just care too much what people think. You’re, like, constitutionally incapable of being okay with someone not liking you.”

You shoot her a look. “That’s not true.”

“Name one person who doesn’t like you,” she challenges.

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Exactly.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I just don’t want to mess this up. It’s a good gig, and I don’t want to make things weird between them, or worse, feel like I’m ruining something Arthur obviously cares about.”

Emma leans back, crossing her legs. “Okay, real talk? You’re overthinking. It’s your first day. If you went in there, did your job, and didn’t, I don’t know, accidentally set the studio on fire, then you’re doing fine. Arthur will come around. Or he won’t. Either way, you’re not responsible for his feelings.”

“I know,” you mumble, though the knot in your stomach doesn’t quite loosen.

“You’re good at what you do,” she says, her voice firm. “And if they hired you, they obviously thought you’d be a good fit. Just give it some time.”

You look at her, her confidence in you unwavering, and manage a small smile. “Thanks, Emma.”

“Anytime,” she says, picking up her mug again. “Now, you want soup? You look like you just walked through a blizzard.”

“It felt like it,” you admit.

She grins. “Then sit tight. I’ll grab you a bowl.”

As Emma disappears into the kitchen, you let your head fall back against the sofa and close your eyes. She’s right, you’re overthinking. Probably.

Still, the memory of Arthur’s quiet glances lingers, and you can’t shake the feeling that winning him over might take more effort than you’d anticipated.

The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the radiator. You lie on your side, staring at your phone on the nightstand, its screen glowing faintly in the darkness. Sleep isn’t happening, not with your brain circling the same thought over and over: Did I mess up today?

Arthur’s neutral expression haunts you. Polite, sure, but distant. Detached. The whispering to Isaac. What were they saying? Are you just reading too much into it?

Frustrated, you grab your phone. Your thumb hovers over the screen. You haven’t texted Isaac before. Your correspondence has been strictly email so far, but he included his number ‘in case of emergencies.’ This isn’t an emergency, not technically, but maybe a quick message would help put your mind at ease.

You hesitate. What if you sound unprofessional? What if you’re overstepping? You chew your lip, then shake your head. Better to clarify now than let it eat away at you.

Taking a deep breath, you open the messaging app and type:

You: Hi, Isaac, it’s your new producer for the podcast. I just wanted to make sure this is the right number?

You hit send before you can overthink it. The message sends, and you stare at the screen, your heart beating a little faster than usual.

The reply comes quickly, too quickly for someone who should probably be asleep:

Isaac: Hey! Yep, this is me. What’s up?

You exhale a small breath of relief. One hurdle down. Now for the awkward part.

You: Thanks for confirming. I hope this isn’t weird to text, but I wanted to ask if there’s anything I can do to help make things feel less awkward with Arthur?

You stare at the screen after pressing send, your stomach twisting. Should you have phrased that differently? Should you have even asked? But before you can spiral too far, Isaac replies.

Isaac: Oh man, you’ve been thinking about that, huh?

You: Yeah a little, I guess. I just feel like there’s some tension, and I don’t want to mess up the dynamic you guys already have.

There’s a brief pause before Isaac’s next message comes through.

Isaac: Okay, first off, you’re not messing anything up. I promise. Arthur’s just Arthur.

You: That’s what you said earlier.

Isaac: Because it’s true. He’s like that with literally everyone at first. Even me.

You blink at your phone.

You: Really?

Isaac: Yeah. When we first started the podcast, it took him, like, three months to stop calling me Isaac during recordings. Said Bach ‘felt too informal’.

You laugh softly, the mental image of Arthur trying to keep things strictly professional easing some of your tension.

You: That’s actually hilarious.

Isaac: Right? It took forever, but he loosened up eventually. He always does.

You hesitate before typing your next question.

You: So, do you think there’s anything I can do to make it easier? Or should I just wait it out?

Isaac’s reply takes a little longer this time, but when it comes through, it’s warm and reassuring.

Isaac: Honestly, just keep being you. Do the job, don’t take his quietness personally, and give him time to adjust. If you try too hard, he’ll probably notice, and that’ll just make things weirder.

You: That’s fair.

Isaac: And hey, if he ever does cross a line, which I doubt, just let me know. I’ll handle it.

You smile at that, grateful for Isaac’s kindness and his willingness to smooth things over.

You: Thanks, Isaac. I really appreciate it.

Isaac: No problem. And don’t stress too much, okay? You’re already doing great. I can tell.

The reassurance settles something in your chest, and for the first time that night, you feel like maybe everything will be okay.

You: I’ll try. Thanks again. Goodnight!

Isaac: Night!

You set your phone down and roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. The knot in your stomach is still there, but smaller now, less overwhelming. Isaac is right, you just need to focus on doing your job and let the rest work itself out.

With a sigh, you pull the blanket tighter around you and close your eyes, determined to get at least a little sleep before tomorrow.

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Chapter Two

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a/n: i hope you guys like the idea of a slow burn !! i’m really excited to continue this story !! they will come out in between my other fics !! LOVE U GUYS <33 and let me know if you want to be tagged in updates !!

[rafeskai]

Starstruck | Drew Starkey

Chapter Two

Summary: In the bustling crowd of a premiere event for Outer Banks, you find yourself caught up in a chaotic moment, lost in the sea of fans. Desperate for a way out, you stumble into an alley where fate leads you to an unexpected—and painful—encounter with Drew Starkey. What starts as a simple misstep soon spirals into something far more complicated, and your life takes an unexpected turn.

Pairings: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: A little fluff before the storm 👀

Masterlist Here

The city lights of Los Angeles seemed brighter than ever as you stood under them, your heart still racing from your unexpected encounter with Drew Starkey. Sitting in that backstage hallway felt like a fever dream—Drew, of all people, asking to make amends over a drink after accidentally hitting you with a door? The surrealism of it all lingered in your chest even as the noise of the premiere filtered faintly through the walls.

After a few minutes, Drew checked his phone and sighed. "Looks like I’m needed back out there soon," he said, glancing at you with a mix of regret and obligation. "But seriously, are you okay? I mean, if you’re not, we can get a medic or something."

You waved him off, feeling a little embarrassed by all the concern. “I’m fine, really. Just a bump and some bruised pride. I’ll survive.”

His lopsided grin made your pulse quicken. "Alright. But, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck, hesitating. “I wasn’t kidding about the drink. Give me your phone?”

Your eyebrows shot up, but you handed it over before you could second-guess yourself. He quickly typed in a number and handed it back to you, his name already saved in your contacts.

"Text me if you change your mind about the drink—or if you wake up tomorrow with a door phobia," he teased, his eyes sparkling.

You laughed, still trying to process how casually Drew fucking Starkey had just given you his number. "I’ll keep that in mind.”

He stood, offering you his hand to help you up. His grip was warm, firm, and grounding—almost enough to make you forget the chaos of the evening.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” he said, giving you one last look before slipping back into the madness of the premiere. You stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where he’d disappeared, the echo of his voice lingering in your mind.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

By the time you found Ava, she was surrounded by a group of people, her face glowing as she scrolled through photos on her phone.

“There you are!” she squealed, rushing over and grabbing your arm. “Where have you been? I got selfies with everyone! Oh my God, you should’ve been there!”

You opened your mouth to explain but hesitated. How could you even begin to describe what had just happened? Would she believe you if you told her about your chance meeting with Drew—or would it sound too far-fetched, like some scene out of a cheesy romantic comedy?

“I, uh... got lost for a bit,” you said instead, offering a weak smile. “It’s kind of a madhouse here.”

Ava rolled her eyes, clearly too wrapped up in her own excitement to notice anything off. “Well, you missed out, babe. But don’t worry—we’ll hit another event soon. Now, let’s get out of here before my feet fall off from these heels.”

You nodded, following her toward the car. As you walked, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Curious, you pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: "Hey, it’s Drew. Just checking in—hope your head’s okay. And seriously, no pressure about the drink. Take care!"

You couldn’t help the small smile that spread across your face. The evening had been chaotic, overwhelming, and completely out of your comfort zone—but it had also been unexpectedly thrilling.

As Ava chattered on about the celebrities she’d met, you tucked your phone back into your pocket, a newfound sense of curiosity bubbling inside you. Maybe LA was more than just a city of bright lights and endless possibilities. Maybe it was a place where the unexpected could turn into something extraordinary.

And as you drove back to Ava’s apartment, the glow of the city outside the car windows felt a little warmer, a little more inviting. For the first time, you wondered if this wild, unpredictable place might be exactly where you were meant to be.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The next morning, the sunlight streaming through Ava’s apartment window was merciless. Despite the curtains she had haphazardly tacked up, the rays found their way in, casting golden streaks across the room and directly into your eyes. You groaned, turning over on the futon, wishing for just a few more moments of sleep. But the events of last night wouldn’t let you rest.

You’d met Drew Starkey. Not just met him, but had a full-on moment with him. After he’d accidentally hit you with that door, he’d spent the better part of an hour making sure you were okay. You could still hear his voice, a mix of concern and easy charm, apologizing profusely while somehow making you feel less like a klutz and more like someone worth his time.

“Good morning, superstar!” Ava’s voice rang out as she burst into the room, her curls wild and her energy already at full throttle. She carried two mugs of coffee, setting one on the side table near your makeshift bed. “So, are you gonna tell me what happened, or do I have to harass you until you spill?”

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, the blanket pooling around your waist. “What do you mean?”

Ava rolled her eyes, plopping down on the edge of the futon. “Don’t play dumb. You disappeared for, like, an hour at the premiere, and then I find you casually chatting with Drew freakin’ Starkey backstage. What gives?”

You sighed, blowing on the coffee before taking a tentative sip. “It’s not what you think. I got hit in the face by a door. He opened the door. We talked. That’s it.”

Ava stared at you, her mouth slightly open, before she burst into laughter. “You got hit in the face by a door? At a premiere? By Drew Starkey? Babe, that’s not ‘just it.’ That’s iconic.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though your cheeks heated at her exaggerated reaction. “It’s not iconic. It’s embarrassing. But he was nice about it. Like, really nice. He even offered to take me out for a drink to make up for it.”

Ava’s eyes widened, and she nearly spilled her coffee. “He what? Are you serious? Did you say yes? Tell me you said yes.”

You hesitated, the memory of Drew’s offer replaying in your mind. “I... sort of said yes. But I think he was just being polite. It’s not like he’ll actually follow through.”

Ava gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Y/N, you cannot let this opportunity slip through your fingers! Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position right now? If he even texts you, you better reply in .02 seconds.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but laugh at her theatrics. “Okay, okay. I get it. But I’m not holding my breath.”

Ava grinned knowingly, her excitement palpable. “Fine. But if you don’t hear from him, we’ll find another way to make your LA experience unforgettable. Speaking of which, are you ready for today’s itinerary?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be scared?”

“Probably,” Ava said with a wink, jumping up and grabbing her phone. “We’re doing a thrift crawl, hitting up a rooftop brunch, and then... maybe a little surprise at the end. Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

Despite her cryptic tone, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. Ava had a way of making everything sound like an adventure, and maybe that was exactly what you needed.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The thrift stores were nothing like what you had back home. These weren’t just secondhand shops—they were curated collections of vintage treasures, each one like stepping into a different era. Ava was in her element, flipping through racks of clothing with practiced ease, holding up pieces for your approval.

“This is so you,” she said, holding up a floral sundress that looked like it had been plucked straight from the ’70s. “You need it. Trust me.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know... It’s a little... loud.”

“Loud is good,” Ava said, thrusting the dress into your arms. “You’re in LA now. Time to embrace the bold.”

By the time you left the store, your arms were full of bags, and your wallet was a little lighter, but you couldn’t deny that you felt good. There was something freeing about trying on new styles, stepping outside of your comfort zone. Maybe Ava was right—maybe LA was the perfect place to reinvent yourself.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

As the day wound down, Ava finally revealed her surprise: a small, underground comedy show in a nondescript venue tucked away in a quiet part of town. The intimate setting, with its mismatched chairs and dim lighting, felt worlds away from the glitz and glamour of last night’s premiere, but it was exactly what you needed.

The comedians were hilarious, their jokes cutting through the haze of your lingering nerves and exhaustion. You laughed until your sides hurt, feeling lighter with each passing minute.

By the time you got back to Ava’s apartment, you were exhausted but happy. As you collapsed onto the futon, your phone buzzed on the side table.

You picked it up, your heart skipping a beat when you saw the name on the screen.

Drew: “Hey. How’s your head? I feel like I should check in after last night.”

A smile tugged at your lips, and you quickly typed back a response.

You: “Head’s fine. Ego’s a little bruised, though. Thanks for checking.”

The reply came almost instantly.

Drew: “Glad to hear it. So... about that drink I owe you. Are you free tomorrow night?”

You stared at the screen, rereading Drew’s message. It wasn’t real—this kind of thing didn’t happen in real life, not to someone like you. But there it was, clear as day, blinking back at you. A direct invitation from Drew Starkey.

Ava, who had been in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge, peeked her head into the living room. “Why are you smiling like that? You look like you’ve just been handed a winning lottery ticket.”

You glanced up at her, still clutching your phone. “He messaged me.”

“Who messaged you?” she asked, stepping closer.

“Drew.”

Ava’s jaw dropped, and in a flurry of movement, she dove onto the futon beside you, nearly knocking over your coffee. “Show me. Let me see.” She snatched the phone from your hands before you could protest, her eyes scanning the screen. “Oh my God. Oh. My. God. He’s asking you out for a drink.”

You grabbed the phone back, holding it protectively. “It’s not like that. He just feels bad about the door thing.”

Ava scoffed. “Girl, please. No one texts like that out of guilt. He’s into you. I’m telling you.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you shook your head. “It’s probably nothing. He’s just being nice.”

Ava flopped dramatically onto her back, throwing an arm over her eyes. “If you don’t say yes, I’m disowning you as my best friend. This is your moment, Y/N! Seize it!”

You bit your lip, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. You felt torn, excitement battling with apprehension. This was Drew Starkey—he probably had a million people vying for his attention. Why would he be interested in you?

Still, a part of you couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity. Before you could overthink it, you typed out a response.

You: “Tomorrow works. Where should we meet?”

The message sent, and you immediately felt a knot of nerves tighten in your stomach. Ava was practically bouncing beside you, her excitement infectious.

“What if I say something stupid?” you asked, voicing your worries aloud. “Or what if it’s awkward?”

Ava grabbed your shoulders, looking you square in the eyes. “First of all, you’re not going to say anything stupid because you’re amazing, and if he doesn’t see that, then he’s an idiot. Second, awkwardness is part of the charm. Just be yourself.”

You nodded, trying to absorb her confidence. Your phone buzzed again, and both of you leaned in to read the reply.

Drew: “There’s this place called Bar Stella. Low-key, great cocktails. 7 pm?”

Ava squealed. “He’s already planning it out. He’s definitely into you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across your face. “Okay, okay. But what do I wear?”

Ava grinned, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint. “Oh, I’ve got just the thing. Tomorrow, we’re turning you into a knockout.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The next day felt like it dragged on forever. Every hour seemed to stretch into eternity as you counted down the minutes until 7 pm. Ava, true to her word, helped you pick out an outfit—a sleek black jumpsuit that hugged your figure in all the right places, paired with simple gold jewelry and a pair of strappy heels. She even insisted on doing your hair and makeup, transforming you into someone who actually looked like they belonged in LA.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you barely recognized yourself. “What if he doesn’t like it?” you asked, smoothing down the fabric of the jumpsuit.

Ava waved off your concern. “If he doesn’t, he’s blind. You look stunning.”

With a final pep talk from Ava, you grabbed your bag and headed out. The ride to Bar Stella felt surreal, the city lights blurring past as your nerves built. When you arrived, you hesitated outside the door, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

The bar was exactly as Drew had described—low-key and intimate, with warm lighting and a laid-back atmosphere. You scanned the room, your heart skipping a beat when you spotted him at a corner table. He looked effortlessly cool, dressed in a casual button-down and dark jeans, his hair slightly tousled.

When his eyes met yours, he smiled and stood, waving you over. “Hey, you made it.”

“Hey,” you said, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. “Nice choice. This place is great.”

He grinned, gesturing for you to sit. “Figured it’d be better than some loud club. Thought we could actually talk.”

As you sat across from Drew, the candlelight casting warm shadows across the table, the nerves that had gripped you earlier melted away bit by bit. It surprised you how natural it felt, talking to him like this—like he wasn’t some rising star in Hollywood but just a regular guy, charming and down-to-earth.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease that made you envious, “you moved to LA recently. What brought you here? Chasing dreams, or are you just a glutton for punishment like the rest of us?”

You laughed, swirling the cocktail in your hand. “A little of both, maybe. I’ve always wanted to see if I could make it here, you know? I just needed to get out of my hometown, take a chance on something bigger.”

Drew nodded, his blue eyes focused entirely on you. “I get that. This city has a way of drawing people in—whether for the right reasons or not.”

“What about you?” you asked. “Was acting always the dream, or did you fall into it by accident?”

He smirked, resting his elbow on the table. “A bit of both. I always loved movies growing up, but I didn’t think acting was something I could actually do. It felt... unattainable. But then I got cast in a play in high school, and I guess I caught the bug. The rest just kind of snowballed from there.”

You leaned forward, intrigued. “What was the play?”

He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Oh, it was terrible. Some community theater production of Our Town. I played George. My performance was so bad my parents were convinced I’d never make it past that stage.”

You giggled, picturing a younger, awkward Drew stumbling through lines. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. I mean, look where you are now.”

“Debatable,” he teased, but his expression softened. “Honestly, though, it’s been a crazy ride. Some days I still feel like I’m just waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and tell me it’s all been a mistake.”

You nodded, appreciating his vulnerability. “Imposter syndrome?”

“Big time,” he admitted. “It’s weird, right? You work so hard to get somewhere, and then when you’re there, you wonder if you deserve it.”

“I get that,” you said quietly. “I feel like that all the time, even just being here in LA. Like I don’t quite belong.”

Drew’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the bustling energy of the bar seemed to fade into the background. “I think you belong more than you realize,” he said. “You just have to give yourself some credit.”

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush. You sipped your drink to cover the reaction, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics as the night went on—favorite movies, embarrassing childhood stories, the best and worst things about growing up in small towns. Drew animatedly described a disastrous family camping trip that ended with a raccoon stealing their food, and you laughed so hard your sides hurt.

“You’re kidding,” you said between giggles. “A raccoon? Like, the actual animal?”

“Swear to God,” Drew said, holding up three fingers in a Scout’s honor gesture. “It just waddled into our campsite like it owned the place, grabbed the bag of marshmallows, and ran off. My dad was so mad, he spent the rest of the trip setting up elaborate ‘traps’ that never worked.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “That’s amazing. My family’s trips were never that eventful. Just a lot of awkward silences and badly cooked hotdogs.”

“Sounds like a rite of passage,” Drew said, grinning. “Maybe we should recreate it sometime. Bring some marshmallows and see what happens.”

The casual suggestion caught you off guard, a flicker of something hopeful stirring in your chest. But before you could dwell on it, he gestured toward the bartender. “Another round?”

“Sure,” you said, realizing you didn’t want the night to end.

As he ordered, you took a moment to look around the bar. The ambiance was cozy and unpretentious, a mix of quiet conversation and soft background music. It was the kind of place you never would have found on your own, and you found yourself silently thanking Drew for suggesting it.

When he returned with the drinks, he slid yours across the table with a playful smile. “So, what’s one thing about you I wouldn’t guess just by looking?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a dangerous question.”

“Come on,” he urged, leaning forward. “I’ll even go first. Let’s see... I once auditioned for a role by rapping the entire Fresh Prince theme song. Didn’t get the part, but I nailed the performance.”

Your jaw dropped, and you burst out laughing. “No way. You have to prove it now.”

“Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s a one-time deal. The world wasn’t ready for it then, and it’s not ready now.”

“Coward,” you teased, and he laughed, the sound lighting up his whole face.

“All right, your turn,” he said, pointing at you.

You thought for a moment, then grinned. “I can recite every line of The Princess Diaries from memory.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Every line? That’s impressive.”

“And slightly embarrassing,” you admitted. “It was my comfort movie growing up. My parents used to joke that they didn’t need a TV as long as I was around.”

Drew’s smile softened. “I think that’s awesome. Plus, it’s a great movie.”

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, trading stories and jokes until the clock ticked past midnight. You hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten until the bartender subtly dimmed the lights, signaling closing time.

As you stepped outside into the cool night air, Drew turned to you, his hands tucked into his pockets. “I had a really great time tonight.”

“Me too,” you said, your breath visible in the chill. “Thanks for inviting me out.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if considering his next words carefully. “Would it be okay if I called you sometime? Maybe we can do this again?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded, unable to hide your smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Drew’s smile widened, and he gave a small nod, as if sealing the deal. “Good. Text me when you get home, okay? Just so I know you made it safe.”

“I will,” you promised, and with one last glance, he walked away, his silhouette fading into the city lights.

You stood there for a moment, the events of the night replaying in your mind. As you turned to head home, the smile on your face refused to fade. Maybe, just maybe, LA was starting to feel like home after all.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[voxhypno]

25 DAYS OF HYPSMAS - Day 1

"Amnesia"

I'd like you to find a nice, comfortable position, dear listener. A place and pose where you can read my words scrolling across your screen with little effort.

I'm going to be guiding you down into trance with these words, so comfort and ease are very important. You don't want anything to come between you and my words, do you?

After all, if you've been following this blog for long, you know these words have a way of slipping through the cracks of your mind and replacing whatever silly little thoughts you had cluttering up your head previously.

So of course you'll follow along, doll. You'll listen, and go along with my words. Because I say so, and because I know that more likely than not, you love to obey.

Now that you're reading obediently along with me, all comfy, I'd like to talk to you about the idea of memory. Recollection.

Your memory is a powerful tool. Everything it sees, hears, and encounters is catalogued away for recall when you need it, whether you think your mind is sharp as a tack or full of holes.

Sometimes, though, things do slip through holes in your memory. It's completely natural to find that you can no longer recall the face of your first grade teacher, or remember what your mother was wearing on the day of your 18th birthday. Those memory holes are completely natural, and the focus of our chat today, dear listener.

Those memory holes can be manipulated by someone with a level of trust and access to your mind, you see. Hypnosis makes a lot of things possible, and one of my favorite things to do is to take those memories and put them away for a while. Leaving the reader or listener nothing but a happy empty shell, ready to be filled with whatever I feel like.

That's a lot to take in all at once, and I understand if your poor little mind is feeling a bit overwhelmed. It makes sense, then, for your eyelids to start feeling so, so heavy. For your arms and legs to begin feeling limp, soft, and powerless.

And the trance that you find yourself falling into isn't so different than one of those memory holes, is it? Fuzzy around the edges, barely aware, and every time you try to picture something, your mind just drifts back to my words flowing through you.

It only ever gets easier and more natural to focus on these words. You can try and put your mind towards something else, but these words are much more present in the moment, and you're drawn into them more and more deeply. Your thoughts are nothing but thought, after all. Ephemeral and whispy, while my words are solid, tangible, and so deeply inviting.

And as you listen, as you find yourself further wrapped up in my words and dragged down into trance, it's natural to find yourself having trouble remembering more than a few sentences back. You're much more focused, and it's much easier to focus, on what's being said right now. Even if you tried to read up, you'd just find yourself back here, more ensnared and vacant than before.

Names and faces of old friends, the interior of your childhood bedroom, what you are for breakfast this morning, all just melting into soft, blank mental fuzz. Certain tidbits might stick out in your memory, but it's so much easier to pay attention to the blurred lines along the edges, growing more and more hazy and empty, just like your mind itself.

It's so hazy, there inside your mind... Thoughts and memories drifting in and out of focus...

And to help focus you onto something, here, dear listener. Let me help.

There we go, see? Much better. So easy to let the memories drift away from you now. Those holes in your mind, in your memory, widening and spreading themselves open... Spinning like that pretty spiral... And more and more things begin to drip through.

Almost as if more and more memories are being sucked down into the spirals inside of your mind, out of reach.

Things like your name, your face, the name of your hometown, your favorite foods... All just dropping nice and neatly into one of those wide memory holes.

Not only that, but memories of stress, of pain, of aching, all disappearing into those spiraling holes as well. Entirely emptying your mind into these spirals. Remembering nothing, recalling nothing. The spiral and my words don't discriminate. They suck in everything, leaving you calm and placid and vacant.

Here's the spiral again, to help the process along.

Feeling these things gently and easily leaving your awareness as they do so. They're in the hole, dear listener. Lost to the pretty spiral. A silly hypnotoy like you couldn't possibly grasp them in there. As far as you know, you've always been like this.

So you just sit. You feel yourself smiling blankly for me now, without really knowing why. You just watch the pretty spiral, read the pretty words, and understand that as you are now, it's so deeply and completely impossible to remember anything. In the final stages of being emptied out.

Even as you read my words, they pass through that empty mind like water through a sieve. Changing your brain, changing your thoughts, and then disappearing. They were never there. You've always been like this.

A blank slate. Every breath, every twitch, every blink keeps your mind in this state. Unable to remember your name or what you've just read, and unable to remember why. You've always been like this.

But you can't help but feel this little itch at the back of your mind. You can't remember who or where you are, but you're dimly aware that you should. That you want to. Your memories have to be somewhere... You just have to find them.

And since you've dropped down like this for me, since you've been in trance for as long as you can remember, I'm going to let you in on two secrets.

The first, and most important, is that this empty state is temporary. From the time you finish reading this post, and my words and spirals leave your vision, your memory is of course going to return. I'm not a monster, after all.

Let's say... an hour?

That sounds good. From the time you finish reading this post, your memory will be completely out of reach for one whole hour.

At the end of that hour, those memory holes will shrink to their normal size, and everything that you've stuffed in there will come flying out, back into your mind. Leaving you just as you were, remembering just as much as you did, before reading this post.

You're not going to remember that this time limit exists, of course. You won't remember any of this. You'll just be your blank happy empty little self, and suddenly your personality and reality will come flying right back into your mind, like nothing ever happened.

And the second point is more of a question...

Where could you go to find your lost memories?

Well, that's simple.

I've hidden them in all the posts on my blog, silly toy. Not sure how on earth you could have forgotten that! Every single past post of mine is a clue to who and what you are.

So in this hour that you won't remember, explore. Try and figure something out about your old memories. Who are you? Where are you? Search through my posts. What must you like? What must you act like?

I look forward to hearing about your findings, and I'll see you in an hour.

Now, wake up~!