#and he finally lets himself be a kid again

[nanakxnt]

no other heart 𓍢˚꩜.｡ .ᐟ

synopsis: gojo is acting strange and the trio doesn’t understand why until you appear.

contains: pure fluff, gojo dramatics, secret wife shenanigans, lovesick gojo!!

author’s note: i couldn’t resist writing for gojo, not when my love for him is at it’s peak.

gojo satoru was off today.

yuuji and nobara noticed it immediately. their usually smug, borderline unbearable teacher was fidgety—bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers against the desk, adjusting his blindfold every five seconds. he kept sighing dramatically and staring at the clock like it had personally wronged him.

yuuji and nobara exchanged a glance.

“what is wrong with him?” nobara whispered, narrowing her eyes at their teacher, who was currently slumped over his desk like a wilting flower.

yuuji shrugged. “dunno. maybe he didn’t get enough sleep?”

“or maybe he ate too much sugar,” nobara muttered, watching as gojo groaned and rolled onto his side.

“or maybe not enough sugar,” yuuji suggested.

megumi, who had been flipping through his textbook this entire time, finally sighed.

“you know something,” nobara accused, jabbing a finger in megumi’s direction.

“i don’t,” megumi replied, exasperated. “but i have a guess.”

gojo, meanwhile, let out the longest groan known to man and slumped forward again, forehead resting on the desk. “ugh, this is the worst!”

“what is?” yuuji asked.

gojo sat up so fast it startled them. “everything.”

“okay, that doesn’t help.”

“you wouldn’t understand,” gojo grumbled, tilting his head back. “you kids have never known true suffering.”

“oh, please.” nobara rolled her eyes. “we literally fight curses for a living.”

gojo waved a hand dismissively. “doesn’t compare.”

megumi sighed, already over it. he knew exactly what was happening—he’d seen it before.

before nobara could demand an explanation, gojo suddenly bolted upright, his entire body going rigid, his head snapping toward the door like he was possessed. for a moment, he didn’t move.

then, without a single word, he sprinted out of the classroom. the chair screeched against the floor as he practically launched himself out, disappearing before anyone could blink.

“huh?!”

yuuji and nobara exchanged frantic looks before racing to the window, shoving past each other to get a good view. megumi, slower but still curious, followed behind.

outside, just past the school’s entrance, stood you.

the second you stepped onto campus, gojo was already there, appearing in front of you in an instant.

“baby!” he practically screeched, sweeping you off your feet before you even had a chance to react.

you let out a startled laugh as he spun you around, hugging you tight. “satoru—!”

“you’re back! you’re back!” he cheered, squeezing you so close you could barely breathe. “my beautiful, amazing, super-hot wife is finally back!”

yuuji, nobara, and megumi watched the scene unfold in stunned silence.

“what.” nobara deadpanned.

“who is that?!” yuuji whisper-shouted, eyes wide.

below, gojo was still wrapped around you like a koala, peppering kisses all over your face. “i missed you so much! i almost died from loneliness! do you know how hard life is without you?!”

you giggled, brushing a hand through his hair. “i was only gone for a month.”

“that’s thirty whole days of misery! do you even love me?!”

you rolled your eyes affectionately. “no, i just married you for tax benefits.”

“oh, you wound me.” gojo clutched his chest dramatically, still not putting you down. “kiss me, quick, before my heart shatters.”

you gave him a quick peck, and he immediately beamed.

up in the classroom, nobara grabbed megumi by the sleeve, eyes still locked on the scene below.

“explain. now.”

megumi exhaled sharply, like this conversation exhausted him.

“yeah, that’s his wife.”

“WIFE?!” nobara and yuuji shouted in unison.

megumi nodded, still as deadpan as ever. “she’s been gojo’s for as long as i can remember.”

they both stared at him, then back at gojo, who was now swaying side to side with you still in his arms, mumbling about how much he missed you.

“…this is insane.”

[seumyo]

Kuroo had imagined that if he ever had a meet-cute with his future girlfriend, it would be something out of a rom-com.

Maybe she’d bump into him in the hallway and drop her books, and their hands would brush as they both reached down. Maybe they’d get locked in the school’s storage closet and have no choice but to talk, discovering they had an undeniable connection. Maybe he’d do something particularly cool in front of her—like nail an impossible volleyball save—and she’d be so impressed that she’d fall for him on the spot.

You know, a great story to tell his future kids later on.

What he did not imagine was this.

He had barely settled into his seat in chemistry lab class when the teacher rattled off instructions about the elements they’d be working with today. Kuroo, who had only half-listened, glanced at the laminated periodic table on their lab station. There were a lot of elements, and he was already regretting not paying closer attention. With a sigh, he turned to the girl beside him.

“Hey, can you check which elements we’re supposed to—”

He paused.

For one, you looked a little startled, like you hadn’t expected him to speak to you so soon. Your lips parted slightly, and your fingers thrummed against the edge of the table, but you didn’t immediately respond. Kuroo furrowed his brows.

Maybe you didn’t hear him?

Before he could repeat himself, you blinked a few times and slowly turned to the periodic table. Your expression shifted into something that could only be described as deep concentration, like you were trying to decipher some ancient text rather than a chart of chemical elements.

Seconds passed.

Then a full minute.

Kuroo’s eyebrows inched up.

Still, no answer.

“Give me a second.”

Ah, there it was.

He could see your eyes darting over the periodic table, and every few moments, you squinted slightly, as if you were trying to bring the tiny printed words into focus. Another thirty seconds passed. He tilted his head, watching as you leaned forward a little, your eyes locked on the chart like your life depended on it.

You would probably set it on fire at this point from how intense you were looking.

“…You good?” he finally asked, unable to stop the curious edge in his voice.

You straightened up so fast it was like you had been caught doing something embarrassing. Which, judging by the way you suddenly looked anywhere but at him, you probably had.

“I, um—” You hesitated, biting your lip. Then, after what seemed to be an internal debate, you let out a small sigh. “I actually, uh, forgot my glasses at home.”

Oh.

Oh.

Kuroo blinked, his amusement only growing. That explained a lot.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand.

“Not terrible,” you muttered, though the way you still weren’t looking at him suggested otherwise. “I can still see—just not, you know, well.”

That made him chuckle.

“Well, that’s going to be a little problem, isn’t it?”

You let out a small, almost defeated laugh. “Probably.”

Kuroo grinned and turned his attention back to the chart, skimming for the elements the teacher had mentioned. “Alright, let’s see… We’ve got—” He rattled off a few element names and their symbols, glancing at you to make sure you were following along.

Then, as if remembering you had an actual task to contribute to, you quickly dropped your gaze back on the textbook for reference. “You don’t have to—”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he interrupted smoothly. “What were the elements again? Aluminum, zinc, and—what was the last one?”

Still looking a little overwhelmed by the sheer speed at which this whole interaction was happening, you answered, “Um. Magnesium.”

“Magnesium, got it.” Kuroo tapped the page, making sure you could at least see where he was pointing. “Here, let’s work on this together. I’ll read it out, and you can double-check if I’m not mistaken.”

You let out a small, barely-there laugh—so quiet that if Kuroo hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve missed it. But he was paying attention.

He had been ever since you sat next to him, really. He realized that he paid attention to you more than the teacher himself.

Kuroo read the information to you, sometimes exaggerating just for fun—“And this here, my dear lab partner, is the majestic zinc, element number 30, the unsung hero of batteries everywhere”—which earned him an amused shake of your head. You weren’t exactly talkative, per se, but he caught glimpses of amusement in the way you entertained his nonsense.

This must be the manifestation of that one tweet he posted, “My future wife is probably fake laughing at her boyfriend’s lame jokes rn. Be patient, Queen; a true clown is on the way.”

Now that you weren’t caught off guard, you nodded along, quickly jotting things down in your notes. It was then that Kuroo realized something else.

You hadn’t even introduced yourselves.

“You know,” he said, smiling a little, “I think we skipped a step.”

You paused, looking at him curiously, then back at your worksheet. “What?”

“The whole name thing.” He tapped his pen against the worksheet. “I asked you to do something before I even said hi. That’s pretty rude, huh?”

For the first time since he spoke to you, you actually met his gaze. And then, to his surprise, you cracked a small smile.

“A little, yeah.”

Kuroo chuckled. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.”

You tilted your head slightly, and then, like you were amused at how backwards this whole conversation had gone, you finally replied, “[Last Name] [Name].”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “And don’t worry—I’ll be your eyes for today. And for as long as you’d like.”

“Are you this flirty with every person you meet?”

“Only the ones that know their way around a calculator despite not even looking at it directly.”

You rolled your eyes at that, but he could see how his jokes were getting to you. By the time the teacher walked around to check your progress, Kuroo had already decided that this was way better than any cliché shoujo manga meet-cute.

Because really, what could be more romantic than offering to be someone’s eyes for the day—and maybe even for forever?

BONUS:

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[jungwnies]

legacy | kimi räikkönen

୨ৎ : featuring : uncle!kimi räikkönen x niece!reader, granddad!niki lauda x reader, lucas lauda (mentioned), räikkönen family (mentioned) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : growing up as niki lauda’s granddaughter and kimi räikkönen’s niece, racing was in your blood. with a no-nonsense attitude on and off the track, you quickly earned the respect of the f1 world. but when you win the championship and kimi publicly congratulates you as his niece, the internet erupts...finally uncovering the family secret that had been hiding in plain sight.

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 589

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : back to back posts because ... why not it's spring break ^.^

you had spent your entire life surrounded by racing history.

your grandfather, niki lauda, had cemented himself as one of the greatest legends of formula 1, and from the moment you first sat in a kart, there was no escaping the legacy.

but you never wanted to escape it.

you wanted to build on it.

and you did.

racing through the junior categories, proving yourself on every track, refusing to let the weight of your last name dictate the expectations placed on you—you carved your own path.

until, finally, in your debut season of formula 1, you did what no one thought was possible.

you won the championship.

the press had long drawn comparisons between you and your grandfather—your calculated racing, your unwillingness to sugarcoat your opinions, your straightforwardness in the paddock.

but what really sealed it for them was the fact that off-track, you reminded people of kimi räikkönen.

your interviews were brief, your social interactions minimal, and your patience for unnecessary media obligations was nonexistent.

the paddock loved you for it.

“do you even celebrate?” a journalist had once asked after a race win.

you had taken a sip of your water, expression blank. “i celebrate by winning again.”

the internet went crazy over that one.

fans had long speculated about your connections outside of the lauda name, especially when you were frequently spotted with kimi räikkönen and his family.

rumors flew—some said you were just close to him because of your grandfather’s legacy, others wondered if kimi had taken you under his wing.

no one could really figure it out.

until that day.

the day you became a formula 1 world champion.

the post-race celebrations were chaotic.

champagne sprayed everywhere, your team lifting you in the air, the sounds of cheers blending into an overwhelming rush of noise. the media swarmed, cameras flashing, the world watching as you became the first woman in history to win the formula 1 championship.

and then, kimi räikkönen appeared.

he didn’t make a big scene, didn’t push through crowds—he just walked straight up to you, cool and composed as ever, and offered a rare, proud smile before pulling you into a hug.

“well done,” he said simply.

and then, in front of every camera, every journalist, every fan watching worldwide, he said the words that broke the internet.

“your uncle is proud of you.”

silence.

a beat of confusion.

and then—chaos.

uncle?

suddenly, everything clicked for everyone.

the private family gatherings, the time spent with kimi’s kids, the way he had always treated you with the quiet protectiveness of someone with genuine familial ties.

the truth was finally out—kimi räikkönen was your uncle.

his younger sister had married lucas lauda.

which meant that while you had spent your whole career trying to live up to the lauda legacy, you had also unknowingly inherited a bit of the räikkönen reputation too.

no wonder people thought you were just like him.

the internet exploded.

fans immediately latched onto the revelation, the nickname "miki" (a combination of kimi and niki) trending within minutes.

you shook your head at the ridiculousness of it all, glancing up at your uncle. “you just had to say it in front of the cameras, huh?”

kimi smirked slightly, completely unfazed by the worldwide reaction. “they were getting annoying.”

you sighed. “great. now the world thinks i’m some genetically engineered racing experiment.”

kimi shrugged. “you did win.”

you stared at him for a moment before laughing, shaking your head. “yeah. i did.”

and honestly? you wouldn’t change a thing.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[goldfades]

I would love to see how Hayes reacts to having to share mom with the baby bump and how Joe deals being a dad of two.

Absolutely adore everything you write, all of your stories with Hayes are my favorite, looking forward to seeing this cute little family grow!

The first time Hayes really noticed the baby bump, he didn’t say anything.

He just looked.

Big, round eyes staring up from where he was curled against your side on the couch, small hand resting on your stomach like he was trying to solve a mystery only he could see. His little brows furrowed, his lips pursed, and you could see the gears turning in his head.

Joe, who had been flipping channels on the TV, glanced over and caught the look on his face. He smirked. “What’s up, bud?”

Hayes didn’t answer right away. He pressed his palm a little firmer against your belly, watching—waiting—like he thought something might happen. And then, finally, he looked up at you.

“There’s a baby in there?”

You bit back a smile, smoothing your hand over his curls. “Yeah, sweetheart. You know that.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicious. “But it’s in there?”

Joe huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s usually how it works, buddy.”

Hayes ignored him, too focused on you, like he was trying to make sense of something he hadn’t really considered before. He poked at your stomach once, experimentally, then again. “How it get there?”

Joe nearly choked.

You sent him a sharp look before he could make a joke.

“Magic,” you said simply, watching as Hayes’ face twisted in thought.

After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay.” Then, more to himself, he mumbled, “Magic.”

Joe mouthed nice save over his head, and you barely resisted rolling your eyes.

But Hayes still wasn’t done. He shifted closer, pressing his ear against your stomach like he thought he might hear something. You ran your fingers through his curls, letting him sit with the moment, letting him process.

Then—he gasped.

Joe straightened instantly, alarm flashing across his face. “What?”

Hayes whipped his head up, eyes wide. “Baby kicked me!”

You grinned. “Did you feel it?”

He nodded so fast his curls bounced, clearly thrilled. “Felt me!”

Joe reached over, ruffling his hair. “Guess that means they like you, huh?”

But Hayes wasn’t listening anymore. He turned back to your stomach, pressing his little hands against it, eyes bright with excitement. “Do it again, baby.”

You watched him, heart swelling, and then glanced over at Joe.

He was already looking at you, something soft in his gaze, something warm.

Neither of you said anything.

You didn’t have to.

Because sitting there—Hayes between you, the baby still growing inside you, Joe’s arm stretched across the couch just barely grazing yours—you already felt like a family of four.

For a while, Hayes stayed pressed against your stomach, tiny hands splayed wide over your bump like he could summon another kick just by willing it. His little nose scrunched in deep concentration, lips pursed in that same determined way Joe’s always were when he was really focused. The resemblance was almost comical.

Joe noticed it too, judging by the way his smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched Hayes. “What’s your game plan here, buddy?”

Hayes barely spared him a glance. “Waiting.”

“For what?”

“Baby kicking me again.” His tone was so serious, like this was a full-time job he’d just been assigned. You bit back a smile, fingers still lazily running through his curls.

Joe stretched an arm over the back of the couch, his thumb brushing the top of your shoulder absentmindedly. “What if they’re asleep?”

Hayes frowned, considering this. Then, he leaned down, putting his mouth right up to your stomach and whispering, “Wake up, baby.”

Joe snorted. You sighed. “Sweetheart, let’s not wake the baby just because you want to play, okay?”

Hayes groaned dramatically and flopped back into your side, arms crossed in a huff. “But I wanna feel ‘em again.”

Joe reached over and ruffled his curls. “Patience, kid. They’ll be around plenty once they get here.”

Hayes went quiet for a moment, little fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt as his mind worked through something. Then, his head tipped back to look up at you, eyes round and serious.

“But when they get here…” He hesitated, suddenly shy. “You’re still gonna hold me, right?”

Your heart melted on the spot.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You scooped him up without hesitation, settling him against your chest. His legs curled into your side like second nature, small hands gripping your shirt. “You’re always gonna be my baby, too.”

Hayes rested his head against your shoulder, quiet for a moment, and then whispered, “Even when I’m big?”

“Even when you’re big,” you promised, kissing the top of his head. “Even when you’re taller than me. Even when you’re all grown up. Always.”

Joe watched you both, something soft and unreadable in his gaze.

Hayes burrowed closer, little fingers wrapping around yours. “Okay.”

For a while, the three of you just sat there—Joe’s arm resting over the back of the couch, your hand tangled with Hayes’, the baby quiet and still between you.

Eventually, Hayes let out a sigh, as if making peace with everything, and then poked your stomach one last time.

“Guess I can share.”

Joe huffed out a laugh. “Guess?”

Hayes grinned, already leaning into your touch, clearly deciding he liked the idea of staying in your arms a little longer.

You smiled, pressing another kiss to his curls, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Guess that makes you the best big brother ever.”

[msmimundo]

I would like to add how childish our Doof's dictatorship seems to be in Quantum Boogaloo in comparison to 2nd Doof. I mean, doesn't naming everyone the same easy name and wearing his favourite outfit and have a bunch of statues of himself around that people should bow to sound like what a kid who just read a vague definition of what dictatorship is looks like? And the whole oath with OWCA just sounds like a sassy putting salt on Perry's wound. Meanwhile the 2nd Doof's government is well though, has structure. Summer is banned and the kids arent allowed to go outside, theres robots everywhere controlling absolutely everything, people have the same soulless outfits and Lawrence just left for an entire week to work in some kind of bus that barely cares about citizens safety. Theres even a whole resistance underground, the only place he doesnt have an eye on.

The way I see it, our Doof just seems like he was forced to grow fast (literally got kicked out his own house) and mature to be independent and lose his childhood that the moment he found some stability (prob his marriage with Charlene or their divorce, the traditional fulfillement of building a family, or what I feel is most likely in a funny way, the huge alimony check that gives him the safety of not living through poverty, famine, child labor and living with wild animals ever again) the resentment of being treated so poorly all his childhood finally caught up to him to the point where, now that he has a stable house and gets money, he is safe enough to let that forced maturity down and revert back to a childish self (I mean, we all know that most of his inators are spitefully childish and not a real danger lol), to feel the hate in an attempt to make those wasted years count. A "if the world hurt me I'll hurt them!!" kind of mentality that most edgy teens have.

It's also interesting how as the show progresses, the issue doesn't seem to be so much against people but against his brother. It is also interesting how he never blames his parents, not even Only Son, and seems like he lived fine with his brother as young adults until Roger accidentally ruined his painting, a rock thrown against his first step to stability that made him put the weight of his resentment and blame towards him.

It also makes sense that a little platypus becoming his best friend was all it took from Quantum Boogaloo to giving up evil in LDOF. An adult stable source of attention and shoulder to cry on (while Vanessa had an important role to his recovery, he would never dump his trauma on her)

On the other hand, of what we see of 2nd Doof, it doesn't look like his life had any trouble. Whether he lived the same trauma as our Doof or not is never really revealed, both the fact that he did but he spiraled so hard over Choo choo he never really paid much mind (i mean, he IS missing an eye after all) like prev reblogs mentioned, and that he didn't seem pausible.

Choo choo marked something important in 2nd Doof's life -> the lost of control. He never gave it away willingly, he just lost it like that. If he had an emotional attachment to it over trauma or simply because kids are like that, the thought of losing something scared him so much that the moment he found stability and power in adulthood he decided to take the entire city he settled on and put a robot in every corner to control what was happening at every moment. Where our Doof would get all wet puppy eyes over the thought of Vanessa leaving (A Real Boy and Last Day of Summer) but otherwise never forces his daughter to love him, 2nd Doof, as mentioned before, bans out of the city every boy that has a chance of taking her away from him. Same with Perry turning him into a cyborg, compared to him letting him free (esp if we considere mml, he got mad and sad but not controlling). And hey! Unlike the Charlene that saw this resented, childish Doof (ahem Mr. Tomato) that clang to her for stability, this Charlene stayed married to him!

Our Doof seeks the care and attention he never got as a kid from everybody, from his parents still, to Vanessa, to Perry, Ballony, even Peter! In an attempt to heal his past, and specially in earlier seasons he tried to get that through forceful evil means, wanting the whole tri-state area to adore him in a childish but empty dream. And as we see in father's day, it seems he learns to appreciate the quality over the quantity as he is content with his relationship with Perry and doesnt desire his fathers attention anymore. He doesnt even want to trully harm anybody the way he was. 2nd Doof, in what we've seen, doesn't care about that, forcefully turning his Perry into a robot to keep as his own pet that wont ever scape. He just wants control, to know where everything is at every moment. To not lose anything ever again.

Also, despite what media say, most (evil) people in power irl didnt have a tragic backstory and in fact lived in wealthy homes all their lives.

Oh god I didnt mean to make this so long ssjkk but anyway I really wanted to put my own interpretation out there. Hope it is easy to understand

The fact that 2nd Dimension Doofenshmirtz had no real tragic backstory and is a much more successful villain tells me that Doofenshmirtz's backstories aren't the cause of his evil, they're an inhibition on his evil.

His suffering taught him humility and empathy and perseverance that 2nd Dimension Doofenshmirtz never had. And that ultimately made him a better person, and thus a worse villain.

[keeryhours]

teen pregnancy series - steve harrington part 2

Steve Harrington x female! reader

Main Masterlist

Teen Pregnancy Series Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

Part 1

You find yourself pregnant with your best friend Nancy’s boyfriend’s baby after a drunken mistake.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, pregnancy, traumatic birth, pregnancy complications, angst

Word Count: 16.4k

A/N:

Please read part 1 first if you haven’t yet! I worked so hard on this one so I’m excited to have the finished thing posted for you guys! Thanks again to the besties @punkrockmlchael @the-witty-pen-name @lesservillain @glassbxttless @fizzing-imagines 💕

Friday came much too soon. You dressed nice for school, not bothering to hide the belly. You wore a little dress that showed off your figure, and a pair of boots. Steve smiled when he saw you, his eyes roaming your body.

“You look beautiful,” he said as you climbed into his car. “They’re probably going to like you more than they like me.”

School had become hell. It helped that Steve had your back. Steve was getting much less shit than you were. In fact, most of the guys at school thought he was something of a legend. But when you were alone, your classmates were vicious.

Someone you never expected to find comfort in was Carol Perkins.

“Talk to her like that again and I’ll kick your ass.”

It was seemingly out of nowhere. One second some kids were making rude comments, then the next thing you knew Carol slid up beside you, linking her arm in yours and telling them off. You were confused as she stepped off with her head held high, taking you with her.

“Um…”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m not gonna let anyone give you shit.”

It wasn’t long before you were spending most every minute of your day with either Carol or Steve. Even Steve was a little skeptical of Carol’s intentions, but she seemed sincere.

And she wasn’t as bad as you, Nancy, and Barb had thought. She was sweet - something you never thought you’d say - and she was funny. And she really did have your back. She even stared down Nancy giving you dirty looks in chem.

After school Friday, you followed Steve out to his car just like every day. Only neither of you were taking this lightly. You’d finally be meeting the Harringtons, and Steve had appropriately scared you for the dinner.

“Just letting you know, they’re awful,” he said, talking with his hands as he drove. “Like, really awful. My dad is an ass. My mom just lets him. It’s a whole thing.”

He was doing nothing to help your ‘meeting the parents’ nerves. “Are they really that bad?”

“They’re pretty bad.” He sighed. “I think they’re trying to make an effort, though. They want you and the baby to be around. They’re actually a little excited for their first grandchild.”

You smiled a little at that, hand resting on your belly. It was evident through your clothes and you didn’t attempt to hide it now. “I hope they like me.”

“They probably will,” he said. “Like I said, probably more than they like me.”

You were surprised at just how nice the Harrington’s house was. Steve pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous two story home with a large pool in the back. He gave you a nervous smile and squeezed your hand  like well, here we go.

You walked hand in hand to the front door, Steve letting himself in. The smell of dinner hit you immediately, making your mouth water - was that steak? - and your stomach rumbled.

“Hungry?” Steve laughed.

“Starving,” you admitted.

“Well, good. I’m sure my mom cooked a feast.”

As you walked into the kitchen, a well dressed woman stood over the stove, her hair pulled back tightly. A man in a suit was leaning against the island bar, talking to her. They both looked over as you and Steve walked in, and the woman gave you a polite smile.

“Steve,” she said. “So this must be…”

Steve said your name for you, introducing you to both his parents. “This is my mom and dad.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” his mother said, reaching for your hand. “I’m Melissa.”

You took her hand and smiled politely as you shook it. You waited for his father to introduce himself, but he said nothing. Finally, his mother spoke up again. “And this is Richard, Steve’s father.”

You could feel their gazes drop to your stomach immediately as you dropped your arm. You suddenly wanted to cover up, wishing you had worn the sweatshirt again, but it was too late for that now.

Steve surprised you by reaching over and placing a hand on your stomach, too. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room. “Are you okay?” he asked, quiet enough for only you to hear.

You nodded, giving him a grateful smile. “I’m okay.”

Steve’s hand lingered protectively on your belly for a moment longer before he moved, turning back to face his parents. “So…what’s for dinner?”

Dinner turned out to be steaks, with mashed potatoes and green beans on the side. Your stomach growled with hunger as you eyed the food being placed on the table - eating for two was correct, because you had been infinitely hungrier the past few months.

You all took a seat at the table, Steve’s dad sitting at the head of the table with his wife next to him, Steve on the other side with you at the end of the table. You were so relieved it was time to eat, it distracted you from your nerves as you dug into your plate.

“So,” Steve’s mother began, looking at you. “Steve tells us you’re very smart.”

You blushed, looking over at Steve, who smiled sheepishly at you. “I…I’m in some advanced classes, yes.”

“College plans?” she asked, almost as if she had forgotten about the pregnancy entirely.

Your heart sunk in your chest. “I was planning to go to Emerson. But now…”

An awkward silence settled over the room. The only sounds to be heard were the dishes clinking together as you all ate. It was Steve’s dad who spoke next. “What do the two of you plan to do about all this?” he asked, getting straight to the point as he gestured between you and Steve.

You froze again, but Steve spoke up. “What do you mean, dad?”

“I mean,” he said, looking sternly at both of you. “I don’t think either of you understand the gravity of the situation you’re in.” He looked at you. “You’re an only child, yes?”

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“And so are you,” he said to Steve. “So, what do either of you know about babies? And how hard it will be to take care of one?”

No one said anything. You weren’t sure if there was anything to be said to that.

“Not only that,” he continued, “but how will you support yourselves and a baby?”

He was asking questions you truly didn’t know the answer to. “I was thinking I could-“ Steve began, but his father cut him off.

“Thinking you could work for me?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “We had talked about it-“

“Son, you’re welcome to come work with me. But you’re on your own. This child is your responsibility, I expect you to take care of both the baby and her.”

Steve looked at you. He reached over the table and took your hand. “I can do that.”

His father nodded. “Good.” Another beat of silence. “Do you both plan to finish school?”

“Yes,” you said quickly. “The baby won’t be born until after graduation, so…”

“Yeah, we’re both going to finish the year,” Steve said. He looked at you. “She still wants to go to college, maybe…after the baby is born,”

You nodded. “Yeah…if I can.”

“That’s good,” Steve’s mother said, giving you a smile. “I’m glad you have big dreams and ambitions.”

You weren’t sure if she was proud of you, or thought you were naive. “Community college, at least.”

“How far along are you?” she asked.

“15 weeks.”

Steve’s parents’ eyes widened. “Almost halfway there,” his mom said, her voice nervous. “We didn’t realize it was that far along.”

Steve’s hand rested on your knee beneath the table.

“She’s been taking good care of herself,” he said. “Going to all her appointments, taking her vitamins.”

“Well that’s the bare minimum, isn’t it, son?” his dad said.

Steve clenched his jaw. He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. “She’s doing a good job.”

“Look, son,” he said. “There’s a lot more to having a baby than just having it. You have to worry about diapers, formula if she doesn’t or can’t breastfeed, clothes and supplies-“

“Dad, I know.”

“I don’t know that you do.” His father’s stern voice commanded the entire room. You felt extremely uncomfortable. “I can’t believe you, son. You’re a Harrington. And look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Richard-“ his mother said, but he kept talking as if she hadn’t said anything.

“You’re barely 18 years old. Still in high school. And now you’ve got some girl pregnant?” You felt so small at that - some girl - you shrunk into yourself, wishing you could disappear.

“Dad.”

“No, Steve, I don’t want to hear it. You’ve disgraced this family. You’ve embarrassed not only me, but your poor mother as well. Do you know how you’re being talked about down at the clubhouse? It’s humiliating for both me and your mother.”

Steve gripped his fork tightly. He thought about stabbing it into his father’s hand. “Those people do nothing but gossip anyway-“

“Steven!” he snapped. Steve jumped at the sound of his government name, feeling like a child again as he shrunk under the harsh gaze of his father. “You are not to talk to me that way. Do you want a job with me to take care of your little family or not?”

Silence. “I do.”

“Then act like it.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was almost disturbing to see Steve give up like that. You felt terrible for him - your dad hadn’t taken the pregnancy news well, but neither of your parents were strict. Not like this. The silence left behind after that exchange was deafening.

If you hadn’t been pregnant and starving, you would have lost your appetite. Instead you cleared your plate, and could have gone for seconds if someone offered. After dinner you helped Mrs. Harrington clean up, washing the dishes alongside her - which seemed to earn her approval. You could hear a heated conversation between Steve and his father muffled from the living room.

Once the dishes had been done and the dining room and kitchen were spotless, Steve’s parents told you goodbye. “Thank you for coming to dinner,” Mrs. Harrington said. “We enjoyed having you.” Mr. Harrington said nothing.

“Thank you for having me,” you said. You smiled at them, feeling their eyes once again on your stomach now that you were standing. It was something you were having to get used to in general. Everyone looked.

When Steve placed his hand on your back and led you out of the house and into the fresh air of the night, you took a deep breath that you’d needed for hours. “Well. Glad that’s over.”

Steve laughed, opening the passenger door for you. He took your hand to help you lower yourself into the seat. “Told you they were bad.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. “Yeah, your dad was an asshole,” you said. It made him laugh again.

As he started the engine and began driving back towards your house, a silence settled, although this was a much more comfortable one. Eventually he reached over and took your hand in his, which surprised you but you weren’t complaining. It was just friendly. Nothing romantic between you.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “Even though they seemed like assholes-“

“Your mom was fine!”

“-believe me,” he continued, “you earned points in their book for even having the balls to show up and take their shit.”

You smiled. “You really think they didn’t hate me?”

“Oh, they loved you. That’s just how they show it.”

It wasn’t long before the BMW pulled up outside your home. The lights were on inside, casting a warm glow over the yard. “Want me to walk you in?” Steve asked.

“Sure.”

Steve followed you up the walkway and to the door, his hand resting on your back as if you might hurt yourself without his help. You entered the house to find both of your parents in the living room, watching TV.

“Steve!” your mother said. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” he said. “Just making sure she gets home safely.”

“Well, we appreciate that.” Your mom smiled. Steve gave you a tight hug, one that you were surprised by. He hadn’t been this affectionate with you.

“I’ll see you later,” he said. You watched as he turned and left, feeling like he was taking a piece of you with him, too. You wanted to reach for him, to grasp his hand and bring him back, bring him upstairs and to your room. It wasn’t even sex you were after (although being pregnant had made you super horny), but even just to be held. Steve made you feel safe, cared for.

But you couldn’t do that. It would be weird, for one. It was weird enough that you wanted him in that way. You went upstairs and took your shower before settling into bed - drifting off to thoughts of Steve.

—

Things were getting easier. Well, for the most part. You were 18 weeks pregnant now, bump perfectly round and visible in all your clothes, even the sweatshirt now. Steve never left your side, taking your safety as the most important thing.

You and Carol had grown tight, too. The most unlikely friendship turned out to be the best. Carol was amazing. She was like having Scary Dog Privileges. No one dared fuck with her, or you, now.

“Wheeler is a stuck up bitch,” Carol said as you passed Nancy giving you the dirtiest look once again. “Don’t mind her.”

“I just…feel bad,” you muttered, holding your books tight to your chest. “I did kind of fuck her over.”

Carol shrugged. “Shit happens. They weren’t gonna last anyway.”

“You don’t think?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, definitely not.” She scoffed. “Harrington thought she was the best thing to ever happen to him, but they would have been over by graduation.”

“Why?”

“Well, they just weren’t right for each other, for one.” She pushed a red curl behind her ear. “Harrington never could have been happy with her long term. She’s too…goody goody.”

It was true. You’d never seen Nancy break a rule in her life.

“You, however,” she said, giving you a playful smirk, “would be perfect for him.”

You blushed deeply. “That’s not true. He doesn’t even like me in that way.”

“Sure,” she said, looking at you with a smile that said she knew something you didn’t.

After school on the way home with Steve, he seemed like he had something on his mind. It wasn’t like Steve to not be chatting you up on the way home, telling you every detail of his day and asking you a million questions about how you and the baby felt. He tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, eyes locked on the road.

“…What’s up?” you finally asked, having had enough of the silence.

Steve looked over at you like you’d surprised him. “What do you mean?”

“You look like you have something on your mind,” you said. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” He tapped his fingers along with the song on the radio. “I was just thinking…”

“About what?”

Steve sighed. “I was just…so, we’re having a baby together, right?”

“Yeah…?”

“And most people who have a baby together are…you know, together.”

You just looked at him. “What are you saying?”

He sighed again, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I’m saying…maybe we should try being together? Like, a couple?” He glanced over at you. “For the baby, of course,” he added quickly.

“Steve…”

“No, it’s okay. It was a stupid idea.”

You felt conflicted. On one hand, you wanted to be with Steve, something you hadn’t even realized about yourself. You wanted to try this. But you knew Steve was only asking for the baby’s sake, not because he liked you in any kind of way. And not to even mention how Nancy would feel about it. You cared a lot about how Nancy felt. It was almost like you thought there was any chance of salvaging your friendship.

“It’s not stupid,” you said quietly. “It’s just…Nancy…”

“No, no, yeah. You’re totally right.” He gestured with his hand, drawing a clear line. “We’re just co-parents. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. The car fell into an awkward silence. You felt bad. You wanted to take it back, to tell Steve you wanted to be with him. You wanted to kiss him on the mouth and be touched like he’d touched you that one night. You wanted to do those things with him again. You wanted him to love you.

The BMW pulled up outside your house, but you didn’t get out right away. You debated saying something about it, changing your mind and telling Steve you liked him, but he spoke first.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I even brought that up,” he said. “It’s not like…I mean, we aren’t interested in each other in that way anyway, right? It was a dumb idea. Just forget about it.”

His words struck you in the chest, making your heart ache. You had started to suspect that maybe Steve did like you, but his words put an end to those silly thoughts. How could he? You were nothing like Nancy, not really, despite being her best friend for many years. Nancy was better than you in every way.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s fine, I know you didn’t mean it or anything.”

Something crossed Steve’s face, but he didn’t say anything else. “Call me if you need anything, yeah?” he said instead, the same thing he said most times he dropped you off.

“Okay. I will.” You climbed out of the car, holding your emotions inside as you reached your front door and unlocked it with your key. You turned to see Steve still waiting there, watching to make sure you got inside safely. It only made it hurt worse, the way you wished you could run into his arms and kiss him like you’d dreamed of since that night. But you couldn’t. He wasn’t yours.

He wasn’t yours.

—

You had been counting down to the 20 week appointment since you first accepted the pregnancy and allowed yourself to feel excited. It was the big one - the anatomy scan, where they’d see if everything was progressing the way it should, and if you were having a boy or a girl.

Steve was buzzing with excitement when he picked you up that morning. He handed you a hot chocolate from your favorite place as you got into the car.

“What’s the occasion?” you teased with a smile.

“You know what’s the occasion,” he laughed. “Are you as excited as I am?”

“I don’t know, that’s tough to beat.”

Steve had been talking about it even more than you had. He had a calendar where he was crossing off every day until your due date, and to this appointment. He was probably the most involved dad you’d ever seen, and the baby wasn’t even here yet.

“My mom’s meeting us at the doctor’s office after school,” you said. “She wanted to be there.”

“My mom asked if she could come.”

Your eyes widened. “She did?”

“Yeah.” He started driving to school. “I told her I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Would you have wanted her there?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“I mean…” you thought. “I wouldn’t have minded, I don’t think.”

“Really?”

“Well, she is the baby’s grandmother…”

Those words fell heavily onto Steve’s shoulders. “Yeah.”

“But maybe we can tell them in a fun way. Get a little cake or something.”

Steve smiled at you before he turned back to the road. “That’s cute. Yeah, we could do that. I’m sure she’d like it.”

“After the appointment,” you said, “we’ll stop at the bakery.”

The school day really dragged by. You were so excited to get out of there and go to your appointment, every class felt like it was 5 hours long. Steve felt the same way, complaining through the whole day and all of lunch.

“I just wanna knooow,” he whined, leaning back in his seat in the cafeteria. “Like, we’ve been waiting so long.”

“Oh my god, Harrington, we get it,” Tommy said, rolling his eyes. “We get that you’re excited about your kid.”

“Oh, stop,” Carol said, shoving Tommy’s arm. “Let them be excited. It’s exciting.” She gave you a reassuring smile and squeezed your hand. “You guys talk about it as much as you want to.”

Tommy scoffed. “Really? You’re outnumbering me?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Sorry, Hagan, majority rules,” Steve teased. “I get to talk about my kid all day. You’re just jealous, anyway.”

“Jealous?” Tommy said, incredulous, his mouth dropping open. “I am not jealous you’re having a kid in high school.”

“Sure, sure.”

After lunch, you and Carol walked to your lockers together like you did every day. Only she passed hers, following you all the way to yours and leaning against the closed one next to you.

“Can I go with you?” she asked. 

You furrowed your brow, slowing as you took books out of your locker. “Go with me where?”

“To your doctor’s appointment, silly?” she popped her bubblegum, looking at you like the question was obvious. “Can I come?”

“You- why?”

“Because it’s exciting!” she squealed, grabbing your arms. You caught the attention of Nancy and Barb from across the hallway, who both gave you dirty looks. Carol didn’t even notice them. “I wanna find out if I’m gonna be auntie to a little boy or a girl. I think it’s a girl.”

You hadn’t even realized Carol cared so much about your pregnancy. “I…I mean, yeah, you can come.”

“Yes!” she cheered. “I can’t wait to be able to go shopping. I’m gonna spoil them so much, you have no idea.”

After school, Steve surprised you by your locker, making you jump and place a hand over your belly. “Jesus, Steve.”

“Sorry,” he said. “But are you excited? Are you ready to go?”

You closed the locker with all your stuff in it, turning the dial to lock it. “Yes. I’m ready. Carol’s coming, too.”

He looked like he might have a question about that, but he shrugged his shoulders instead. “Okay. The more the merrier.”

Nancy and Barb watched as Steve placed a hand on your round belly, 20 weeks now and no longer fitting into any of your old clothes. Your mom had taken you out shopping for some maternity clothes, which you rejected at first because they all looked like old lady clothes. Ultimately you ended up in a pair of maternity jeans with a stretchy band in the front, and a wardrobe of Steve’s t-shirts he so graciously let you borrow, just oversized enough to fit over the belly.

He didn’t care who was watching as he took the minute to rub his large hand over your stomach, smiling at you with such affection it made your heart beat fast. “I’m really excited,” he said, just loud enough for you to hear. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your heart swelled. You wanted to say something - 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Your own thoughts shocked you. Where did that come from?

“I’m excited too,” you said instead. Your hand rested on top of his. You could practically feel Nancy and Barb burning a hole into the back of your head. Steve didn’t even notice them. He just smiled back at you.

“Let’s go,” he said. He put his hand on your lower back and guided you out of the building, not caring if anyone was looking (they were). Carol was waiting by the car, her face breaking out into a huge grin when you and Steve approached. Tommy stood beside her, looking much less excited.

“This is so exciting!” Carol squealed, grabbing your hands. “It’s a girl, I know it.”

“I think it’s a boy,” Tommy muttered, and you smiled - seems like he was more invested than he let on.

“You just want to be his favorite,” Carol said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“We’re gonna follow you,” Tommy said, swinging his keys around his finger. “So whenever you guys are ready.”

Steve helped you get into the passenger seat - you needed a little help these days. He got into the driver’s seat and turned some music on, pulling out of the school parking lot. Tommy’s car followed.

At the office, your mom’s car was waiting right out front. She smiled when she saw you, but you could tell she was feeling emotional. She pulled you into a hug when you got out of the car, holding you close.

“Still can’t believe my baby is having a baby,” she said, sniffling. You hugged her back tightly. Becoming a mother yourself opened your eyes to a lot of things about your own mother.

Your entourage took up a lot of room in the tiny waiting room. Steve sat on one side of you, your mom on the other, and Tommy and Carol across from you. When the nurse called you back, they all followed. The nurse seemed a little surprised, but didn’t say anything.

She did your vitals first, taking your temperature and blood pressure. She looked a little concerned as she took the blood pressure cuff off. “Have you had high blood pressure before?”

You looked up at her, confused. “No.”

“Hm.” She wrote something down in your chart. Steve looked instantly terrified, looking between you to the nurse to your mother, who looked equally as nervous.

“Is that bad?” Steve asked.

“The doctor will discuss it with you,” the nurse said politely, which did not satisfy Steve whatsoever, but he didn’t press the subject.

Steve stayed right by your side as you waddled into the exam room, your mom and friends following behind you. Steve helped you up onto the exam table. You cradled your belly in your arms, feeling the immense love for the tiny little baby already.

It wasn’t long before the ultrasound technician came in, wheeling an ultrasound machine. An external one this time, thank god. “Good afternoon!” she said, giving a huge smile to everyone in the room. “I see we have a party going on in here.”

She instructed you to pull your shirt up as she prepared the machine. She squirted the cold gel onto your belly, pressing the wand hard into your skin and moving it around as she tried to find a good view of the baby. Steve sat right next to you, holding your hand tightly. His eyes were glued to the screen. Everyone’s were.

The small baby popped up on the screen, looking more like a baby than you’d ever seen it. It was real, it felt real - that was a baby. Your baby. Yours and Steve’s. A little Harrington.

Steve’s free hand shot up and covered his mouth as he took in the sight of his child on the screen. Tears welled in his eyes, and he was shaking. He squeezed your hand, and you squeezed his back. Your mom had also started crying, Carol watching with her hand over her chest, even Tommy was moved.

The tech took measurements of every body part, logging them in your chart. Everyone just watched the process, watching the baby moving around on the screen until the moment you’d all been waiting for finally came.

“Do you want to know the gender?” she asked, smiling at each person in the room.

“Yes!” you and Steve both said together. You looked at each other, Steve smiling and a giggle escaping your lips.

“Alright then,” the tech smiled. She moved the wand, then wrote something in the chart again. “You’re having a baby girl.”

The whole room erupted into excitement. But when Steve looked at you, it was like you were the only two people in the room.

“A daughter,” he said, like he was in awe. “We’re having a daughter.”

“Yeah, we are,” you said as the tears finally fell down your cheeks. Steve reached up and wiped them away with his thumb.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “This is the best day of my life. So far.”

That made your heart soar. You squeezed his hand again, and he held yours with both of his, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing it. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for this. This is the best gift I ever could have hoped for.”

“Steve…” you said, tears falling even faster now.

“Don’t cry, please.” He wiped your tears away again. “Just…thank you.”

After the ultrasound, the tech left and you were left waiting for the doctor. The room was buzzing with excitement over the news, everyone talking all at once.

“I can’t believe I’m having a granddaughter,” your mom said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Reminds me of when I was pregnant with you.”

You imagined what it might be like one day to be supporting your daughter - the one growing in your belly now, this tiny little creature. It was hard to imagine her as a real human being who would grow into her own person one day. You hoped she wouldn’t be having a baby in high school, at least.

“Yeah, well,” Steve said, “if any guy comes within 100 feet of her I’m beating him with a stick.”

“Ohmygod,” Carol said. “We have to go shopping. There’s so much cute stuff for baby girls. Do you have anything yet?”

“Not really,” you admitted. You had been mostly waiting for this appointment - it’s like it hadn’t felt real before. Now, it was real.

“That’s okay,” she said. “We’ll go get all kinds of stuff.”

Steve rubbed your belly as everyone kept talking, like he was in his own little world. Just him and his baby girl, moving beneath his palm. The movements were soothing, relaxing you.

Finally the doctor walked in, greeting everyone with a smile. She scanned through your chart before speaking. “I see you had some high blood pressure today.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’ve never had that before.”

“We’re going to keep an eye on that,” she said. “I want to see you here again next week, okay?”

“Next week?” you asked, confused. Your appointments had been monthly until now.

“Yes,” she said. “High blood pressure can be a sign of a lot of things, some small and some big. I just want to keep an eye on it.”

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked, interrupting the conversation. “Is she okay? Is the baby?”

“There’s no reason to worry right now,” she said, trying to calm Steve. “If there’s something more serious going on, we’ll catch it.”

Steve begrudgingly accepted that answer. He wasn’t trying to be a total asshole, he was just scared. But the appointment concluded after that, and then all of you were walking out of the building together.

“I’ll see you at home, honey,” your mom said, giving you a tight hug. “Drive home safe,” she added, pointing to Steve.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting.

“I’ll call you,” Carol said, pulling you into a hug. “Love you.”

When only you and Steve were left, he helped you into the car again. He started driving towards town. “How are you feeling? About all of this?”

“I’m happy,” you said, hand rubbing the bump. “Really happy,”

Steve shot you a smile before turning back to the road. “Me too.”

He pulled into the parking lot of the bakery. Inside you ordered two cupcakes with pink filling, ready for Steve’s parents to discover the news. It was hard not to take a bite as you left the bakery.

“I can pick you up tomorrow to come have dinner with us and…you know, tell them,” he said.

“Okay,” you agreed. You held the cupcakes safely on your lap as he drove you back home.

Your house wasn’t far. Your mom had had to go back to work and your didn’t hadn’t gotten off yet, so it was empty. Steve came in with you, following you as you deposited the cupcakes in the kitchen and then up to your bedroom, carrying your bag for you. He dropped it by the end of your bed where you always sat it. It was weird how he’d started to know you so well.

He approached you, placing both hands on your belly. It was so natural for him now, it was his favorite thing to do. He got down to his knees in front of you so he was face level with your belly.

“Hi, baby girl,” he said. Your heart thudded hard in your chest - he had never done something like this before. “I’m your daddy.” He rubbed a hand across your stomach, caressing it lovingly. “I love you very much already. Did you know that? I can’t wait to meet you.”

Tears sprung to your eyes. You quickly wiped them away, watching the moment between Steve and - your daughter.

“You be good for your momma, okay?” he continued. “She’s working hard growing you and finishing school at the same time. She’s the coolest. You’re going to love her.”

You could feel her wiggling around, kicking at Steve’s hand. His eyes went wide- “Did she just kick me??”

You laughed, amazed. “Yeah, I think she did.”

Steve was smiling so big, his own eyes welling with tears. He kissed your belly, rubbing where he had felt the kick. “I love you. I love you so much.”

When Steve stood again, he looked happy. So happy. It made your heart swell, too.

“I guess I gotta get going,” he said, looking like he absolutely did not want to go. “Still under curfew, and all.”

“Okay,” you begrudgingly agreed. You found yourself wanting to spend more time with Steve - and you already spent just about all your time together. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve’s face brightened at that reminder. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

He surprised you when he pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly while still being careful of the bump. It felt like a loss when he pulled away, and then he was leaving, taking a piece of you with him.

—

The next day, Steve picked you up for dinner just as planned. You had the cupcakes ready to go. You were nervous, your hands shook as you buckled your seatbelt. Steve could sense your anxiety immediately, reaching over and taking your hand.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. They’re gonna be happy. The hard part is over.”

You tried to keep that in mind during the ride there. You were extra careful with the cupcakes, not allowing even a smidge of icing to be messed up. At the Harrington’s Steve came around and took them from you before helping you get up.

Inside the house smelled delicious once again. Roasted chicken this time, with potatoes and greens. Mrs. Harrington smiled as the two of you walked into the kitchen.

She greeted you by name, walking around the island bar to hold your hand in both of hers. “How are you feeling, darling? How’s the little one?”

“Good, and good,” you answered both her questions. She surprised you by placing a hand on your belly - you had yet to have anyone but Steve do that. It felt strange.

“What are these?” she asked, gesturing to the two boxes in Steve’s hand.

“We brought cupcakes…to announce the gender,” you explained.

“How cute!” She took them from Steve carefully, sitting them on the counter. “Richard should be down any minute now.”

Mr. Harrington came down the stairs as you were helping Mrs. Harrington set the table. He looked stern and unfriendly as ever, still dressed nicely in a button down and slacks. He greeted you shortly.

“Should we go ahead and do the reveal before dinner?” Mrs. Harrington asked. “I don’t think I can wait.”

“Sure, we can,” you said. Steve handed one of the boxes to his father and the other to his mom. The opened them, revealing the cutely decorated cupcakes with white icing and a baby rattle on top. 

“Ready?” Steve asked.

They took the small decoration off and peeled the paper from around the sweet bread. They exchanged a look before they bit into their cupcakes at the same time.

Mrs. Harrington lit up when she saw the pink filling, squealing and throwing her arms around Steve first, then you. “A granddaughter!!”

Mr. Harrington had…no reaction. In fact, he almost seemed displeased. “You knock a girl up and you couldn’t even have a son to carry on the Harrington name?”

Silence. “Dad-“

Mr. Harrington held a hand up, silencing Steve. But nothing more was said as everyone sat down to dinner in the awkward silence.

It was uncomfortable. Mr. Harrington was a total asshole, and his wife just let him without saying a word, leading to awkward moments like these. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know if there was anything to say.

When you and Steve left, he was apologetic. “I’m so sorry. He’s such an ass. I’m really sorry he ruined the whole thing.”

You shook your head as you climbed into the car. “It’s not your fault, Steve.”

“I know. It just…feels like it reflects back on me.”

“What do you mean?” you asked him as he began the drive home.

“Just that…it feels like people think I’m an asshole just like him. Or that I will be one day. And it’s embarrassing.”

You took his hand. “Steve, you’re nothing like your dad.”

He let out a long breath. “God. Thank you. For saying that.”

“Seriously,” you continued. “Nothing like him. You’re kind, and sweet, and caring, loyal, funny, reliable-“

“You think all those things about me?” Steve asked, goofy grin on his handsome face.

You blushed deeply. “I…”

“I think you’re great, too.” His eyes were on the road now. “The best, even. I wouldn’t want to be doing this with anyone else.”

“Not even Nancy?”

The question hung in the air for a moment. “No. Not even Nancy.”

You wanted to say it then - I love you. But it didn’t come. You tried to work up the courage, but before you had the chance to, the car was coming to a stop outside your house.

Neither of you said anything at first, neither daring to move. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but just closed it again instead. He turned to you and gave you a smile that seemed rather forced.

“I’ll see you Monday,” he said. “Take care of yourself and our little nugget.”

“I will,” you agreed. You waited to see if he would say something else, but he didn’t. So you opened the door and climbed out (with some difficulty) and walked into your house.

Up in your room that night, you thought. You had much to think about, and your mind wouldn’t shut the fuck up. You were about to resort to counting sheep when your phone rang on your bedside table.

You snatched it off the receiver, hoping to hear one particular voice only. “Hello?”

“Uh, hey.” Just as if you had manifested it, Steve’s voice came from the other line.

“Hey,” you said, smiling like an idiot because he couldn’t see you. “What’s up?”

“I just…” he sighed. “I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to talk to you.”

Butterflies took flight in your stomach and chest. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled lightly to himself. “I don’t have anything else. I didn’t exactly plan this far, I just picked up the phone.”

You couldn’t stop smiling. “What are you doing?”

“Just laying in bed…was trying to sleep, but…yeah.”

“I couldn’t sleep either,” you said. You didn’t admit that you had been longing to call him and hear his voice just as bad as he had for you.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“A little.” You rubbed your belly beneath your loose sleep shirt.

“Is there anything I can do to help? Anything I can get?”

You thought for a minute, smile on your lips. “Maybe one of those giant pregnancy pillows.”

“You got it.”

The baby kicked hard, and you moved your hand to where she was, letting out a little “Ooh.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “She’s just really active tonight.”

“Maybe she misses her dad.”

“Maybe she does.” There was a moment of silence over the line.

“Do you have any name ideas?” Steve asked out of the blue.

“Oh,” you said, question catching you off guard. “I haven’t really let myself think about it yet.”

“I like Elizabeth,” he offered. “Ellie.”

“That’s really cute.” You were surprised at how much you liked the name, since it was the first one either of you had brought up.

“Maybe Danielle.”

“I like that too, but I like Ellie better.”

“Me too.” You could hear the smile in Steve’s voice. “Elizabeth Harrington.”

Harrington. Your daughter will be a Harrington. You didn’t love the idea of having a different last name than her, but you didn’t want to revisit your dad’s insistence to get married.

“Elizabeth ‘Ellie’ Harrington. I like it.” You smiled too, but your heart was beating rapidly in your chest. It was hard to believe this little creature you’d been carrying around was a human being with a whole name and everything.

“What about her middle name?”

You thought. “Maybe Louise? After my grandmother?”

“Perfect. I love it.” Steve sounded infinitely happier than he had when you’d picked up the phone. He yawned, which made you yawn, too.

“I guess I’m gonna actually try to go to bed,” he said reluctantly. “Talking to you helped.”

“Glad I could be of service.” You twirled the phone cord around your finger. “I guess I should go to sleep, too.”

“Did talking to me make you feel better?

Yet another smile grew on your lips. “Yeah. It did.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you later. Goodnight.” The way your name sounded when it left his lips had you aching for him. In any way.

But instead you hung up the phone, wishing Steve was here with you instead of in his own house. You wished he was here to hold you, to cuddle you to sleep and keep you safe. You drifted asleep to thoughts of Steve in bed behind you.

—

“I can’t believe we’re graduating in 2 weeks,” Carol said, flipping through the racks of dresses. “It’s finally over.”

“Finally,” you agreed, because you were equally ready to be done with the halls of Hawkins High. Especially at 27 weeks, just about in the third trimester and absolutely huge. You waddled through the store behind Carol, your back aching horribly.

“Ooh, this one’s cute,” she said, pulling a white dress off the rack. You remembered a time when you could still fit in anything besides maternity clothes.

“That would look really good on you!” And you knew it was the truth. But everything looked good on Carol.

“We need to find you something,” she said. “You’ve got to look hot.”

“I don’t think that’s possible at this point,” you said, gesturing to the bump. 

“It’s definitely possible. You are hot.” Carol looked at you like this was obvious information. “We’re gonna find you a dress you feel beautiful in. I promise.”

After Carol decided on a dress, you moved on to a maternity store. Once again, the majority of the selection was, for lack of a better description, old lady clothes. You felt dejected as you and Carol looked through the racks, Carol scrunching her nose up at most of the options.

Until finally, she gasped, pulling out a white dress with lace over the bodice. “Oh, this is the one.”

It was pretty. You took it from her hands and examined it. You couldn’t believe how pretty it was, in this store surrounded by the ugliest clothes you’d ever seen. But here it was. “I need to try it on first.”

You weren’t hopeful as you and Carol walked to the changing rooms, and you especially weren’t hopeful as you undressed and saw yourself in the mirror. Your body had changed so much. It was unrecognizable. You felt self conscious constantly, like you were this huge fucking planet walking around and drawing everyone’s attention, and not in a good way.

You forced yourself to turn away and slip the dress over your head. It fit surprisingly well, hugging your breasts and chest tightly before flowing down over the bump. It stopped about at your knees. It did look really nice on you, you had to admit. It accentuated the bump in a flattering way, more like look how cute I am! than I’m trying to hide this huge thing under my clothes.

You stepped out of the changing room, and Carol gasped, clapping her hands together in approval. “Oh, this is the one, baby. You’re getting this one.”

The confidence this dress gave you made you feel as if you were glowing, the way they always said pregnant women did. You were disappointed to change back into your own clothes, but when you took the dress to the counter and bought it, it made you feel better.

Maybe graduation wouldn’t be so bad after all.

—

The day of graduation, you were 29 weeks, everything was swollen and you were in pain. You were in a bad mood as your mom helped you get ready. You were already in your dress, doing your makeup in the mirror as your mom styled your hair for you.

“It’s going to be fine,” your mom said. “You’re gonna walk across that stage, get your diploma, and be done with it. And you have Steve and Carol with you.”

That was true. It was the only thing that made you feel better. You were humiliated at the thought of having to walk the stage with your huge belly, everyone knowing who you were and what you did. How you got here.

Steve came and picked you up since you didn’t want to be alone, your parents driving on their own in time for the ceremony. As graduates, you had to be there early. Steve held your hand the drive there, like he could sense how scared you were. Maybe it was obvious.

Carol pulled you into a tight hug when you and Steve entered the gymnasium, all set up with a stage and lots of seating. “You look beautiful. I knew you would.”

You blushed. “Thanks, Carol.”

“You do,” Steve agreed. With the way he was looking at you you could tell he was genuine. In fact, he was looking at you like you were the only person in the room full of a hundred Hawkins High graduates. It made your heart beat fast. His hand rested on your cheek, gently caressing the skin. You both totally forgot about Carol and Tommy standing right next to you, forgot that you were embarrassed to be here. All

there was was Steve, and god, you wanted to kiss him-

“Isn’t this sweet?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Nancy,” you said, turning and seeing her standing there, looking beautiful as she always did. Barb stood next to her, looking uncomfortable.

“What do you want, Wheeler?” Carol asked, her usual attitude back. The one you did not want to be on the other side of again.

“Just wanted to congratulate the new parents,” she said mockingly. “It’s almost time now, isn’t it?”

You didn’t know what to say. You knew she was being facetious, she didn’t actually care about the state of your pregnancy or the baby. But it was still so strange to have Nancy talking to you this way. Your long time best friend, the sweetest person you knew, turned into this.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It is.”

“Are you two together yet?” she asked. “Or has Steve gone and knocked up another slut?”

“Oh, you bitch,” Carol said, pushing through to stand right in Nancy’s face. “Why don’t you go find Byers? You two have been getting pretty cozy even since before you and Steve broke up.”

Nancy’s jaw dropped. “You-“

“Nancy, I think you should go,” Steve said, stepping between the girls to put an end to this fight before it got out of hand. “You aren’t actually here to talk, so just go.”

She looked at Steve then with so much hurt in her eyes, you felt guilty all over again. “Sure, Steve. I hope you’re happy.”

Barbara put a hand on her back as they walked away, and you let out a deep breath. Steve pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “I just feel like the biggest backstabber on the planet.”

Steve sighed. He laid his head on top of yours. “You’re not a bad person, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You knew it was just friendly, but the sound of the nickname gave you goosebumps anyway. You wanted so badly to tilt your head up and look into his deep brown eyes, to-

“Alright, everyone, we’re getting started! Get to your assigned places!”

Steve reluctantly pulled away from you with his hands on your upper arms. He looked you over again, his face creased with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” you assured him. “Now let’s go graduate.”

The ceremony was long and boring. You waited your turn until Principal Higgins reached your name on the alphabetical list, then you stood, smoothed your dress down over your belly, and walked to the stage with confidence.

You could hear your parents, Steve, Tommy, and Carol cheering for you louder than anyone. You blushed, but couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. Principal Higgins handed you your diploma with a smile and a “Well done,” and that was that. You exited the stage and went back to your seat, watching the remaining students graduate.

When you tossed your hat into the air at the end of the ceremony, you felt more emotions than you’d expected to. School was really over. You couldn’t even remember a time before you were in school - it had been your whole life, and now it was over. Now you had much bigger, scarier things headed your way.

Steve’s parents threw a huge graduation party for him, and were kind enough to make it a joint party for the two of you (at Steve’s insistence). There were a lot of guests, lots of Steve’s family you didn’t know and a lot of friends and acquaintances from school. You were glad Tommy and Carol were there.

You entertained yourself with the buffet table - still very much eating for two, after all. Steve stayed by your side, introducing you to his distant family members. They all looked at your belly before they met your eyes. You had grown used to that treatment.

“I’m really proud of you,” Steve said when the two of you caught a moment alone. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s really impressive that you finished school with…everything going on.”

You shook your head. “It’s really not that impressive.”

“It is, and you should be proud of yourself.” Steve looked at you for a minute. He stepped closer to you, his hand coming to rest on the side of your face. He caressed your cheek, his eyes staring deeply into yours. Your heart stuttered in your chest - were you even still breathing? He parted his lips, moving closer and closer.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, leaving a lingering kiss there. Your heart sunk - you felt like an idiot for thinking that he had feelings for you, that he was going to kiss you. Your cheeks heated with embarrassment, even though Steve had no idea what you’d been thinking he was about to do.

You spent the rest of the party feeling like an absolute fool for wishing for something that would never happen.

At the end of the party, Steve and Carol both gave you a big hug. Even Tommy joined in. Besides your own angst, it was hard not to smile when you were surrounded by these people you loved - your found family.

You rode home in the passenger seat of your mom’s car, your dad sitting in the back to give you the extra space. You watched out the window, and you thought not about your high school career coming to an end, or the baby on the way, or the situation with Nancy and Barb. You thought about Steve.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

—

You put the brochure down in front of Steve. “I signed us up.”

He picked up the paper, examining it. “‘Lamaze’? What the fuck is Lamaze?”

“It’s a birthing class,” you said, although you thought he would have gotten the hint from the pictures of smiling pregnant women and dads on the front.

“A birthing class?”

“Yes, Steve. I’m 32 weeks pregnant. This baby is coming soon, and I want to be ready.” Truth be told, you were terrified. Any amount of preparation would be better than your current state.

“I- we just- well, yeah,” he said, stumbling over his words. “It’s just-“

“What?”

Steve let out a deep breath. “It’s really coming soon, huh?” You softened as you could physically feel the anxiety radiating off his form where he sat across from you at the diner. He was jittery, bouncing his leg and fiddling with his hands.

“Yeah. Really soon,” you said, not mincing any words. “But we’ve got this. We’ve had months to prepare, we have a couple more to go. The baby has been healthy, I’ve been healthy besides the blood pressure. We have the big stuff - crib, stroller, car seat. The baby shower is in 3 weeks. We’re doing okay.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re doing okay.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“We just need to be ready for the birth, you know?” you continued. “Neither of us has ever done this before.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, longer now than when you’d met. It suited him. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“You were gonna go with me either way.”

He laughed. “I’ll pretend I had a choice.”

The class was that Thursday. You had been staying home since graduation, while Steve had started working with his dad. It wore him out and he kind of hated it, but it was worth it for the benefits and pay. It was really the only option to take care of the three of you.

Steve picked you up after work, still dressed in his button down and tie, loosened around his neck. He smiled at you tiredly - “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. How was work?”

“Boring. Long.” He sighed as he pulled away from the curb and drove towards the hospital the class was being held at. It was the same hospital you’d be delivering at. “I hate it.”

“I know,” you said quietly. There was nothing to be done about it, though. It didn’t stop the guilt from eating at you.

At the hospital Steve helped you get out of the car, since you were officially too big to do it yourself now. Once you were down, you were stuck without help. It made you feel useless. He put his hand on your back as you waddled inside and signed in.

The goal was to give birth without the epidural. You weren’t sure how well that was going to go for you, but you were doing everything in your power to be prepared and have the best chance of making it without the medication.

You took a seat on one of the mats, Steve helping to lower you to the ground. He sat next to you, looking awkward as he looked around at all the other couples. Not that you were a couple.

The class started with relaxation exercises. Steve sat behind you, rubbing your shoulders and back as you tried to mentally get in the zone - meditating and doing deep breathing exercises along with the instructor.

The next thing they did was play a childbirth video.

Steve turned so pale you thought he would pass out. His eyes were glued to the screen, staring in absolute horror. His jaw was dropped, like he never expected childbirth to be this graphic- or dramatic.

After the video, the instructor talked some about the birthing process. You and Steve both listened intently, Steve even taking notes in a little notebook he brought along with him. It was cute.

After the lecture portion of the class, the instructor started leading you through labor breathing exercises.

“Alright, dads,” she said in her soothing voice, clapping her hands together. “Sit behind mom and hold her - hands on the belly for support - now breathe in and out with me, just like this.”

You followed her example, breathing in quickly three times then a long breath out. You repeated the exercise over and over along with the rest of the class, Steve’s strong hands on you as he breathed along with you. It was intimate. You leaned back into his touch and his body molded around yours.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep breathing just like that. You’re gonna kick ass.”

Steve’s words were encouraging. It wasn’t exactly the method the other dads in the room were using, including more swearing than anyone else, but it worked.

The instructor taught the dads a lot of ways to support their partners, and Steve was paying full attention. Then she instructed everyone to stand - Steve pulled you up - and had the dads stand behind their partner.

“This has nothing to do with birthing techniques,” the woman said with a smile, “it’s just a moment of relief for our moms.”

Steve followed her steps and wrapped his arms around you, hands beneath your belly. Then, on the count of 3, he lifted up slightly, holding the weight of the baby. You could have cried from relief - your back hadn’t felt better in months. You hadn’t realized how much weight you’d been carrying around.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve huffed. “You carry all this around all day??”

After the short break, she went on to talk about newborn care. Steve changed his first diaper on a doll, which went about as well as you could expect, but you knew he’d be a fast learner.

Steve left the class with a newfound appreciation for you and everything you’d been going through and would go through. He was extra attentive as he helped you into the car.

“Want me to pick up some food on the way home?” he asked, turning the key in the ignition and starting the BMW.

“God, you read my mind.”

—

You were 35 weeks when your baby shower finally came around, absolutely huge and miserable. I mean huge. You didn’t even think it was possible to become so round, yet here you were.

You had started to be in a pretty bad mood all the time since being so heavily pregnant. You were, frankly, over it. Everything hurt, you felt like you took up so much space and looked like garbage, you couldn’t breathe, and there were no comfortable positions left.

Carol helped you dress in your long pink dress, the fabric hanging flatteringly along your body. You actually looked beautiful - it had been a long time since you felt beautiful.

“Look at you,” Carol said, a huge smile on her face as she looked you over. She looked as if she might cry. “I can’t believe it’s finally here.”

“I look huge,” you said, turning each way in the mirror.

“You look like a mom,” she said. “Very womanly. I dig it.”

You laughed at that, smoothing your hands over the belly. You actually didn’t feel bad.

“Steve’s going to lose his mind.”

You froze.

“What?” Carol asked, mockingly innocent. “You think I haven’t noticed how into him you are? Or how into you he is?”

“He is not into me,” you said quickly.

“Yes, he is. I’ve known Steve since elementary school. I’ve been friends with Steve since elementary school.” Carol looked at you pointedly. “He is head over heels for you, girl.”

“He just cares about me because I’m carrying his baby. It’s nothing more than that.”

“Tell yourself that if you want,” she shrugged.

You tried to push her words out of your head as you finished getting ready for the party. They were still lingering in your head when you walked into Steve’s large immaculate living room, to a room full of people you loved and some you vaguely knew.

You weren’t usually one to be the center of attention. You’d spent most of your life flying under the radar, not drawing any extra attention to yourself. But the baby shower was like having a spotlight on you, everyone looking at you and your belly and knowing how you got here. Even if they didn’t know the Nancy part, everyone here knew you and Steve were teen parents after a hookup and weren’t even together.

You happily helped yourself to the food, however. Your and Steve’s moms, with the help of Carol, had really outdone themselves. It was the fanciest baby shower you’d ever seen.

There was a beautiful rocking chair with a bow on it by the gift table. You wiped tears away as you removed it and sat down in the chair with Steve beside you. Carol began bringing you gifts, opening one after another of baby clothes and diapers and supplies you had been panicked about being able to afford. It only made you cry harder.

“There’s one more,” Steve said after you opened the last gift. The whole room of people watched intently, which made you uncomfortable, but Steve always made you feel like you were the only two people in the world.

He moved to the table and grabbed a card. It was tucked neatly in a dark green envelope, and it was thick, like there was something inside. You looked at Steve curiously. “What is this?”

“You have to open it and see,” he laughed.

You gave him a playfully cautious look before you started to break the seal on the envelope. You pulled out a pink card decorated with baby rattles and diapers and cribs. Slowly you opened it, and your jaw dropped.

There was a key taped inside. And on the other side, written in Steve’s messy scrawl:

My gift to you. Thank you for everything you do. You are my best friend and you are going to be the best mom this world has ever seen. I can’t wait to watch it happen.

Welcome home.

The tears were falling freely now. “Steve- is this-?”

“The key to our new apartment,” he finished for you. “I’ve been looking for months and I finally found one we can afford that looks incredible. Two bedrooms. A place for us to make our own.”

“Steve-“ you cried, but it was barely audible through the tears. You weren’t even thinking about how there was a room full of people watching you cry. “You shouldn’t-“

“What, shouldn’t have gotten us a place to live together like a real family?” He chuckled. “Let yourself be happy, sweetheart. You deserve this.”

The whole room of people were watching, some tearing up at the affectionate display. Steve must have been saving up for this since he got the job with his dad, not spending a single cent on anything for himself. His selflessness never ceased to amaze you, even though you should be used to it by now.

The baby shower was a huge success. You got everything you needed. You were in tears by the time the party was over, giving everyone a hug and all your gratitude as they left. When the guests were gone, you were left alone with Steve and both of your parents.

“You have until this weekend to move out,” Mr. Harrington said to Steve. “I’m not supporting you with a kid on the way.”

The whole vibe in the room shifted. What was once full of joy and happiness was now awkward and stilted. Mr. Harrington had brought the mood down once again.

“You know,” your mother said, “I think you should be proud of them. Sure, they got themselves into a mess, but look at them.” She looked at Steve with a smile, then at you with so much emotion in her eyes. “They’re doing great for themselves. Graduated, a good job, an apartment. They’re going to be okay. I believe in them.”

No one said anything at first. Your mom wrapped her arm around you, pulling you close like she often did when you were half her height. Finally, Mr. Harrington cleared his throat.

“Well. Isn’t that sweet. And naive.”

He turned and left before anyone could say anything else. You could tell your mom was pissed - she wasn’t one to be walked over. But for your sake, she didn’t push it.

“I…” Mrs Harrington began. “I’m…sorry, about him.”

Her words caught you off guard. Even Steve was surprised. He’d never heard her speak against his father before. She pulled Steve into a hug, holding him tight.

“I’m proud of you, son. You’re going to be a great father.”

Steve held her back, the emotions in the room now even more heightened, but not in the way they had been before Steve’s father left. This was better. This was love.

Steve held you tightly when you were on the way out the door with your parents. “I’ll come pick you up this weekend and we’ll move. Well, I’ll move. You can sit and look pretty while telling me where things go.”

Pretty?

“Okay,” you giggled, ignoring that part of what he said. “Bye, Steve.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

—

Saturday, it was moving time. Just about everyone was pitching in to help - Steve’s mom, your parents, Tommy and Carol. Steve and Tommy carried the couch in and sat it in the living room, and that became your command center for the rest of the day.

You sat down, aching feet up on the coffee table they brought in shortly after. You watched the bustle around you as everyone carried box after box, furniture after furniture. Steve and Tommy got into an argument trying to get the bed frame into the bedroom door, until your dad came over and showed them how to turn it.

After the main furniture was up, you were able to get up and start decorating. You had been longing to nest, body itching to get ready for the baby. It was instinctual, all you could think about was preparing for this baby.

Everyone brought in the boxes from the baby shower. You set up in the nursery with Carol while everyone else finished up.

“We’re getting Steve and Tommy to figure this out,” Carol said, examining the crib manual with her nose scrunched up. “Because I have no fucking idea what this is telling me to do.”

When the rest of the furniture and boxes were moved, your parents began unpacking them while Tommy and Steve joined you and Carol.

“What is this, fuckin’, physics?” Tommy said, the instructions in his hands now. Steve snatched them from him.

“Let me see.”

An hour later and the crib still wasn’t finished, Steve and Tommy arguing every two seconds. You and Carol were opening the baby shower gifts and finding them a place in the room.

“I can’t believe how tiny these clothes are,” Carol gushed, holding them up and looking at them with heart eyes. “I want one.”

“Uh, you can forget about that one,” Tommy said.

You had asked for books instead of cards from your guests, so you had a large selection of baby books you slid onto the wall shelf. Carol cut the tags off the baby clothes and fit them onto the tiny hangers, folding the ones that went in the drawers.

When you were done, it looked like a proper nursery. The dark brown crib had a sheet on it, a personalized blanket hanging over the side. The books and clothes were put away. The stroller was in the closet, car seat ready to be installed in Steve’s car. There was a bouncer and baby swing, a collection of breastfeeding supplies, a changing table and plenty of diapers to get you started.

“Not long now,” Steve said when you were left alone in the apartment, standing in the nursery together and looking at what you’d done together. He rubbed his hand over your large belly, feeling Ellie kicking him. He smiled. He was happy.

—

“Oh my god,” Carol said, holding up a tiny frilly dress. “This is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The cashier gave her a disapproving look.

“There’s so many clothes,” you said, running your hand through the rack. “Will she need a lot of clothes?”

“Oh, yeah,” Carol said. “My little brother went through like, 5 outfits a day. Poop and throw up and all that.”

“Ugh.” You both laughed, browsing the store’s selection. There were way more baby girl clothes than baby boy clothes. But you thought about the future - maybe you’d be back one day shopping for a baby boy.

“Oh my god, look at this!” She held up another pink dress, a white bow around it. “You have to get this one. Ellie’s going to look so cute.”

The dress was extremely cute. You took it from Carol’s hands. You put it in your basket - she was right, Ellie had to have it. 

You were just looking at another section of clothes when you felt a gush between your legs.

You gasped. “Carol-!”

Her jaw dropped. “Oh my god. Did what I think just happened just happen?”

“I-I think so,” you said. “But it’s early. It’s too early.”

“You’re 35 weeks right??”

“Yes.” You bent over as a strong contraction wracked through your body. You breathed out a rush of air, groaning as you held onto the rack with one hand and your belly with the other.

That’s when you noticed the blood. A lot of it.

The cashier came rushing over to you. “Ma’am? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

You nodded, words unable to come with the amount of pain you were in, the fear struck deep into your chest. Carol was panicking.

The woman ran back to the phone and called 911, while Carol helped you find a place to sit. You sat on the chair, but quickly realized that wasn’t helping at all. You stood and began pacing, doing your breathing exercises like you’d learned in class. Tears streamed down your face, not from the pain, but from the pure horror, the fear that your baby wouldn’t be okay.

When the paramedics arrived, they got you on the stretcher immediately and prepared to rush you to the hospital. Carol jumped in the back with you, holding your hand.

“Hey. You’re doing great. You’re doing so good. Everything’s gonna be okay. We’ll call Steve at the hospital, okay? Then he’ll be there and the doctors can help you and everything will be fine.” Carol was rambling, her hand shaking in yours.

At the hospital you were brought upstairs immediately, changed into a gown and hooked up to monitors. Your blood pressure was still high and you were still

bleeding. They rushed an ultrasound machine into the room, beginning the exam as Carol called Steve.

“Steve?” Carol said into the phone. “She- she’s in labor. Yes, I’m sure. We know it’s early. There’s…there’s a lot of blood. We’re already at the hospital. Okay. By-“ She put the phone down. “He’s on his way. He hung up on me.”

Carol was helping you through your breathing exercises, trying to keep you calm as much as she could. You could tell she was freaked out, but she was being a good friend. The best, really.

The doctors finished their exam and determined you had experienced placental abruption.

“This is very, very serious,” the doctor said. “We’re going to prepare you for a C-section now.”

You didn’t want that. You didn’t want any of this. You had spent so long preparing for birth, preparing your pain management exercises and everything for the natural birth of your dreams. But anything to give Ellie the best chance of survival. You were getting woozy from the blood loss.

“Wait,” you said weakly as they put a cap over your hair and prepared to rush you to the OR. “Steve-“

“We have to take you for surgery right now,” one of the nurses said. “I don’t want to alarm you, but this is very serious. We can’t wait for anyone.”

You started crying again. None of this was happening the way you’d hoped. As they wheeled you out into the hall, you heard footsteps running down the hall. You turned your head, relieved to see a panicked Steve rushing to your side, still dressed in his nice clothes from work.

“I’m here,” he said, grabbing your hand. “I’m here.”

“Sir, we’re taking her for an emergency C-section right now,” the nurse said. “Someone will get you some scrubs and you can meet us in there.”

Steve reluctantly watched them take you, feeling helpless as he was left behind.

You were still out of it as they brought you into the freezing cold operating room, moving you onto the metal table covered in a sheet. There was a curtain separating your chest from the rest of your body, preventing you from seeing what was going on.

They put an oxygen mask on you and administered medication into your IV. It wasn’t long before you couldn’t feel anything below your arms anymore. Your vision was hazy, and all of a sudden you weren’t worried about anything anymore.

Steve rushed into the room dressed in hospital scrubs with a hair cap matching yours. The fear in his eyes was evident, and they were red as if he’d been crying. “Sweetheart,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead and holding your hand. “I’m here. Everything is gonna be okay. The doctors are gonna help you and Ellie is gonna be here in our arms soon, healthy and beautiful.” It wasn’t clear who he was trying to convince.

You were out of it, not feeling a thing as they made the incision. Steve was freaking out, his hand shaking where it held one of yours that was strapped down. It felt like it was only seconds before the sound of crying filled the room.

Steve huffed a disbelieving breath, a smile on his face as he cried and looked at the tiny little baby with complete awe. The nurses cleaned her up, checking her out to make sure she was okay. She was so tiny, wiggling and crying. You had never seen something so small, so delicate.

The nurse wrapped her in a hospital blanket, putting a soft cap on her head full of brown hair. She brought her over to you and Steve as the doctors continued working on you, trying to stop the bleeding unbeknownst to you.

Steve took her from the nurse’s arms with all the gentleness of a brand new dad. He was shaking as he pushed the blanket down slightly to uncover her angelic face. Her eyes were closed, content in her father’s arms. He leaned over and held her down for you to see.

“Look,” Steve said gently. “Look what we did.”

You couldn’t stop the tears as you saw your daughter for the first time. She was perfect. Chubby little cheeks, pouty lips, button nose. She looked like the perfect mix of you and Steve.

“Hi, Ellie,” you whispered, your voice weak. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Steve chuckled, a tear escaping from his eye and rolling down his cheek. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Perfect.”

—

Elizabeth Louise Harrington was born healthy, 6 lbs 7 oz. She only needed a short time in the nicu before they discharged her. You spent every waking moment in a wheelchair by her bassinet, holding and rocking her, taking turns with Steve, who was there the second he got off work.

Your mom was the first one to visit. She had hurried to the hospital as soon as Carol called her to tell her what had happened. She cried, a lot. But when she held her granddaughter in her arms, everything in the world was right.

Your dad came after work, smiling down at the tiny bundle in his wife’s arms. He put a hand on your shoulder, and looked at Steve. “You did good, kids.”

Steve’s mom was there shortly after. She cooed at the tiny baby, walking around the room and rocking her like a total natural. It may have been 18 years since she’d done this, but her instinct never left. His father never came.

That evening, once both of your parents had left, Tommy and Carol came over. “Oh my goddd!” Carol squealed quietly, coming over to you with her arms outstretched. “Let Auntie Carol see that perfect baby.”

Carol sat next to you on the bed as you handed the baby to her. She was so gentle as she took Ellie into her arms, bouncing her softly and cooing. “Look at you, pretty girl. Gonna be just as beautiful as your mama.”

Tommy took a seat on the room’s couch next to Steve. “Congrats, man,” he said, slapping Steve on the back.

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly.

“How do you like being a dad?”

Steve looked over at you, Ellie, and Carol on the bed, and he smiled. His chest felt warm and fuzzy, his heart soaring. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

They let you both go home from the hospital a week later. Steve took a week off of work to help you out, but that’s all his dad was willing to give him. You tucked Ellie safely into her car seat, buckling her in safely. Steve was so paranoid about hurting her.

The nurse pushed you out of the hospital in a wheelchair while Steve carried the baby carrier to his car. He hooked it into the backseat, and helped you climb into the back next to her. You weren’t ready to let her ride back there alone yet.

Steve drove home at a snail’s pace. The other cars on the road honked at you, but Steve didn’t care. All he cared about was getting his girls home safely.

He carried the carrier in one hand while he helped you walk your sore body into the apartment with his other. He got you comfortable on the couch before taking a sleeping Ellie out of her seat. He bounced her gently as he walked around the room.

It was so strange to be here, in this home, with your family. Your family, the one you created. Steve, and the baby girl you’d created together.

Only you and Steve weren’t together.

Steve hadn’t talked about girls at all since you’d been pregnant. You had taken his full attention. But what about when he decided he wanted to date again? How would you handle that? The thought filled you with dread.

Because you were starting to feel something for Steve that scared you.

You spent the first week home on the couch mostly. Steve brought you everything you needed, while helping you move a little more each day. You were still so sore from surgery, but you were determined to be ready to care for Ellie on your own when Steve went back to work.

Steve’s first diaper change had been an experience. He gagged, being dramatic as hell while you watched on and laughed. “You’re gonna have to get used to it, bud.”

“This is foul. How does such a tiny little thing poop so much?”

You had a newborn photo shoot scheduled 2 weeks after you came home. You dressed Ellie in a tiny dress, you and Steve dressing in matching nice clothes.

“Okay, mom and dad,” the photographer said. “Why don’t you get close and hold her between you?”

Steve moved close to you, holding Ellie between your bodies. The sleeping newborn cradled perfectly in your arms together, the photos were taken. You had chills at the proximity. You found that you liked being close to Steve. You liked it a lot.

That night, you got Ellie settled and laid her down in her crib. You were exhausted, as you always were these days. “I’m ready for bed,” you told Steve, yawning big.

“Me too,” he said. “Go on and get ready and I’ll be in soon.”

Since the apartment only had two bedrooms, you and Steve had agreed to share the bed. It was purely platonic, of course, even though you often woke up with Steve’s arm wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck as he snored lightly. You never moved him when that happened.

After you’d had a shower and gotten in bed, Steve came and did the same before joining you. You both drifted off to sleep so fast, as you always did these days.

It was 3am when you were woken by the baby monitor. You picked it up, seeing Ellie fussing. You sighed - you never minded taking care of her, but you were just so tired tonight. You were getting up when Steve stopped you.

“I got it,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “You go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “You have work tomorrow.”

“I’m sure. Get some rest, please.”

You watched Steve leave, wondering how you got so lucky.

Steve went into the nursery, scooping a crying Ellie from her crib. “Hi, baby girl,” he said quietly. “Are you hungry? Let’s go warm you up a bottle.”

You had a supply of pumped milk so Steve could feed her, too. He went into the kitchen with the baby in his arms, making the bottle one handed like a pro. He settled into the recliner and rocked as he fed the bottle to Ellie, who was snuggled against his shirtless chest.

He was so sleepy, but he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

A month into her life, Ellie started crying constantly. It was like there was nothing you could do to calm her. It broke your heart to see her so upset, like she was in pain. Steve was stressing out hard.

“What do we do??” he asked, pacing and running his hands through his hair. “What’s wrong with her? Why won’t she calm down?”

A trip to the doctor later, Ellie had a diagnosis of colic. You were basically told there was nothing you could do, it was just something that had to run its course. Nevertheless, you both put your all into trying to make her feel better. Making sure she burped well after eating, giving her gas drops, walking the hall with her at night for hours until she finally fell asleep. Steve never once complained. He was so devoted to his daughter, it made your chest ache with love.

Love.

One of those nights, when Ellie was 7 weeks old and after she had finally fallen asleep, you and Steve collapsed on the couch, exhausted. You laid your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around you.

“You okay?” he asked you quietly.

“Yeah,” you said. “What about you?”

“I’m good. I’m happy.” He smiled down at you. “I know this is hard, but I love being a dad. I love my girl. Both of my girls.”

There was that word again. Love.

“Steve,” you started, sitting up on the couch and turning to face him as you talked. “What do you want for your future?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

“Like, what do you want? Where do you want to be?”

“I want to be right here,” he said easily.

“No, but, you know what I mean. For the future. Do you want to get married to someone? Have more kids?”

Steve smiled. “Definitely. I want a big family.”

“Yeah? Even after all this?” you laughed sleepily.

“Of course. I want like, six kids.”

“Jesus.”

Steve laughed. “And…I don’t want to marry ‘someone’.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You don’t want to get married?”

“No, I mean, of course I do.” He seemed flustered, something you didn’t see from him often. “I just…it’s someone in particular.”

Your heart sunk. Nancy, you thought. He had never gotten over her. He was still in love with Nancy.

“You. I want to marry you.”

You froze. You were sure you were just hearing things, going crazy from the lack of sleep and hearing the things you wanted to hear. He had not just said that. “What?” you said, the only thing you could think to say.

“I…” He leaned forward, placing his hand on the side of your face so you were looking at him. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

You gaped at him like an idiot. “Steve…”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I just…I’ve been waiting for the right moment for months, and I just-“

You cut him off by leaning forward and pressing your lips onto his.

Steve wasted no time in kissing you back, pulling you closer to him, closer and closer until you were straddling his lap as his arms wrapped around you and your lips worked together. You moaned against his lips, which drove Steve absolutely crazy.

He put his hands on your ass, grinding you against his lap. He was hard already, like he wanted you bad. Hell, you wanted him just as bad. He groaned into your mouth as your tongues started working together, his hands sliding up and down your body and feeling every part of you.

“God, you-“ he said, totally breathless and pupils blown wide in lust. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

That was hard to believe, especially when he’d been so head over heels for Nancy, who in your mind was so much prettier and better than you. But you could tell he was telling the truth.

“I love you,” you said between kisses, finally saying the words that had been on the tip of your tongue for months and months. “I love you. I love you.”

Steve groaned and held you even closer, his erection pressing up against you. It made you impossibly wet, grinding down onto him. You’d only had sex the one time in your life, and you’d thought about it every day since it happened.

“Can I take you to the room?” Steve asked, his voice low as he toyed with the hem of your shirt. “Our room?”

“Yes,” you told him, wanting nothing more.

He lifted you up with little effort, carrying you into the bedroom while you wrapped your arms and legs around him. He carefully laid you down on the bed, careful of your stitches. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor before crawling over you still in his pajama pants.

He kissed all over your neck, making you whine, pulling slightly on his hair which made him groan. His hands slowly slid beneath your shirt, pushing it up and up until he took it completely off. You immediately covered your body up with your arms.

“Baby…” Steve murmured. “What are you doing?”

“I just…” you let out a breath. “My body is a lot different than the last time you saw it.”

Steve looked almost hurt. “Baby. You are beautiful. You carried and birthed my child. You could not be any hotter to me.”

Steve’s words almost had you tearing up, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment. You slowly lowered your arms, revealing your body to him. True to his word, Steve looked at you with nothing but love and desire in his eyes.

He kissed all over your body, your stomach, your chest, your neck, your lips. He was worshipping your body, loving every single part of it. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

He started kissing down your body, down between your legs, but you stopped him. “I just want you,” you said, your voice coming out more whiney and pleading than you meant.

Steve smirked. He pulled your pants and panties off the rest of the way. “Well, you have me.”

He pushed his own pants and boxers down, his large election springing free. He was even more massive than you remembered from your drunken night together. It was intimidating.

Steve kissed you on the lips again, a slow, loving, sensual kiss. You felt his tip at your entrance as he rubbed it between your folds, getting his cock nice and wet. “Are you ready?” he asked you, so quiet. You nodded.

He pushed inside, the stretch taking your breath away. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he set a slow pace, his face buried in your neck as he groaned in pleasure. “Jesus,” he moaned. “You are so tight. Feels so good.”

“You’re…huge, Steve,” you whined, making him chuckle breathlessly.

“Is it okay? Is it too much? Should I stop?”

“No, no,” you said quickly. “Keep going. Please.”

Steve obeyed, rocking his hips into you at a slightly

faster pace. The old bed creaked lightly beneath your movements, the headboard knocking into the wall. “Fuck, fuck,” he moaned. “God. I’m not gonna last long. It’s been so long, and you feel like heaven. My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

“Oh, Steve,” you moaned, back arching as he hit that bundle of nerves deep inside. “Feels good. Keep going just like that.”

He intertwined your fingers together above your head, his left hand holding onto your hip. He thrusted into you faster, faster, faster, making the hottest, most sinful noises as he neared release.

“I’m getting close,” he said, hips snapping against you. “Oh, fuck.” He readjusted so he had a hand to lean on while the other dipped between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

“Oh!” you moaned at the sudden feeling, pussy clenching around Steve’s cock and making him let out the most pathetic whimper.

“Jesus- Jesus Christ,” he said, breathless. “You’re killin’ me.”

“I’m really close, Steve,” you whined, writhing under him. “Really close.”

“Go ahead and cum for me, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “Let me feel it. Make a mess all on my cock for me.”

Your lips parted in a gasp, eyes rolling back as an orgasm crashed into you. Your pussy clenched around his cock tightly, and Steve cried out, his hips stuttering into you. The second you came down from your orgasm he pulled out, jerking his cock a couple times before he shot ropes of his cum all over your stomach and tits, groaning as he watched. He came so much, covering you in it.

He admired his work for a few seconds as he caught his breath. He had never seen anything hotter. When he was finally back to earth, he hopped off the bed and ran into the attached bathroom, grabbing a towel and coming back to clean you up. “Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile.

“It’s okay,” you said with a giggle. “That was hot.”

Once you were cleaned up, he collapsed into the bed with you, both still naked. Wrapping his arm around you, he pulled you close into him, spooning you and snuggling his face into the back of your neck.

“I love you,” he said. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve. So much.”

—

Things found their version of normal eventually. It helped when you could start getting out of the house with Ellie, just getting some fresh air and seeing the outside world. Carol came over a lot, so it wasn’t like you had been totally lonely, but there’s nothing like going out in public.

Ellie was 5 months old. You and Steve had been officially together for 4ish months, and it was going amazing. You had never been happier. You had driven yourself and Ellie to Bradley’s Big Buy on your own for the first time since her birth.

“You wanna ride in the cart?” you asked her, earning a big grin from the baby even though she had no idea what you’d said. You settled her into the front of the cart - taking the time to disinfect it with wipes first. Ellie held onto the bar as you pushed her into the store.

Bread…milk…pasta…dish soap…diapers.

You began grabbing the things you needed, Ellie totally amazed at the world around her. It was adorable to see. But just as you grabbed the bread and were about to leave the aisle, you nearly bumped into someone.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” you said. “I didn’t-“

Nancy.

You froze, just staring at her. She looked different. She had a perm now, and it really suited her. She looked beautiful as she always did.

“It’s…it’s okay,” she said, her eyes roaming to Ellie in the cart. Ellie smiled big at her, and Nancy couldn’t help but return it.

“How…how have you been?” you asked her, unsure if she wanted to talk to you at all.

“Oh. I’ve been good. I got a job at the newspaper. Me and Jonathan just got an apartment together.” She smiled gently.

“That’s great,” you said, and you meant it. You were happy to see her doing well, to see her happy. “I’m glad things are going well for you.”

“Yeah,” she said. “How- how are you?”

You were surprised she asked. “I’m doing well. Recovered from surgery now and everything. Ellie’s doing fantastic.”

“I’m really happy to hear that,” she said, and she seemed genuine. “I heard it was a rough birth.”

“Yeah.” Ellie reached for you, and you grabbed her hand, letting her wrap her tiny fingers around yours. “But, you know, it was worth it. To have her.”

Nancy nodded. “I’m sure.” A pause. “How’s Steve?”

“He’s great. Working for his dad now.” You debated whether to continue. “We, uh…we’ve been together for about 4 months now.”

“Oh,” she said. She didn’t seem upset, like she had expected that. “I’m happy for you both. Steve’s…he’s a good guy.”

You smiled. “Yeah. He is.”

There was a moment of silence between you before Nancy shook her head. “Well. I need to get going, I’m just picking up lunch for the staff. It was…it was good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too, Nance.”

She gave you a polite smile before pushing her cart off. You watched her go, her curly hair disappearing into another aisle.

You weren’t sure what to make of the interaction. She certainly didn’t seem like she hated you anymore. But you knew you would never be friends again, and that part broke your heart.

Maybe there was progress to be made.

—

Life with Steve and Ellie was wonderful. Steve was an amazing dad- the best. He was also an amazing boyfriend. He made you feel loved and cherished, safe and cared for.

He worked with Ellie every day, first down on the floor with her for tummy time, then once she mastered that and grew older, he did his best to teach her how to crawl.

“You know, I crawled backwards as a baby,” he said randomly one day.

“Huh?”

“It’s true,” he said. “I just…” He held his hands up and mimicked crawling backwards.

You laughed hard. “That is so Steve.”

“What does that mean??”

At Christmas, he went all out. He spoiled her as much as he could afford, even though he knew she wouldn’t remember a thing about it or even understand it. Christmas day Steve was the one to wake you up bright and early- “It’s Christmas!!!”

You drank some coffee, taking pictures while Steve sat on the floor with Ellie, helping her open her presents. She was delighted with everything she opened, and you and Steve had a blast watching her enjoy Christmas.

Her first birthday party was a whole occasion, too. It was at the Harrington’s, since they had so much space. Even Steve’s dad softened in the presence of Ellie Harrington. Steve cried when everyone sang her happy birthday.

When you had been together for a year, Steve asked your mom to babysit so he could take you out for dinner to celebrate your anniversary. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, but told you to dress fancy.

You wore a red dress that hugged your curves in the most perfect way. Steve nearly started drooling when he saw you. But you felt the same way about him, dressed up nice.

He took you to Enzo’s, a place you’d never been. “Get anything you want,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry about the price tonight.”

You tried your best to ignore the exorbitant prices as you scanned the menu, eventually deciding on a chicken alfredo. The food was delicious, you practically moaned when you took your first bite.

“I would order us some wine, but I get the feeling they won’t fall for my fake ID here,” Steve said, making you laugh. You drank sparkling water instead, still in the fancy spirit.

After dinner you shared a piece of chocolate cake. You speared a bite onto your fork and held it out to Steve, who happily opened his mouth to let you feed it to him before he did the same to you. You giggled, feeling both very grown up and also like a couple of kids.

After you finished dessert, you were full. You were ready to get the check and head home back to Ellie when Steve spoke up, saying your name.

“Baby,” he said. “I…I wanted to ask you something.”

You looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

He reached into his pocket, then stood. When he got down on one knee, you gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, the tears falling already.

He said your full name, looking deep into your eyes as he opened the box, revealing the most beautiful diamond ring you’d ever laid eyes on. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes! Oh my god, yes yes yes.”

Steve smiled as he slipped the ring onto your finger - a perfect fit. He stood and pulled you into a kiss as the entire restaurant clapped for you - a literal dream come true.

Forever with the love of your life.

Stay tuned for the sequel baby daddy series!!

tag list

@crispystarfishhottub @luveediary @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @melaninjhs @talkativecarnation @cherrypieyourface @lanalosty0uu @rubythornexxx @meeuhsworld

[ellie-r2]

Something about Jayce always initiating physical contact with Viktor but the one time Viktor does as Salo Jayce instantly rejects it.

Something about the way Jayce both times we see Jayce hug Viktor on screen he HOLDS him and buries his head in Viktor's neck. And how both times Viktor is in shock but never pulls away (second time he does but because of what he's shown).

Something about the way Viktor never actually shies away from the contact either, he'll lean into it which is lowkey a pet peeve of mine in fics when they make him not like the touch even when mad he WAITS for Jayce to come up to him again and hold him so they can walk.

Something about the way Jayce immediately goes to find Viktor after the incident with the kid in the undercity only to find him trying to kill himself. Then the sadness and guilt in his eyes when he says "am I interrupting?".

The way that in their attempts, Jayce was "ready", had his eyes closed and leans forward while Viktor is scared, visibly shaking and had his eyes open. Yet for their actual death Jayce is scared and Viktor just accepts it while comforting Jayce in their final moments.

Something about the way they're both just willing to let the world go to ruin because they won't let the other die/stay dead (Mage Viktor always saving child Jayce vs Jayce always reviving/saving Viktor)

Jayvik is just so interesting and special to me because of the devotion they have for each other.

[totallywoman]

grandpa haymitch!!!

my biggest epilogue headcanon is that i 100% believe haymitch decides to quit drinking when he finds out katniss is pregnant (because i REFUSE to accept he doesn’t live to see their kids). i can see him reaching the point in his life where he thinks katniss and peeta don’t need him anymore, and starts letting go of living. i imagine that lenore dove visits him in a dream, her hair gray and faced wrinkled (but as beautiful to him as ever). she tells him that his time with his family is not over and they will need him more than ever.

then, he finds out katniss is pregnant, and everything changes. he finally sees an opportunity to start over. everyone he has ever loved has been hurt by him, but he refuses to burden another soul he loves. he loves katniss and peeta too much to break their trust like that yet again, and already sees himself holding their sweet baby in his arms. he can’t imagine stumbling around, slurring his words in front of someone so precious. it’s simply unthinkable.

he thinks of burdock. his adored daughter having her own child. he makes a silent promise to him to take care of his grand babies, something that was taken away from him.

so one night, soon after katniss and peeta break the news, he dumps all the white liquor down the drain. he ends up miserably sick, but just the thought of that baby or the sight of katniss’ growing belly is enough to keep him from going into town and buying more liquor.

he eventually comes back to life, and is more present in katniss and peeta’s lives than ever. he helps them put together the baby’s room, cares for katniss when she’s not feeling well while peeta’s working, and never comes back from town without something for the baby.

when katniss goes into labor, he spends the entire day pacing back and forth downstairs in the living room. he is so worried about her. the sound of labor pains is almost enough to put back a drink. almost.

when he goes upstairs and meets their baby girl, he breaks down. katniss and peeta have never seen him cry until this moment. all he can see are the two people he loves most in the world, wrapped up into a tiny bundle of dark curls and chubby cheeks. she looks just like katniss, remembering the days where burdock showed her off in the hob. he imagines the future he wanted with lenore dove, how they were going to have their own babies and grandbabies. she would be so proud of him, so happy he got to experience the love of being a father and a grandfather in this world.

as baby girl and her brother grow, haymitch becomes their favorite person. they love to ride on his shoulders, chase around with the geese, and play dress up with him (which is katniss’s favorite thing to watch - he looks ridiculous and can’t help but scowl at her as she laughs at him dressed up in a dress and tiara. he does it anyway, it makes the kids happy).

he eventually teaches the girl how to play piano (because he obviously learned it to honor lenore dove), and brings her a bundle of wildflowers after her first recital. he is there for every birthday, every school performance, every sport event, and every sunday (at the very least) for dinner. he walks with katniss every afternoon to pick them up from school, and carries the boy on his shoulders while he holds the girl’s hand.

he loves her beautiful voice and her kindness toward everyone she meets. he loves his curiosity, his belly laugh, and the mop of blonde curls on the top of his head. he often finds himself ruffling them, just as he would do to sid so long ago.

they remind him of all the innocent souls he loved and lossed. sid, louella, ampert, lou lou; all too innocent for the creulty of the world. the difference is, they are out of the capitol’s reach.

finally, he is not defined by his faults. he is not the rebel tribute who got his family and his girl killed, a victor, a mentor, or a drunk. he is grandpa haymitch. loved to death by two little kids and their parents, just for being him.

lenore dove often visits him in his dreams, telling him she’s so proud of him, and to keep living for her in this world where the sun rises on days full of love, hope, and peace.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

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

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

a little note from me 💌 

Chapter 10- 'Tangled Tension' | 'Aperture'

word count - 12.9k

[Cherry Flavoured - The Neighbourhood]

The air between you felt thick with something unspoken—something that simmered and burned yet never boiled over. It was ridiculous, really, how you both danced around the inevitable, how you enjoyed the ache of restraint like some kind of slow, sweet torture. Trent’s bed was warm, his arms even warmer as they wrapped lazily around you, his big hand slipping beneath the oversized shirt you’d nicked from his drawer. His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your back, like he couldn’t help but touch you, even if it wasn’t enough. Even if nothing was ever enough. You nuzzled closer, pressing your face into his bare chest, inhaling the fresh scent of his skin, the lingering warmth from his shower. Without thinking, you kissed the spot just over his heart, a soft, thoughtless thing—but the way his body reacted wasn’t thoughtless at all. You felt it beneath you. The twitch. The pulse. The length you wanted to take so fucking much. A slow, smug smile stretched across your lips as you propped your chin on his chest, your eyes flicking up to meet his. Trent caught the glint in your gaze and rolled his eyes, but the dirty smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

“Ah see! Like you’re not turned on right now…” he muttered, voice all low and embarrassed. “Absolute tease, you are.” You let out a quiet breathy laugh, your fingers dragging lazily over his ribs. Then, just to be a menace, or maybe because you just couldn't stop yourself, you kissed his chest again.

“Tik.” You whispered with another kiss, slightly lower. “Tock…” Kiss. “Tik…” Kiss. “Tok.” Teasing, acting out the ticking clock of when you’d finally let him have you, finally let the restraint snap, the whistle to blow. Trent groaned, a low, gravelly rumble you felt all the way down to your core.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—take your ‘we’re just friends’ bullshit over there then,” he teased, tossing you off him playfully as he rolled onto his side still facing you. You gasped, suddenly robbed of his warmth for the first time all night, for the first time in ages really.

“I’m only kidding, T.” You pouted dramatically at him, He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he looked at you. 

“Don’t look at me like that… You ask–” He exhaled, stopping his own words. He was trying to be stern, but he just couldn’t. He never could—not with you. Instead, with an exasperated sigh, he reached for you again. “C’mere.” He pulled you back against him in one smooth motion, smushing you so tightly against his body you could barely breathe. And you liked it that way.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you whispered, real guilt creeping in now, your lips brushing against his collarbone.

“Nah, I know.” Trent murmured, his lips pressing softly to your hair. What he knew, he wasn’t sure. Trent didn’t always love a joke but he didn’t really give a shit what you did as long as you were in his bed. He liked you right here in his arms. “I get it. Just want you here with me. Sleep better with you. Told you… you just tell me when you’re ready, I’m here.” Your throat tightened at that, the tenderness of it all, the patience woven between the fire. You weren’t sure what or why you were waiting, but you were.

“Thank you,” you whispered, fingers curling into his skin. Then, softer, teasing but not unserious, “I hope you know I’m sorry about the clock… But it’s ticking away. Maybe it’s only some stoppage time.” You said aloud and maybe that was a question for him or maybe it was a statement from you. But it was a metaphor he understood perfectly nevertheless. Trent huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he smirked. 

“Never minded added minutes if I ultimately get the trophy.” He whispered, kissing your hair. You grinned into his skin, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his chest as the two of you drifted off, tangled together in something that wasn’t quite defined—but felt a hell of a lot like home.

—

The tension between you and Trent didn’t exist in the way one might expect. There were no awkward pauses, no hesitations when it came to physical touch. If anything, your bodies fit together too easily, as if they had always belonged that way. The warmth of his chest against your cheek, the way his fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns against your back—it felt good. Right. Safe. But safety could be dangerous, too.

The room was bathed in darkness, save for the slivers of light from the streetlamps outside seeping through the curtains. The air smelled like him—clean, warm, something distinct that had always been Trent and nothing else. The hum of the quiet neighborhood and the rustling of leaves outside his window felt distant, muffled by the steady rhythm of his breathing. His duvet was heavy, wrapped around you both like a cocoon, but the weight in your chest was heavier. There was no tension in bed, not really. Not the kind that was unbearable. The only tension in bed with him was the good kind, delicious even—the slow burn of restraint, the pulse of anticipation in the space between you. His hands on you, low and unhurried under the oversized shirt of his you wore. Your lips grazing his bare chest, almost unconsciously, the way they always did, the way his breath stuttered in response each time. It was all so easy, so natural. Sex wasn’t the question but it wasn’t the answer either. And that tension wasn’t the problem—it was everything else outside of it. 

Because in every other way, you were his. You ached to be with him elsewhere. That was the worst part. Your seat at the table, whether at dinners with friends or casual gatherings, was always next to him—unstated, unquestioned, reserved. The space beside him felt carved out for you, and you took it without thought. It had been that way for time now, a silent acknowledgment that neither of you ever voiced but both understood. Every part of you felt magnetized to him, and your brain was no exception. Your thoughts orbited him with a force you couldn't break free from, even when you tried. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing—Trent lived in the background of your mind, a constant presence that you had long since stopped resisting. And Trent was no better. He went straight to you every second he could. He picked you up when training was over, a ritual that had become second nature. He needed to see you, because texting wasn’t enough, calling wasn’t enough. He expected you in his arms when the night came to a close, like it was the only way the world could reset itself to something that made sense. You were the calm to his chaos, the only thing that settled him when nothing else could. 

And so, the real tension—the one that truly unsettled you—existed in those moments between. In the quiet, when there was nothing left to distract you, that was when it became thickest. That was when it became terrifying. Because when his hold on you softened, when his fingers slowed against your skin, when there was nothing left to do but exist in the space together before goodbyes were said, reality bled in at the edges. When you weren’t there—when you were at work, or out with just the girls, or lying in your bed while he was miles away, that was when the real tension crept in. That was when the fear surfaced, the uncertainty, the vulnerability neither of you ever spoke about. Because Trent had control when you were near, when he could hold you, touch you, see you. But when you weren’t in his sight? That was when he felt it most—the terrifying thought that maybe he was nothing but a placeholder in your life. Maybe he was just a moment, a temporary comfort, something you’d eventually move on from. The idea twisted in his chest every time he watched you walk away, every time he had to say goodbye without knowing when the next hello would come. 

But the second you were back, the second his hands found your skin, the second your body pressed into his, it disintegrated. Because you and him, him and you—that was right. That was the only thing that had ever been certain and unavoidable. And when something felt that right, how could it ever be wrong? The instinctive way you reached for him without thinking. The way you’d press closer in your sleep, fitting yourself to him like a secret you’d never admit out loud. The way he let you, no hesitation, no questioning. Neither of you let go, but neither of you could fully commit. Because what happened if you did? What happened if you let yourself sink into this entirely, if you let the restraint go, if you whispered the words neither of you were brave enough to say? What happened if it wasn’t enough? The fear lied in the second you let things get physical again. Sex would bring the fear of rejection, the fear of losing him entirely. It was easier to stay here, wrapped in this limbo of almosts and what-ifs, where you could have each other without truly having each other. Where it wasn’t real enough to fall apart. But still, as you nestled further into him every time, as his grip tightened slightly in his sleep, as your lips brushed over his skin one last time before exhaustion pulled you under— You wondered how much longer either of you could pretend.

—

[Damage - PARTYNEXTDOOR ft. Halsey]

Your photoshoot had run late—much later than you’d anticipated. By the time you wrapped up, Trent’s match against Tottenham was already late into the second half and you were still all the way over in South West London. You were supposed to be there, watching from the stands, a hazy, hesitant agreement to plans fallen through. Instead, you were left swiping off remnants of setting powder and packing up your camera gear. You’d sent him an apologetic text somewhere between outfits, promising to make it up to him, and now, as you sat in the back of a cab heading nowhere in particular, you finally had a moment to breathe. The late wrap time should’ve had you heading to Euston Station but you didn’t want to. Not yet. And then your phone buzzed in your hand.

‘Still have some left in the tank. Wya baby?’

You smiled at the message, picturing Trent slouched in the dressing room, slides on, thumb lazily tapping against his phone while his teammates filtered out, making plans of their own. Trent hit send and felt stupid though. It was cheeky, but it felt too easy for it to be sent to you. Something he’d sent before. He just prayed you’d respond so he could try again and he wouldn’t have to face the come down of being left on read after the high of a win.  

‘Do you? I barely do so I don’t know... You tell me what's in the cards tonight, man of the match?’

You replied. It was coy. A nod that you knew he played well. That you’d still managed to follow the game enough to know he played exceptional tonight. His chest beamed with pride. But then it dawned on him… he didn’t have a response. It sent a wave of panic through him. What was his plan? Fuck. The typing bubbles appeared, then disappeared. Then reappeared.

‘Could link with some of my boys. Tape?’

He felt stupid… Tape? Was he fucking kidding. He rolled his eyes at himself. You didn’t love the suggestion. Yeah, it was still an opportunity to see him which was a tempting offer enough—a wild night out, drinks flowing, music loud enough to drown out any lingering thoughts from the day. But as much as a cheeky night out with him didn’t sound too bad, your stomach twisted, reminding you of something far more urgent.

‘Any chance you’re in the mood to eat, not dance? I actually haven’t had anything all day…'

You asked him terrified it could result in an easy pass on the night entirely but this time, the bubbles stayed for a while.

‘I never am in the mood to dance ‘

You giggled, biting your lip, before his name lit up on your phone, filling the screen. Trent had called you and you embarrassingly answered on the first ring. Would he think you were too eager? No, Trent thought one ring was even too long of a beat.

“Gotta eat something, baby. Probably starving. That why you missed my game?” His voice was teasing, but the concern underneath made you smile.

“Wouldn’t say that…” You drew out the words, eyes flickering out the window. “I’m sorry I missed the match but I am dying for food now and your company wouldn’t be too bad.” Trent exhaled, the sound of a door shutting echoing in the background. Fame was a funny thing when it came to footballers. They needed the right medium to get by unscathed, somewhere there was enough action for them not to feel put in a cage, but where they weren’t in the spotlight, stopped and asked for photos– a middle ground. 

“Good company makes good food, y’know. But nothing too dead that it’s boring, yeah?” He teased but you got the sentiment. You understood him the best you could. 

“Think I’m boring?” You grinned taunting him a little playfully, twisting his words.

“Nah, nah, nah. Didn’t say that. My mind’s just still buzzing so I need some noise but… I also need you.” He admitted and your smile grew. His heart thudded harder from the unanticipated confession. “And well, can’t have my girl passing out on me, can I?” He smirked lazily, it all was so easy for him, the charm rolled out like a carefully crafted script. Your heart skipped at my girl—he’d said it casually, like he barely even noticed. You did, though. And he knew it, the cocky thing.

“Hmmm, where to take The Trent Alexander-Arnold…” You mocked him. “Ever been to Annabel’s?” An idea flickered into your mind, rolling off your tongue without thought.  A pause. 

“Friend of yours?” He asked earnestly but still beaming, smiling like a little boy chuffed you’d even suggested any place to meet you. 

“No.” You giggled. Trent hummed, intrigued. “Well, it's not super convenient for you but...” You took a breath hoping that he’d take a minor inconvenience. Because Anabel was not a friend, no, Anabel’s was an exclusive members only club tucked in Mayfair about a half hour from where he likely was.

“Never an inconvenience to see you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Whatcha got for me?”

“How does somewhere private sound to a big Prem baller like you or do you need to be seen?” You teased, curling up in the backseat of the cab. Trent let out a low chuckle. 

“Nah, private sounds good to me. I like private.”  He whispered.

“Private it is.” You cooed sensually, desperate for him to get to you across London… now.  

“Give me a bit more, baby… you gonna be at this private place you're telling me about?” He asked shifting in his seat. He needed confirmation, where was this dream where he got to be in private with you.

“I will be there.” You let the words drip slow, sultry. “Berkeley Square. Little dinner, some drinks, a club if you feel so inclined. Me. Maybe the terrace if the rain holds.” You sexily cooed and Trent’s head lulled just at the sound of your voice. You heard the subtle exhale on the other end. 

“Sounds a little too good to be true. Do I even know where Berkeley Square is?” He chuckled trying to remember the maps of London in his brain, a little confused where this elusive yet seemingly perfect destination was nestled somewhere in the city. 

“If you know where Mayfair is…” You giggled. 

“Ah, posh girl,” he teased, his grin evident though the phone. Sure, fine, Anabel’s was an institution but it made the most sense. It was private as much as it was a party. Although you didn’t tell him you inherited a membership to the club, maybe another time, or maybe after a martini or two. 

“You’ll fit in just fine, pretty boy.” You rolled your eyes. This was exactly the place Trent would fit in. He laughed, a rich, warm sound. 

“Yeah? Alright. Send me where to meet ya, beautiful.” He commanded and you smirked, already typing out the address. Anabel’s in the bite of winter was a world apart—a fever dream of velvet and emerald, heat curling in the air like a whispered secret. It was seductive and expensive, thick with the scent of Baccarat Rouge and silk, a sanctuary wrapped in dim lighting and exclusivity. A place built for people like him even if he didn’t know it existed yet—the ones who glimmered too brightly under the public eye and needed somewhere to disappear. You had belonged to this world before him, before Paris, before the way he looked at you made your chest ache with something unspoken. But tonight, you wanted him here. You wanted him to slip into this gilded escape where the music throbbed like a second heartbeat and the drinks burned just enough to make you forget why you were drinking them.

This was where people came when they wanted to do headline-worthy things without making headlines—hidden beneath chandeliers that dripped in gold, lips meeting in shadowed corners, laughter spilling like honey over bar tops where no one asked for receipts because tabs didn’t exist. A playground for the untouchable, where fame blurred into anonymity, where there were so many famous faces that, in the end, it felt like none. It was Gatsby-esque—the way adults shed their skin and played like children in a mansion, lost in the delirium of wealth and secrecy. And tonight, you wanted him in the dollhouse with you, slipping between fantasy and reality, where he wasn’t Trent Alexander-Arnold, the footballer, the headline, the spectacle, trending on twitter, in the starting line-up. Tonight, he would just be yours.

-

The night stretched and blurred, bending at the edges like candle wax melting into a surreal painting. Annabel’s had worked its magic, as it always did. You ate dinner, you drank at not one bar but two of them inside the town house, slinking up each floor before you thought about kissing him on the terrace, but time slipped away, liquid and weightless, the world reduced to dim golden lights and the heat of his body close to yours.

“What a fucking night, baby,” Trent murmured, his voice syrup-thick, words just slightly slurred. He stood behind you, his face nuzzled into the curve of your neck as you both lingered on the corner of Berkeley Square. This was Trent’s perfect night, he got to relax, be himself and yet enjoy all the luxuries of his hard work, shaken and stirred, poured into martini glasses and now, wrapped in his arms.

“Exclusively and curated,” you teased, giggling as you leaned back into him, his warmth cocooning you against the cold. “Just for you by me,” you added, whispering, and he hummed—a low, satisfied sound as his arms tightened around you.

“Where to next, Posh Spice?” he drawled, his voice laced with something mischievous, something dangerous. Teasing your choice of evening, despite it being his dream. You rolled your eyes, but your heart pounded.

“Depends… where are you going?” You asked. What you wanted to say was kiss me and take this dress off me right now. Did you plan on wearing the mini dress [ref index] you’d nicked from the shoot earlier tonight? No, but it was in a garment bag with you when he called… and so you changed in the back of the taxi. It worked with your cropped fur jacket you originally had on with cargo pants and the pair of trainers you swapped for heels. Makeshift but Trent would disagree. You were perfect. And he thought he was doing an exceptional job of keeping it together being witness to your perfection. Of not pressing you against the nearest wall, not pulling you into the loo like he had in Ibiza while you whispered in his ear curled into his side inside the walls of Anabel’s, your hands teasing, taunting. He was only a man, and you were his walking, breathing, laughing wet dream—but he had restraint. Some class. Though it was slipping, rapidly, as your perfume curled around him, as your lips parted just slightly when you looked up at him.

“I’m going anywhere you take me,” he said, his lazy smile turning your insides molten. Your mind screamed: Sleep with him! Fuck him again and again and again. Your mouth, however, was far more demure.

“1 Hotel is close…” you mused, pretending to think of logistics when really, the thought of a luxury hotel with him made you dizzy. His lips curled. He was too pretty. It was unfair. His smirk like another shot of liquor burning inside of you. “You tired?” you asked quickly, suddenly nervous. “You know, from the match?”  You babbled nervously, the mere sight of him unraveling you feeling silly for just suggesting you two go to a hotel together. 

“Yeah,” he smirked. It was dangerous. “Need to get to bed.” His fingers pointed toward Piccadilly, vaguely to the direction of something inevitable waiting to unfold on a busier bustling street. He raised his brows, wordlessly asking for confirmation. You swallowed, nodding. 

“Yeah. Bed can be this way.” You murmured hesitant but laced with desire. Your fingers curled around his wrist, tugging him gently, and when you stumbled slightly in your heels, taking a step off the pavement into the road, he steadied you with ease, his grip firm but careful. And then he smiled at you—completely, utterly gone for you. It didn’t matter that he was knackered, that it was almost three in the morning, that his body ached from ninety three minutes of football, that he wasn’t entirely sure where he was, which hotel you’d even mentioned. All that mattered was you. The way you touched him so effortlessly—nothing possessive, nothing demanding, like no one else ever had, yet he was utterly owned. The way you filled in all the blank spaces of his life he hadn’t even known were empty. You were like nothing he knew he needed, wanted. The winter wind bit at your cheeks, and as you turned to check for traffic, your hair wafting effortlessly behind your shoulder… 

The wind shifted, and suddenly, you were everywhere.  A whisper of amber and vanilla curled around him like smoke, slipping through the cracks of his composure, seeping into his bloodstream, turning everything heavy and heady and slow. It wasn’t just a scent—it was a drug, a quiet, devastating intoxication that made his vision blur at the edges, made the world tilt like he was walking through honey-thick air. His pulse stuttered, breath catching as he followed you deeper into the darkened streets of London as your fingers found his. It was so easy. So seamless. He should’ve been afraid of something so potent, something that robbed him of reason, that turned the city into nothing but blurred neon and your shadow slipping just ahead of him. But he wasn’t. No, he leaned into it, craved it, let himself drown in the gas chamber of you, filling his lungs with the scent of something he never wanted to escape from. You had no idea what you were doing to him. Or maybe you did. Maybe that’s why you turned back with that knowing little smirk, watching him stumble further into your web, already lost. Your hand stayed in his. And that night, right into bed with him too.

-

His hands were poetry against your skin. Gliding, mapping, memorizing. The softest ghost of touch, so light you weren’t even sure it was happening, like an angel’s whisper against your body. Fingers tracing the scatter of a birthmark along your side, dragging over the curve of your ribs, dipping over your collarbones, melting against your skin like they’d known your form forever. You were both drunk and stupid, liquor-soaked and blissfully careless, tangled up in silk sheets and warm limbs, you in just your lace lingerie, Trent in only his boxers. And somehow, it was perfect… to you. Because Trent’s hands trembled at the contradiction of you—soft and wicked, fragile and ruinous, his salvation and his undoing. You were draped across the hotel bed like a dream he was terrified to wake from, lace and moonlight conspiring against him, painting you as something delicate, something ethereal. But Trent knew better. You were no innocent thing, no untouched seraph meant to be worshiped from afar. You were temptation in its purest form, spun from silk and sin, with lips that had begged for him before, with a body that had once arched and shattered beneath him. And yet, right now, all he could do was touch you like you were made of something sacred.

His fingers traced the slope of your thigh, reverent, almost hesitant, caught between the ghosts of nights when you were anything but innocent and the unbearable tenderness of the moment now. How could someone fit so perfectly in his hands? Like you had been carved from the same clay as him, shaped to be held by him, to be his. His touch was both an offering and a prayer, slow and aching, his thumb skimming the lace at your hip as if testing reality itself. Had he really had you? Had you truly moaned for him, pleaded for more, let him ruin you over and over? Or had it all been some fever dream, some mirage conjured by the cruelest gods? Because right now, with your lashes casting shadows against flushed skin, with your body sprawled in the guise of something angelic yet laced with wicked intent, he was drowning in the hoax of you. A temptress wrapped in innocence. A sinner masquerading as something pure. And fuck, he was already lost again. You blinked up at him, your body alight with the weight of his touch, your thoughts spinning with pleasure and alcohol. 

“I think I want more champagne.” You smirked and it was lethal.  Your smile had Trent’s head on mars. Future you might hate yourself for the suggestion, but right now, Dom Pérignon felt like the missing piece to this already-perfect night. Trent chuckled, head tilting slightly in awe of your appearance next to him. His body was too tired from the match but it still pulsed with desire. His mind was flashing through a carousel of all the positions he wanted to bend you into but he couldn’t move, he was drunk on you and when you rolled further onto your side your tits pressed together between the sheets and your arm and Trent felt like he’d left london and transcended into somewhere completely different, ethereal, heavenly even. You were everything.

“Champagne’s welcome to join, yeah.” He smirked. You giggled, shifting closer to him on the bed as he reached for the hotel phone. His back flexed as he leaned over, voice smooth as he placed the order. His scouse accent a little thicker in the haze of you and the night. You pressed your lips to his shoulder.

“Chips, please,” you whispered. “Get chips.” You asked. He turned to you, caught between amusement and utter devotion, watching you with an unreadable expression. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything like this before—this pull, this certainty, this sheer willingness to say yes to anything you asked. Anything. So if you wanted the £18 truffle chips from room service, you’d have them. “Trust me,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him from behind as he hung up the phone. “Change your life.” Trent huffed a knowing laugh, rubbing a hand over your knee. His big hand on your skin had your head spinning.

“Yeah?” He smirked. Whether or not you knew it, you already had. Trent had arguably the sexiest girl he’d ever seen in his life in a hotel room, prancing around in lingerie, wrapped around him, tangling in conversations across from him in a king size bed, a woman he’d kissed, tasted, memorized—and yet, here he was, ordering champagne and truffle fries for her, no expectation of anything but the way you smiled up at him.

“Mmhmm,” you swore. But then he sat up, and your head tilted, curiosity flickering in your drowsy eyes.

“You trust me?” he asked, that smirk playing at his lips, teasing, testing. He stood looking at you, your frame alone on the mattress he so badly wanted to press you into. Your legs were folded beneath you, boobs almost falling out, eyes blown wide. But he liked you more than that. He understood you more than that. You swallowed, suddenly aware—painfully aware—that neither of you had clothes on. A drunken indiscretion. Silly, as you slinked off your dress he helped you unzip to get more 'comfortable.' Trains not running back up north this late merely a guise for staying in a hotel together. A shiver of soberness cut through you, but before you could speak, Trent turned away. And when he came back, he wrapped a hotel robe around your shoulders. His hands pressing the thick material into your skin with a hum. Your brow furrowed, lips parting. He held up a finger, telling you to wait, before moving easily through the room, retrieving the hotel slippers and sliding them onto your feet. You giggled, sinking back into the big, white, fluffy bed, now wrapped in a robe, no longer bare, feet warm in soft terry cloth.

“Alright, c’mere…” he sighed, plopping himself onto the mattress beside you, draped in his own robe, looking utterly spent but content. He pulled you against him, tucking you into his side. “You got your pairing, champagne and chips orders… Now, welcome to my life, baby.” You laughed, melting into him, against the warmth of his skin, against the familiarity of something that should’ve been fleeting but somehow wasn’t. “I’ve got hotel robes,” he continued, lips ghosting against your hair, “and I’d like to introduce you to the greatest TV series… ever. Perfect combo.” You turned, looking up at him with a small, knowing smile, because for all the glamour surrounding him, this moment felt achingly real. You nestled into him, completely enamored at how kind he was, how normal he was, and yet equally how sad it felt for a brief moment. The reality that he was alone in hotels more often than he had guests in them. Seeing in real time the glimmer of being the Trent Alexander-Arnold fade out. 

“Go well with champagne?” you teased, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, stopping yourself from asking the harder questions—the ones that ached inside your chest. Trent exhaled, then reached for your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, gaze heavy, unreadable.

“Goes well with anything,” he murmured. And you leaned in, ready to taste him again, now, this could be it, you wanted him again, but then— A knock at the door. Room service. Your breath hitched, and Trent chuckled exacerbated, dragging a hand down his face before pushing himself off the bed. And later, when the champagne fizzed in your glasses, no kisses shared, and the scent of truffle fries filled the air, when Entourage played low on the telly, when sleep finally claimed you both tangled between the sheets— You had never been further from being just friends.’

—

[Arm’s Length - Kacy Hill]

You and Trent had fallen into a habit. A beautiful, maddening, nasty habit. Every night you could, you ended up tangled in his sheets or yours, wrapped up in each other like it was second nature. But in reality, it wasn’t really nasty at all because there was nothing dirty about any of it. It had started so innocently—late nights that bled into early mornings, laughter in the dark, sleepy murmurs exchanged in whispers only the walls bore witness to. But somewhere along the way, it became more. Now, it was routine. His arms pulling you into him before sleep claimed you both, his hands absently trailing up and down your back beneath the shirt you’d stolen, the weight of his palm splayed low over your hips, fingers grazing the hem of your panties. He always did that—always toyed with the fabric, always let his touch linger just long enough to make your breath hitch before he smoothed his palm over your ass, as if to remind you he knew. That you wore them for him. That he’d noticed the tiny black g string when you arched your back leaning over the sink as you brushed your teeth in his shirt. That you wanted to tease him, to test the waters. 

That’s all it was though. It was all secrets and no sex. You and Trent were dating. Well neither of you’d say it but you were. Even so, the term felt inadequate for what you were to each other, but it was the only word that made sense, even if you refused to say it aloud. But what did that mean when no one else knew? When your nights ended with your bodies wrapped around each other, but your lips never truly met? You never kissed him—not on those perfectly plump pink kissable lips, at least. Not in the way that would seal your fate, not in the way that would make this real. Not in the way that had made it real before the chasm was created. But you kissed his skin. His collarbones, the hollow of his throat, the sharp line of his jaw when he sighed against you. He never stopped you. Never pulled away. He just let it happen, let you press your affection into him like you were leaving fingerprints, like he could carry them with him wherever he went. And he was marking you just the same, nuzzling into the nape of your neck, kissing your bare shoulder, his lips pressed against your hair as he kept you tight to him. 

But you both were careful. Too careful. Because if anyone knew, if anyone saw the way you gravitated toward each other, the way your lives had become woven—from the late-night ice cream dates to the early-morning coffees giggling in bed, memes sent in DMs, the dinners cooked side by side, the unspoken expectation that his arms would be around you when the night was through—there would be opinions. So you hid. You kept the truth tucked between your tangled limbs beneath sheets, in shared glances across rooms full of people, in the way your seat was always next to his, in the way he always reached for you before you even had to ask. But the more you hid, the more real it felt. Like it was something precious, something delicate, something too significant to expose to the world just yet. And maybe, deep down, that was why you did it—because if it wasn’t real, if it wasn’t worth protecting, you wouldn’t need to hide it.

Trent didn’t know what to do with that realization. Because he wanted more of you. More than late nights spent in limbo, more than whispered words and almost-kisses. But what did more look like when you wouldn’t even kiss him? When he didn’t kiss you. He didn’t know what scared him more—the thought that you didn’t want that kind of intimacy with him, or the thought that you did, and it would change everything. You knew how big that kiss would be. And he did too but he needed it. He was achingly turned on by you constantly; he was desperate for your affection, your touch, your lips on his. 

Still, Trent was afraid. Conflicted. Because he knew he couldn’t stomach your rejection, but he also knew he couldn’t live in this middle ground forever. And worst of all? He knew he loved you. He didn’t remember telling Cassie that he did, but maybe he never needed to. Maybe he had always known, and now, it was impossible to ignore. But love was terrifying. Something foreign too. Because he didn’t know how to. He didn’t know how to love you without hurting you, and he didn’t know how to not love you without breaking himself apart.

And you? You were just as scared. You knew, deep in your bones, that you loved him. The ache of it lived inside you, settled in the hollows of your ribs, something old and familiar, something that had never really gone away. But you had been shattered before—by him. Shattered by the feelings that were a fraction of the ones you had for him now.  And though your heart had been pieced back together, it was still held together by fragile plasters, barely keeping the cracks from widening. You wanted him to love you. God, you wanted it so badly. And he wanted you to love him. But neither of you moved. Neither of you reached for the other in the way that mattered most. Paralyzed by fear. Caring too much to care at all. 

–

The night folded around you in soft hues of moonlight, the glow slipping through the sheer curtains, casting silver ribbons across Trent’s sheets. His bedroom was warm, the kind of warmth that clung to your skin, inviting you to melt into it. And you did—into the bedding, into his arms, into the quiet of a house that, for all its stillness, felt heavy with something unspoken. His arm wrapped around you lazily, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your hip as you settled into the space beside him. A space that had become yours too often, one that had begun to feel more familiar than your own bed. You sighed, adjusting slightly, but there was an unease prickling beneath your skin, something almost incorrect in the way you fit together tonight. Too much warmth, too much weight in his hold.

"Okay?" Trent’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a plea. You hesitated. 

“Just a cuddle?” Something about the words felt naive, like you were both clinging to the illusion of innocence when the truth had long since shifted. You rolled your body into his, seeking comfort, but instead, you found tension—a sharp, unyielding presence pressing against your thigh. You stilled, realization sinking in, and Trent shut his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying—failing—to will away his agony. He had been at his wit’s end all night. Maybe it was the way you looked today, something about you that had made him ache in a way he wasn’t sure he could handle anymore. Maybe it was the way you had fallen so easily into his space, like you belonged there, without a second thought. Whatever it was, he was losing his composure, and he needed you to stay exactly where you were, even as it drove him to the brink. He was so hard he thought he might combust but he didn’t want you to leave, he knew that. 

“Going to be okay? I can—” You swallowed, feeling awkward, feeling everything. You felt that hardness as you tried to settle into bed only making it all the worse for him, your body rubbing against his.  Trent’s fingers tightened over your waist, grounding himself. 

“Are you gonna be right here?” His voice was deeper, rougher when he asked, cutting you off. You nodded, slowly. His smirk was lazy, almost painful. “Then yeah, I’m okay.” He reassured you. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at the way he looked at you. But you weren’t sure if they came from anticipation or the sheer, dangerous thrill of toeing this line. Your hands slid over his, guiding them lower, to the place they’d already been inching toward. His big palms fit over you so easily, fingers flexing, gripping your ass, as your body draped over his. 

“Promise?” You lifted a brow, testing him—testing yourself. Trent exhaled a breathy laugh, shaking his head, his restraint hanging on by the thinnest of threads. 

“I promise, baby.” He was a liar. You giggled, and he groaned, letting his forehead drop against your shoulder, as if exhausted by the absolute lunacy of this arrangement. The way you kept slipping into his bed like this, trusting him, knowing exactly what you were doing to him.

“What? You like your hands there.” You grinned, teasing.

“I do.” His laugh was low, indulgent. “I really do… so thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”   You beamed childishly, pressing a kiss to his chest. 

“So considerate,” he teased with an eye roll, lips brushing against your hair. And then the laughter faded, the room filling once more with silence, except now, it was different. The scales were tipping. The balance was breaking. You drifted to sleep, wrapped in warmth, wrapped in him. And Trent lay there, staring at the ceiling, wide awake but dreaming. Dreaming of a day when you’d let him have you again—when you’d want him the way he so desperately still wanted you.

—

The dim glow of the cocktail bar softened the edges of your emotions, but it couldn’t erase them. Not tonight. The weight in your chest, hidden beneath a jumper, tucked neatly into Gucci shorts,[ref index] was the gnawing ache that had settled there ever since Trent left for international duty, had become impossible to ignore. And Campbell had noticed. She always noticed even the smallest of shifts in you. You sat across from her, swirling the straw in your drink absently, eyes fixed on the condensation trailing down the glass instead of meeting her gaze.

“Okay, babe, I have to ask…” Campbell leaned in, resting her elbows on the table, her expression serious but warm. “Are you good? Because, no offense, but you seem off.”

“I’m fine.” You exhaled sharply, trying to play it off. 

“Can I be honest?” She looked at you patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement. Frankly you wanted to say no, but you just hummed instead taking a sip of your drink to avoid her hearing the slight shake in your tone.  “Well… can we not do that, yeah?.” Campbell smirked, calling your bluff. Your lips twitched, but it wasn’t enough to form a real smile. She studied you, eyes narrowing slightly, as if she was trying to piece something together. “Babe, I’ve been pretty chill about this whole thing – I don’t mean to press, I’ve let you do your thing, I always do” she continued, tilting her head begging you to not make her say it but you stayed mum forcing her hand. “When you started staying at T’s, I asked, and you brushed me off like it was nothing. ‘It just got late, Cammy.’ ‘We just wanted to try this restaurant’ ‘Oh he just needed someone to help with this’ ” She mimicked your voice with a teasing lilt before shaking her head. “Except… that was months ago. When we’re all together, you're not, you’re with him the whole time and I know it’s not on purpose but you don’t talk about it. You both just vanish and it’s so obvious. And now, I don’t know. You just seem sadder lately, so....” She paused pleading for you to let her in. But her words landed like a punch to the stomach. Sad. You hadn’t even realized it until now. Hadn’t let yourself admit that’s what it was. That this dull, hollow feeling in your chest, the one that had crept in slowly over the past week and a half, was sadness. You’d been doing everything you could to ignore it. Trent had been gone, down at St. George’s for England duty, and it was harder than you thought it would be. No more lazy mornings wrapped up in his sheets, no more stolen glances across dinner tables filled with your friends, no more sneaky texts, no more movie nights. No more him. And he was busy. All day, every day. Training, team meetings, recovery sessions. By the time night rolled around, he was exhausted, and phones weren’t even allowed at team dinners so you’d lose another hour or two there. You felt shut out by something you had no control over. You hated how much you wanted to talk to him. But he wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t yours. And that… that made was what was making you sad. Your inner critic telling you that you shouldn’t feel like this. But you did. Campbell was still watching you in real time at the bar, expectant and patient, waiting for you to say something. You hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass.

“Can I tell you something?” you whispered, taking a big breath trying to steady yourself. Not only did you feel stupid about your relationship status, or lack thereof, you felt awful leaving Campbell out to dry all the while. But your bond never waivered with her. She didn’t hesitate. She reached across the table, pushed both of your drinks to the side, flipped your phones screen up, and slid them into airplane mode. Serious mode. She was here. Ready to listen. And just like that, the dam broke. Your bottom lip quivered, the first real sign of just how much this had been eating at you. You felt stupid—so fucking stupid—but you couldn’t stop the words from slipping out. “I think I really like him.” It was so soft, so fragile, barely even a whisper. But Campbell heard it. She knew. Maybe she had known for longer than you had, but she let you say it on your own terms, in your own time. And she didn’t judge.

“That’s okay, babe.” She squeezed your hand, her voice steady, comforting. You shook your head, swallowing thickly. 

“He’s gone, and I don’t get to talk to him, and he’s literally about to be off to the Euros. And I know it’s embarrassing. God, it’s so fucking embarrassing but I’m gonna miss him. And I’m scared because… He’s not even mine to miss. We’re nothing. I’m nothing to him.” The words broke as they left you, your voice catching on the last syllable. Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was the weight of keeping secrets from Campbell, maybe it was just Trent.

“You’re not nothing to him.” Campbell’s grip on your hand tightened, grounding you. “You know that, right?” You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the sting in your eyes. “You can miss him. It’s not embarrassing if you guys are this involved. I just need to better understand how involved. Tell me all of it,” she urged, her voice softer now. “What’s been going on? I’m here. Have you been hooking up?” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. You shook your head no and Campbell paused. Okay, now she was confused. And honestly, so were you about it all. You didn't know why you wouldn't go there with him anymore. Why it was so scary but you needed Campbell right now—not just as your friend, but as Cammy, your rock, the girl who had held you together through every heartbreak, every moment of doubt.

And so, you told her. The ice in your glass had melted, the condensation pooling beneath your fingertips as you traced absent patterns against the tabletop. Campbell was still holding your hand, her thumb running back and forth in a slow, grounding motion, waiting for you to continue.

“I just…” you sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Cam. When we’re together, it works—it makes so much sense. Like it’s the most perfect feeling when he holds me.” You swallowed attempting to compose yourself and organize your thoughts. Campbell fought back a pout trying not to influence your emotions with her own. “But I can’t help feeling like I’m setting myself up to get hurt. Like I’m overinvesting in someone who might not—” You paused, your eyes flashing to hers looking for the help she was always ready to give.

“Show up?” Campbell finished for you, her voice gentle. You nodded

“Yeah.” You confirmed. Campbell exhaled, leaning back slightly, considering her next words.

“Babe, I love that you feel so good with him but he maybe should know that too. Does he know you like to be with him?” She asked earnestly.

“Yeah, it’s just… when we’re apart we’re really apart you know? I’m not in his space.” You meekly explained. While Trent and your lives overlapped to a degree; there was a lot of travel happening between the two of you and unfortunately, it was often in opposite directions. 

“Well, you can be. With his schedule…” She exhaled, hating how it even sounded. Like she had an answer but she didn’t. “Not that it takes any priority over yours but he can’t show up for you if you don’t ask him to be there, you know?” Your chest tightened at that. She wasn’t wrong. You had never asked. Never demanded more, never voiced what you wanted. It was all ‘maybe’ and ‘if you want.’ Maybe because you didn’t fully know, maybe because you were scared that saying it aloud would make it real—make it something he could refuse. Campbell gave you a moment before pressing on. “How often are you actually with him?” You hesitated. Shit. Here comes the truth.

“Most nights. Whenever we’re not away. Sometimes we’ll link in London. But mostly here, his place, my place.” You mumbled. Saying it aloud almost felt out of body. Like you yourself hadn’t realized just how often it was.

“I’m sorry…WHAT?” Campbell’s jaw dropped, her cocktail momentarily forgotten. You were quick to backtrack, hands waving. 

“It’s not—we don’t — we haven’t….nothing’s happened. We don’t have sex… Not since before the Burberry event. Since he didn’t—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “I don’t know, I just couldn’t. And he never pushed...” And when you said the last bit it hurt more than you wanted to admit. Did you want him to push? Your gaze fluttered around the bar finding anything to focus on other than Campbell as she studied you, her expression shifting from shock to something softer, something knowing.

“Babe,” she started, leaning in again. “Hold on, hold on… In London?” She looked at you like you were insane. And you felt insane.

“Only a few times... He met me at Anabel’s the other week, things like that... just because we're both there.” You mumbled. 

“Only! Oh my fucking god! Well, firstly, thanks for the invite.” She cheekily smiled and you rolled your eyes playfully. “But what the fuck! So explain this… two of arguably my most attractive friends link and do…” She paused, waving her hand, leaving a blank for you to fill in but you didn’t know how to. 

“It’s so bad, Cam. He just…” You sighed. The cocktail glass was cool in your hand, condensation slipped between your fingers as you swirled the deep amber liquid inside, watching the way the dim glow of the bar fractured through the glass. Everything around you felt hazy—soft and dreamlike, just like him, like a film playing at half-speed. The air was thick with the scent of citrus and expensive cologne, the clink of ice against crystal filling the spaces where your words hesitated. Campbell sat across from you, propped her chin up in her hand, eyes flicking over you in that knowing way she always did. She didn’t push, didn’t prod, just let you sit in your own silence, waiting for you to unravel yourself. You sighed, pressing your cheek against your palm, lashes fluttering as the alcohol hummed in your bloodstream, loosening something inside you. “He’s so nice to me.” The words felt foreign, like they weren’t yours. Nice? It was the wrong word, the wrong language entirely. What was nice about this? This beautiful, delirious chaos? Nice wasn’t the way Trent smirked when he caught you looking at him, wasn’t the way he played along with your teasing just to see how far you’d let him go. Nice wasn’t the way he hadn’t kissed you like a question you’d never answer, or the way he pulled away just when you started to need him. You glanced up at Campbell, expecting her to scoff, to call you out. But she just tilted her head, waiting. You huffed, shaking your head, your fingers tightening around your glass. “No, that’s not right. That’s not what I mean.” You mumbled. Because you loved him. And you loved the mess of it all. The push and pull, the ache and the ecstasy, the way he made you feel like you were spinning in some reckless orbit, always chasing but never quite catching. He made your heart race in a way that felt dangerous, in a way that felt alive. And maybe it should’ve scared you, but it didn’t. You liked the fire, the freefall. You liked that he made you work for it. You exhaled sharply, pushing your drink away as you leaned back against the leather booth. “I think I’m fucked.” Campbell just smirked, tipping her glass toward you. 

“Babe. You were fucked the second he smiled at you because I told you... he’s different with you. He doesn’t smile at other people the way he smiles at you.” She cooed gently. You hated the way the mere idea that you were special to him made your stomach fill with butterflies. “Do you know what that means? Someone like him—who could literally be doing anything, with anyone—choosing to spend that much time with you and not expecting sex?” You swallowed, eyes dropping to your drink. Ouch. She didn’t mean it but the truth of it hurt. 

“I mean… yeah, I guess. But isn’t that kind of the problem? That Trent is someone like that in the first place?” You looked at her earnestly. 

“But he not..." Her brow furrowed. "He isn’t like that with you, right?” She asked you, narrowing her eyes trying to suss out the reality of the situation. 

“I mean he’s really sweet with me. You said it since the night we met him- I feel like he’s softer around me, I guess.” You took a sip of your drink to swallow down the uneasiness you felt. Campbell pouted sympathetically but nevertheless unimpressed with your hesitation.

“Don’t ‘I guess’ me right now.” She squeezed your hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Y/N, the boy has the worst case of resting bitch face and yet the second you're even in his peripherals his stupid pretty lips curl and he can’t even try to stop them. It means something.  You mean something. Probably more than you think.” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. You wanted to believe that. You really did. But then, the thought crept in—the one that had been gnawing at you for days. You fiddled with the napkin on the table, voice quiet, hesitant.

“Do you think he gets it somewhere else?” You asked meekly. “Like sex… because we’re n–” Campbell stilled before letting out a short, incredulous laugh cutting off your thoughts before they spiraled.  

“You’re serious?” She looked at you with raised brows. You shrugged, suddenly feeling stupid for even asking. “Oh, babe,” she sighed, shaking her head, squeezing your hand again. “If you want the real answer, logistically, no, he doesn’t have the time. He willingly and consistently has you in his lap around other girls, in public places, in front of the closest people in his life, if he wanted something else… he wouldn’t be doing that.” She looked at you but you were unreadable, as if this story wasn’t about you at all. You exhaled slowly, absorbing her words, the truth in them settling over you. “And the Cammy answer…” Campbell leaned in further, eyes locking onto yours.  “He doesn’t want to, Y/N. And from what I’m hearing, when he does have time because he’s always with you! He likes you! Let him like you!” She smiled at you. You looked away rolling your neck under the pressure of the potential. “Promise me just…” She sighed. “Give yourself the opportunity. Give him the opportunity,” she said, voice softer now but still firm. “At least open the door to more than this ‘friendship’ bullshit you two have been pretending to be in. Because everyone—and I mean everyone—can see it.” Your stomach twisted at that. Because deep down, you knew she was right. You knew what this was, what it had always been. You just didn’t know if you were brave enough to say it out loud.

-

The quiet hum of the garage door closing behind Trent felt deafening. He set his bag down just inside the door, stretching the stiffness from his neck after hours of travel. The house smelled familiar—like home, like memories—but something gnawed at him, a restlessness curling in his chest. He should feel at peace being back, soaking in the brief respite before the whirlwind of the tournament that was fast approaching. But as he leaned against the kitchen island, his brother's voice blurred into the background, his mind latched onto one undeniable fact: he wasn’t going to see you. He hadn’t made plans. Hadn’t asked. Hadn’t known if he could ask. You hadn’t asked, and he definitely knew that. The reality of it settled like a weight on his shoulders. He only had two days before he was gone again—one already spent on travel and catching up with family. And you? He had no idea if you wanted to see him. If you even thought of him the way he thought of you, constantly, incessantly. Alone in bed… often. The nerves he felt weren’t the kind he knew how to navigate. He’d played on the biggest stages, shouldered the weight of expectation, but this? Asking you if you wanted him? It made him feel unsteady, weak, needy. His fingers hovered over his phone, the screen glowing with your name, but he couldn’t bring himself to type anything. What if you were busy? What if you didn’t—

The sudden vibration against the countertop made his breath hitch. His chest tightened as he saw your name lighting up his screen. Maybe you wanted him, wanted him enough to call. He grabbed the phone without a second thought, barely registering his brother’s voice trailing off in confusion as he rushed out of the room. When he answered, no words came—just silence, thick with something unspoken. And you… you didn’t say anything either. You were curled up in bed, knees tucked to your chest, staring at the empty space beside you. You hadn’t known if calling him was stupid. Hadn’t known if you should. But knowing he’d be leaving soon, knowing he’d be gone for a month with his mind on something far bigger than you—the thought made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t shake. The fear that you’d be forgotten. You swallowed, willing yourself to push past the embarrassment.

“Can you come over…” you whispered, your voice barely carrying across the line. Trent closed his eyes, exhaling sharply, his heart clenching at the softness in your tone. ‘Thank god.’

“Course,” he murmured, voice gentle. “You alright?” You sighed, gaze flickering over your empty bed, the way the blankets were tangled around you, but no warmth was there to sink into.

“Don’t want to sleep alone,” you admitted, shy but layered with something deeper—something fragile. Trent's lips curled into a smirk, but his chest ached with the need to be beside you already.

“That’s good,” he murmured, warmth spilling into his voice. “’Cause I don’t want you sleeping alone. And I definitely don’t want to sleep without you.” You felt the heat creep up your neck, the way his words wrapped around you, pulling you in even from miles away. You could hear the smirk, the teasing lilt to his voice, but beneath it was something real—something that made your stomach flip. And just like that, the space between you both didn’t feel so daunting anymore.

-

[YAD - Vanna Rainelle]

Your  bedroom was draped in moonlight, a quiet hush settled over the space, thick and heavy like a held breath. Trent was already in your bed, sprawled against the headboard, his broad, golden chest kissed by silver streaks of light filtering through your curtains. The sheets barely covered him, pooling low at his hips, the deep ridges of muscle along his torso shifting subtly with each slow inhale. He was waiting. The air shimmered with heat, thick with the pull of something neither of you had dared name. It had lived between you for months, a slow burn, a gentle suffocation, wrapping itself around your ribs like a whispered secret, too potent to ignore but too terrifying to claim. And now, in the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom it was reaching a very real climax. And then he saw you –

You emerged from the ensuite, the glow of the bathroom still spilling out behind you, casting you in warm light like a painting—like something dreamt up in the haze of sleep but too perfect to be real. Trent let out a low, guttural groan, tossing his head back against the pillows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He had no fucking chance. Satin and lace, delicate and obscene all at once. That was what adorned your body tonight. Unintentionally but it was too much. The baby blue camisole skimmed your curves, the thin straps clinging to your shoulders, the lace teasing at the tops of your tits, a glimpse, a whisper of what lay beneath. And the shorts—if he could even call them that—were a crime against his self-control. Tiny. Silken. The kind of thing that made his hands twitch, aching to pull them down with his teeth. The words ‘I love you’ practically forcing their way from the very tip of his rock hard length, pumping through his heart and up to his lips. Instead those three words were replaced with one, one you didn’t even hear.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, fingers dragging over his curls, his composure slipping through his grasp like sand as sat up a little more in your bed attempting to readjust his posture and reclaim his usual suave demeanor. He had been away for ten days—ten days that felt like ten years—and now, somehow, impossibly, you looked even better than you did in his memories. What the fuck was he doing being your 'friend?'  "Forgot how sexy you are," he rasped, voice thick with something dark and simmering.  You tilted your head, lips curling in that knowing, dangerous way. 

“Did you?” You quipped with a soft smile and a raised brow looked at him suspiciously yet equally daring. The teasing lilt in your voice was almost cruel, and it made his pulse thunder. Trent laid before you— beautiful in a way that made your chest ache and yet he acted like he was the one at a disadvantage. Still, you’d be lying if the way you saw flames burn behind his mahogany eyes didn’t boost your ego a bit. 

“Nah, I didn’t,” he admitted, his eyes tracing over every inch of you, hungry, reverent. “Never do. Think about you in my bed all the time.” A slow, indulgent heat bloomed in your chest. You didn’t answer, didn’t need to. The tectonic plates of the earth had begun to shift. Instead, you slid onto the edge of the mattress, fingers ghosting over the sheets as you pulled them back. The air between you thickened, heavy, crackling, the space shrinking by the second. Trent barely breathed, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. You moved with a languid, deliberate stretch, the arch of your back tauntingly pushing your ass up just slightly. You slid your body into his, pressing yourself flush against him. The contact was instant fire, your body molding to his like it was made to, your warmth seeping into him, branding him. You weren’t sure you two were friends right now, you never had been. Because right now you wanted to lick his entire body, taste every inch and it was mutual. Trent didn’t plan on this. He hadn’t planned for you to come back out into your bedroom looking like his wet dream. He should've though. And then when you rolled your body into his. Every bit of rationale he had began to fray at the edges.

“Mmm?” you hummed softly, your breath tickling his throat, taunting, testing. Trent’s hands found you in an instant, large palms splaying over your ass, gripping, kneading. His head dipped, lips brushing against your shoulder, the faintest graze of stubble scraping against your skin.

“My baby…” he murmured against you. A claim you both knew was there. Your body betrayed you before your voice could, melting into him, arms looping around his neck as if surrendering to a war you had no chance of winning.

“Can’t say that.” You whispered. A weak protest, an argument with no conviction. He smirked, his nose nudging along your jaw, his hands flexing on your thighs. 

“Mmm. I know, I know… but you still are, huh?” His voice was velvet, thick and slow as honey. “Got a soft spot for me. Still called for a cuddle.” Your breath stuttered as he lifted his hips, pressing the hard length of himself against the heat between your thighs. You whimpered without meaning to, your fingers curling against his skin, gripping for something, anything, to anchor you. Trent chuckled, low and knowing, his lips finding your ear. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice sinful, teasing. “You’re still for me.” The tension was unbearable, suffocating, drowning you both. This had been building for months. And now, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand it. Your restraint was in tatters, the thickness in the room was suffocating you, your body pressed so tight into his you couldn’t even speak, you just shook your head rubbing your nose against his bare chest, willing yourself to stop your body but you couldn’t. How could you? Did you even really want to?

"Everything okay?" Trent’s voice was low, rough around the edges, as though he were dragging himself out of a daze. A moment of panic that maybe he had misread the night entirely. The tone of his words threaded with concern, a quiet hesitance that almost made you pause. Almost.He shifted slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of your face, but in doing so the soft satin of your camisole dragged against his bare skin—against the heat of him, the hard planes of his body. Your nipples grazed against him, the sensation unraveling something delicate and fleeting—but it shattered the fragile restraint you had been clinging to. And suddenly, the careful balance and control shattered like glass.

"Yeah…" Your response was a whisper, a purr that barely filled the space between you, nothing more than a sigh, before your lips found his chest. You kissed him slowly, deliberately—each press of your mouth soft, lingering, a plea wrapped in seduction.  It was a small thing, a tiny thing, but it felt like pressing your mouth to the very core of something burning. Trent sucked in a breath, his fingers twitching against your spine. Fuck.

"Needed a cuddle from me tonight? "His words were teasing, but the way he pulled you closer betrayed the truth—he was playing with fire, and he knew it. His voice was tighter now, huskier. His hands spoke that truth—firm as they spread across your body, pressing you deeper into him, anchoring you. You nodded against him, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, letting your body mold against the steady rise and fall of his breathing but even that wasn’t enough. You wanted more, needed more.

“Yeah, baby.” You purred, kissing his chest and it was sexy. His grip on you tightened, betraying his composed facade. 

"How come?" he asked, voice quieter now, like he already knew the answer. He didn’t wait for your answer though. His arms curled around you, gathering you up, pulling you onto him entirely, over him, so close that there was no space left between your bodies, his strength effortless, his need unmistakable, just heat, just longing, just a slow, steady burn licking up your spine. You gasped softly, hands splaying across his chest, your body molding against his in a way that made your skin feel feverish. Trent held you there, his touch possessive, his arms wrapped around you like he could keep you tethered to him. Like he never wanted to let go. Trent wasn’t just holding you; he was keeping you, anchoring you to him like he could somehow etch this moment into eternity. His body was impossibly warm beneath you, muscles shifting under your touch, his scent intoxicating—salt, cedar, the faintest trace of cologne clinging to his skin.

"Missed you… missed being close to you." you admitted, your lips tracing a slow, featherlight path up his chest. Each kiss was a whisper of a promise, a lingering ache given form. The words left you like a confession, each syllable pressing into his skin as your lips moved against him. You kissed up slow, reverent, feeling the way his breath hitched beneath you. When you reached his collarbone, you lingered, tasting him, feeling the faint pulse thumping beneath his skin. You parted your lips against it and then you sucked—just hard enough to make his entire body tense beneath you. Trent shuddered, his hands sliding lower, fingers digging into your hips.  He exhaled shakily, tilting his head back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as if surrendering himself to the moment, to you. His breath faltered. His hands were all over you now—one gripping your hip, the other splaying across your spine, fingers trailing beneath the satin of your camisole, tracing the soft curve of your back as if he were memorizing you.

"I know," he rasped, voice uneven, raw, his chest rising and falling beneath your palm. He tilted his head back, just slightly, just enough to let you continue your slow, torturous worship of his skin. "I’m gonna miss you.” The heat between you was thick, suffocating, but his next words cut through it like a knife. "Like keeping you in my arms like this. Keeping you with me." The words made you falter, the sincerity of them slicing the thick haze of desire like a blade. Your heart twisted, caught somewhere between the fire licking at your skin and the undeniable, quiet truth of his confession. For a moment, you forgot the heat, forgot the fire simmering between your bodies. You just felt him. The quiet truth in his voice. The ache in his touch.

"You like the way you feel with me?" The question left you softer now, whispered against the hollow of his throat, no longer teasing, no longer a game. Vulnerable. A crack in the seduction, exposing something raw beneath it. Trent hummed in response, low and indulgent, as if the sound alone could convey the depth of what he felt. His hands moved under your camisole, palms rough against the smoothness of your back, tracing lines of fire up your spine. Trent exhaled shakily. His lips brushed the crown of your head, his touch stilling against your back.

"I love how you make me feel," he murmured, and the words weren’t laced with teasing, weren’t wrapped in anything but honesty pressing against your temple, but they settled deep in your bones, in your chest, in the spaces between your ribs. His confession was weighty, not just heat, not just lust—but something more dangerous, something more consuming. Your breath caught but you recovered quickly, in a beat, trying to find some sanity, some reality amidst this dream. You swatted at his chest playfully, catching the unintentional innuendo, trying to grasp onto something light, something familiar— He laughed softly, the sound rumbling beneath your fingertips, and God—you wanted to keep that sound forever, keep the way it vibrated through his body, through yours. It was unfair how devastating that sound was—lazy, smug, wrecked all at once. But then you shifted. And the teasing faltered. The laughter dissolved into something heavier, something unspoken, as you felt the very real evidence of his need pressing against you. Trent’s smile turned slow, knowing.  "That’s not what I meant," he said, voice teasing but hoarse, fraying at the edges. Then, after a pause, his lips curled slightly. "But… that too."  His hips rolled, the motion languid, subtle—but enough.  You weren’t sure who moved first, weren’t sure who gave in. But suddenly, you were moving against each other, slow, rhythmic, bodies rolling in sync, a friction so delicate yet devastatingly deep that it sent heat curling through your veins. "Feel so fucking good," he muttered, almost to himself, like he was already lost in the feeling of you, like he was sinking into something inevitable. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he was remembering. Or maybe, like he was trying to make himself forget. No, he was remembering, remembering all the ways he had once known you—laid bare, undone, only for him, causing his grip on you to tighten. He let out the faintest, almost reverent whisper.  "So soft for me, baby… hmm?" His words were barely above a whisper, as if he were speaking to the memory instead of the very real heat of your body against his, now, warm and pliant in his hands. Your entire body burned. And that was it. That was the moment something inside you gave way, the moment you realized—he didn’t just want you. He wanted to keep you. That was the moment you let yourself fall.

“T?” Your voice was a breath, a plea, a spell wrapped in silk slipping between the cracks of his restraint, softer than you meant, barely more than a breath. His eyes opened, slow and heavy-lidded, impossibly dark in the dim glow of your room but full of something that made your stomach flip, made your breath hitch. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, lost in the dream that was you, in the way you fit against him, in the way his heart was slamming in his chest, in the way his entire body ached for you, in the way his mind had gone completely blank of anything but this—this moment, this touch, this unbearable heat. He was drowning in fire

“You like the way you feel with me?" you asked again, lips grazing against the shell of his ear.

"Mmhm…" He inhaled deeply with a hum and it was like a brand—the scent of you, the warmth of your skin, the way you wrapped around him like something permanent. You kissed up the other side of his jaw, dragging your lips along the sharp edge of it, slow, torturous. The heat between you was unbearable now, a steady, suffocating pressure. You swallowed, pressing your lips against his jaw again and again until you reached the sensitive spot just beneath his ear.  And then—then your teeth grazed the skin, nipping lightly, teasing, testing. Your teeth pulling his earlobe. A gentle bite, but enough to steal the last bit of air from his lungs. And that was the line. Trent let out a sharp inhale. Because it had been months—months since the last time you'd let yourselves touch like this, since you'd let your need bleed into something untamed. Months since you had felt need spill into desperation. Months since your bodies had blurred the line between wanting and taking— since teeth had been involved.

"You like the way you feel in me?" The question was a whisper, but it may as well have been a scream. Trent’s entire body stiffened. His grip on you tightened, his hands flexing against your skin, like he was fighting the urge to innate response to claim, his chest rising in a slow, shaky inhale. He pulled you back just enough to look at you, his gaze locking onto yours—heated, dangerous, daring.

"Baby," he warned, the word thick with warning, with a thread of desperation. His restraint was a thread fraying at the edges. "You're playing a dangerous game here."  You swallowed, heartbeat hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t back down. You didn’t know what came over you. Actually, you did. This wasn’t just lust. This was love—wild, consuming, disguised as something else.

"And?" you whispered as you leaned in, taunting and tempting as your lips barely brushed against his, not quite kissing, not yet. His grip on you tightened. “I want you to…” Your voice was a hush of air, a confession disguised as something filthier, something undeniable. Trent exhaled sharply, his hands gripping your hips. Heat flooded your veins, voice nothing more than a taunt, a promise. His lips curled, perfect, wicked, waiting. 

“What do you want me to do?” His voice was a dare, a challenge, his lips parting just enough to ghost against yours. His patience was a dying ember, burning out. Your bodies were rolling into each other, friction igniting, breathing labored, the heat between you something molten, something unbearable, fire, breath mingling. The air between you was heavy with something neither of you could hold back any longer. You smiled, just barely, causing your lips to brush against his. The tension in the room was unbearable. His perfect pink lips curled a little at the edges pressed to yours, mocking you, making you say it. You nipped at his lower lip, teasing, barely touching.

“Play with me.” You begged him. And that was it. The friendship was over.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 11 Coming Soon!

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: sam monroe x vinnie

FLUFF ❦

SAM MONROE took a nap of his life. After coming back from school, all he wanted was his bed. That's all he wanted, really. He did not care about any test that was about to happen the next day; he'd learn when he'd wake up... hopefully

Well, after about thirty minutes, he woke up to weight. Not just the usual blanket weight he threw himself with— rather human weight. Warm, small, drooly, loud, impossibly to ignore human weight.

He cracked one eye open. Fresh light hit his sensitive eyes, making him groan.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the outside world, he saw exactly who was on him. Vinnie. Right up in his damn face, snuggled against him, tiny hands fisted in Sam’s hoodie, babbling soft little sounds like he was already mid-conversation with him.

“Dude,” Sam rasped, voice thick with sleep. “Why are you always on me?” the baby's face lighted up at Sam's attention. No matter what Sam did, Vinnie acted like he just witnessed heaven, like he was Sam's biggest, and only, fan. Dimples poked through his round cheeks, showing Sam's this big smile with little teeth already showing up

Sam groaned again

He let his head drop back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, letting Vinnie’s half-asleep babbling fill the quiet room. Afternoons like this were weird. Too soft. Too much warmth pressed against his side. Too much love showed up to his face

Yet Sam didn’t move him. Wouldn’t move him.

Instead, he turned his head, eyes trailing over Vinnie’s tiny, chubby fingers as they fidgeted with the fabric of Sam’s hoodie. He looked like he was concentrating so hard, little brows furrowed, pinky, glistening with drool lips parted like he was thinking of something real important.

Sam sighed “Can’t believe you came from me.” His fingers lifted, tracing over Vinnie’s soft little cheek. “Like… that’s insane, right? That my sperm turned into you?”

Vinnie blinked up at him, big blue eyes all wide, like he as well was deeply considering this information.. or maybe it was just in sam's head that his kid could understand him

Nonetheless of the slight turmoil, nothing kept him back from stopping his monologue with this lazy mumble. “Like… what if I had more kids? Would they all be this cute? Or did I just get lucky with you?” He exhaled. “Kinda makes me wanna test it, y’know?”

Vinnie scrunched his nose at that. Little brows dramatically furrowed before a lisped sound followed his expressions. It sounded a hell of a lot like “noooo.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, alright, fair. You’re already a lot.”

And just as he was about to tease him again—

Vinnie sneezed.

Straight into Sam’s face.

Sam froze, feeling the wet substance soaking his skin. There was a brief silence between them before Vinnie giggled. Like, full-body, wiggly, breathless giggle, little hands clapping as if this was the funniest thing he ever witnessed.

Sam's hand shot up to his face, wiping the gross bacterias off his face.. maybe he should just wash it afterwards, he needed some time to think “Dude. Are you serious?”

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Nah, man,” he mumbled, dropping his voice like some big secret was coming up. “I take it back. My sperm is disgusting.”

Vinnie whined, pudgy palms smacking sam's chest as if Sam somehow offended him in disgraceful, unacceptable for Vinnie, way

Sam just smirked.

Fingers found tiny ribs. Tickled the soft skin there.

Vinnie screeched, tiny body collapsing into Sam’s chest as giggles burst out of him, all breathless and hiccupy and just perfect.

Sam couldn’t help it. He just watched him.

So, yeah. Maybe his sperm was a little disgusting. But damn. Maybe it was kinda cute, too.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl

[matchpointfaist]

riff x teacher!reader. Maybe they have known each other since they were kids, secretly in love with each other. She's very kind and patient, and maybe the only one Riff can ever be vulnerable with. love your writingg 💖💖

this is such a cute concept omg!! you ate.

riff lorton x teacher! reader for anon xx

you met riff lorton when you were just a kid, bounding through life with naive, shiny bright hope that everyone would want to be your friend. riff, on the other hand, had lost that hope, not that he ever had it to begin with. he was short, rude, aloof, and cold, ever the opposite to your warm, sunny personality.

you knew you could push through, though, if you just kept trying. so every day, for weeks, you brought him part of your lunch, paired with a hopeful little smile. and every day, he took the lunch, turned his nose up at you, and walked away to eat in privacy. it took three entire months for him to spare you so much as a conversation.

"you don't have to keep doin' this. you know that? i can get my own lunch," he said, glaring over at you despite holding the sandwich your mom had packed so neatly. "i know," you just shrugged, "i just wanted to be nice, that's all,"

he relaxed then, just slightly, unpacking the sandwich and slowly eating sitting right beside you, glancing all around at passing cars and the breeze blown trees. you just pulled out your book, content to sit in silence, thumbing through the pages as you sat.

"what's that?" he asked, gesturing to the paperback. "oh, it's pride and prejudice by jane austen," you smiled, holding it up, "d'you wanna borrow it?" he shook his head quickly, an odd sort of look passing over his face, "no, i was just askin',"

"i can read it out loud, if you wanted," you offered, hopeful smile returning, "it's a very good story," he shrugged, looking away, and you just went ahead and accepted that as invitation.

your little lunch dates turned into daily occurrences, riff eating the extra sandwich and carrots your mom had started packing, and you reading him page after page of your favorite novels. you'd offer, occasionally, to let him take them home, to finish them. but he'd always made that same face, a distant, indifferent expression in his eyes.

"are you sure you don't wanna borrow it?" you'd practically pouted, knowing how invested he'd gotten. he shook his head, his face slightly flushed, "look, i can't read, okay? my ma can't afford to send me to the school and i ain't smart enough to learn it myself,"

you'd gone home that night and sobbed to your own parents, crying for this poor, pitiful boy who'd been deprived of your greatest pleasure in life. then, you'd set out on a mission. you would teach riff lorton to read, right there in the schoolyard, if it was the last thing you did.

he downplayed it, when it was all said and done, but he'd never be able to tell you how much that really meant to him. you were the one person in his life that actually cared, especially enough to take such time and energy out of your day to repeatedly go over the same letters with him, never wavering, never getting frustrated. you never showed him anything but love.

years passed, and the two of you grew up together. schoolyard reading turned to riff disappearing for days at a time, finally returning with some bruises or a split lip, but never an explanation. you eventually found out, when your parents forbid you to go near him, that he was a part of the jets. not just a part of them, but the leader.

you'd cried, once again, for that broken boy who never got a fighting chance. for days, you'd wondered why he didn't tell you, why he didn't just ask you for help, or at least let you know he was in some sort of danger.

but that wasn't riff's way. he never wanted you to worry, or worse, to look down on him for the sort of people he surrounded himself with. so kept his mouth shut, all until the day you confronted him. he'd been gone for days, not bothering to stop by, and your worry had worn thin, morphing into anger.

"where the hell have you been?" you asked, hand on your hip, glaring at him like you were any sort of intimidating. "i'm sorry, i've just been busy," he waved you off, like he always did when it came to admitting his faults. "yeah, busy with your gang," you mumbled, shaking your head.

"what?" it came out sharper than he intended, voice coated in confusion. he'd worked so hard to keep you away from that, how could you have known? "my parents told me," you finally admitted, unable to meet his eyes, "riff, how could you?"

"this doesn't have nothin' to do with you, girly," he said quickly, "alright? it's my life and my business, and i'm doing my damn best to keep you out of it, so don't go puttin' your nose where it don't belong, y'hear me?"

"you are my business!" you snapped, throwing your hands up, "you're my best friend! how could you be so stupid, riff? you're putting your life in danger, and for what? for some street cred? over some stupid turf war for land that isn't even yours?"

"for my family!" he knew as soon as it came out, he'd raised his voice too much, gotten far too angry with you, but he couldn't stop, "this is all i got left, the jets, my boys! my parents are dead, i ain't got nothin' else to live for, alright? this is it, so don't you dare try and take that away from me,"

tears were slipping down your cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to apologize, to tell you he never meant to yell and that you were his best friend, too, his only friend really. he ached to tell you the truth of it all; that he'd fallen in love with you sometime during all those afternoons you spent reading to him, and he was terrified at the thought of you getting anywhere near the life he'd made for himself.

"i hoped you'd at least say i'm something to live for," your voice was quiet, hurt, "maybe we just need some space for a while, alright? i shouldn't have lashed out, but i can't process this right now. i'm sorry, riff, i gotta go,"

you were gone before he could argue, and he knew better than to chase you. to chase you would be to give in, to agree to let you in to this mess, and he just couldn't do that, to you or to himself. so he let you leave, stood there for a moment just absorbing it, and went on home, whatever that even meant anymore.

you didn't get a proper chance to apologize after that. three days later, riff had been locked up in the state prison for assault during some gang fight, adding to the laundry list of reasons you'd ever had to cry for him. this beautiful boy that had no choice in how his life turned out, constantly chasing the legacy of a man who had long since died, and was never worth anything when he was alive. you moved on with your life eventually, graduating from college and going to teach at the very same school where you'd first met riff.

five years later, he came home. he didn't know where to find you anymore, not after your parents had moved off out of the city and you'd surely gotten a home of your own. he wasn't sure where you worked, or if you'd gotten married, or if you'd even want to see him. he spent days asking around, until he finally found out the teaching job you'd taken.

it made so much sense for you. he couldn't stop replaying the memories of you taking such doting care with him, teaching him something as basic as literacy like it wasn't something he needed to be ashamed of. he worked up the nerve, cleaning himself up as best he could, putting on his cleanest shirt and pants, picking some half dead flowers from the road and waiting outside the schoolhouse for you.

at the dismissal bell, you exited in a flood of students, all smiles and laughing and nurturing words to the kids as you walked them to their parents cars or to buses. good fucking god, you were beautiful. he nearly turned around and ran right then, too scared of what you'd think of him, too scared to know if you ever forgave him for that argument. he wondered how much you knew about what had happened, if you thought he was just another hardened criminal by now.

before he knew it, all the kids were gone, and you were walking towards you car. it was now or never, he guessed, and he'd never prided himself on being a coward. he called your name, jogging over, hoping he came across hopeful and not deranged, "girly, hey, hold on a second,"

"riff?" your voice was a jolt, straight to his chest, nearly diminishing all of his resolve from one syllable, "oh my god!" any fear he had that you were angry was gone the second you touched him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him to you, crying into his shirt like he'd come home from war and not prison, like he'd never hurt you.

"it's me," he choked out, petting the back of your hair helplessly, "you're okay, i'm fine," he murmured, suddenly embarrassed at his lack of grand gesture. "i was so worried about you," you sniffled, wiping your eyes, "you have no idea, i tried to come see you and they wouldn't since i'm not family and i was trying to find a way, i promise,"

"darlin, calm down," he smiled softly, wiping your cheeks gently, "i'm fine, alright? that's real sweet of you to try and come see me-" he stopped as you kissed him, all frantic in your movements, clinging to him still. he was frozen in place, kissing you back on instinct alone, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. "i've wanted to do that since we were kids," you whispered as you pulled away, "missed you so much, riff. i'm so sorry for the way i spoke to you that day, i never should've overstepped like that,"

"you weren't oversteppin," his voice was thick, strange to his own ears, "i got outta all that shit, before i came and found you. i'm on the straight and narrow, all cookie cutter for you, doll," "for me?" you repeated, eyes wide like it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you, "oh, riff,"

and then you were kissing him again, like he'd disappear if you stopped, your hands on his shoulders as you stood on your tip toes, in front of all the other staff leaving like he was more than just some boy off the streets, like he was really worth somethin, same as all those years ago.

when you pulled away, he rested his forehead on yours, smiling like a madman, "thought about you every night in that jailhouse, sunshine, you're the only thing that brought me home. y'know that? told myself if i got outta there and you'd have me, i'd be a good man for you. make you my wife one day,"

"maybe we'll start with you bein my boyfriend," you grinned, cheeks all rosy and shining, "thought about you all the time, too. never stopped missin' you,"

minutes later, he was scrunched up in the passenger seat of your volkswagen bug, listening as you rambled on about how you just adored teaching, and how all the little boys reminded you of him when he was that age, all shiny and impressionable. you took him back to your apartment, promising that he could stay there as long as he wanted, practically begging him to never leave again.

that night, the two of you lay entwined across your bed, the words of pride and prejudice filling the silence as he read to you until you fell asleep.

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 3 Preview

Hoping to post this one this week...

The betting shop was unusually quiet when an unfamiliar man walked in. He wasn't hesitant, like many who weren't regulars there, but he wasn't charging in like a fool either. His approach was measured, like he knew he didn’t belong but had decided to walk in anyway. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. Slim build, shoulders squared in a patched coat that had seen too many winters. The young man's eyes were sharp, locked on Arthur, who leaned back behind the counter, watching him like this was all a bit of theatre.

"You lost something, lad?" Arthur asked, grinning around his cigarette.

The young man’s jaw tensed. His voice was tight and controlled, but steady. “My sister.”

Arthur’s smile faded—not with guilt, but with interest.

“Ah. That one.” He stood, stretching like he’d been waiting all morning for something to liven the place up. “Bit late for all that, eh?”

The younger man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. Tommy watched from the back office doorway, caught the way his hand hovered near the inside of his coat. He was armed. Brave but stupid.

Tommy stepped out then, made his presence known.

Arthur lit up. “This one’s yours, brother. Came to collect what’s left.”

Tommy said nothing at first, just studied their visitor. Young. Angry. Focused. But the lad wasn't reckless. He wasn’t here to posture, the way John did more and more these days. No, he was here because someone he loved was gone, and nobody was giving him answers.

"Name?" Tommy asked quietly.

"Rory." The lad squared his shoulders, meeting Tommy's gaze. "Rory Flynn."

Tommy nodded. The surname matched the girl’s—his girl’s—file he’d already had drawn up. But now, standing in front of him, the boy wasn’t just a name on paper. He had her eyes—same shape, same quiet fire behind them. Tommy recognized the sharp, observant way he took everything in, saying very little but missing nothing.

But there was something else. Something familiar that had nothing to do with his sister.

Tommy tilted his head, studying him a beat longer. "Who's your father?" he asked. "Where is he?"

Rory’s jaw shifted, eyes flickering down for just a moment. "He died in 1916. In France."

Their father had died in the war then. Tommy stilled. “Name?”

"Malachy Flynn." 

There it was.  Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but inside, recognition tightened his chest. He remembered Malachy Flynn. A good man. Brave. Older than him by at least a decade. They hadn’t served side by side—Flynn was in earlier, already a sergeant when Tommy was still green. But his name had meant something. He’d heard it in the trenches. 

Flynn died a hero, pulling two young men out of a crater after a shelling. The man could’ve saved himself but chose not to. 

Tommy’s voice was lower when he finally spoke again. “I knew your father.” The boy blinked in surprise. Tommy nodded slowly. “He was a good man.”

In that moment, the air between them shifted—not with threat, but with something almost like understanding. Tommy realized that he boy wasn’t just brave. He was his father’s son.

"My sister’s been gone two days," Rory said in a tight voice, cutting to the chase. "She was supposed to be… delivered to your brother." A pause. “No one’s seen her since.”

Arthur gave a low whistle, but Tommy raised a hand. Quiet. Let him talk.

"Our mother’s worried sick," Rory added, his expression cracking just enough to show the truth of it. “She doesn’t know who to ask, who to trust. So I came here.”

Tommy stepped closer, arms loosely crossed. “And your stepfather?”

The boy's jaw clenched hard. Too hard. He didn't answer.

That was answer enough. Tommy watched him try to control his emotions and mostly suceeding. The kid wasn’t just worried—he was plotting something. Something small and stupid, born of pride and pain no doubt. A pistol hidden in the lining of that patched coat or maybe a cheap folding knife meant for a throat that had made a deal no decent man would’ve dared. Tommy knew that look. Young men with nothing left to lose, trying to make the world right with a single, violent act. As much as it was foolish, he respected it.

“You plan on killing him?” Tommy asked bluntly.

Rory’s eyes flicked up. Something flashed there before they were guarded again. “He deserves worse.”

"For what?"

"For wanting my sister out of his house," Rory said tightly. "She's a temptation to him, see. He wants her more than our mother."

Tommy didn’t argue, filed that bit of information away. This wasn’t a boy bluffing. This was a brother who cared more about his sister than himself. And that meant something. The young man had more honor than many of the grown men Tommy had dealt with this week.

He exchanged a glance with Arthur, who shrugged, then grinned. “You’ve got your hands full now, don’t you?”

On the one hand, the boy let him know that, so far, his plan was working. No one outside the Shelby family knew where she was. Not the local blokes who’d heard about the wager and were sniffing around for gossip. Not the old women who watched from behind their curtains on Gray Street, waiting for her to come walking back home in shame.

She’d disappeared.

And in Small Heath, disappearing meant one of two things: death or Shelby. The right people were wondering. The wrong people were staying quiet. That was exactly what Tommy wanted. She wasn’t just gone—she was untouchable. Hidden. Held. And the longer she stayed out of sight, the louder the message would ring when Tommy was ready to speak it.

On the other hand? The situation was too delicate, too exposed, to continue it there. The last thing Tommy needed was a scene in the middle of the betting shop. Too many eyes and ears. Word about the girl couldn’t get out—not yet.

Tommy straightened, smoothing the front of his waistcoat with a slow, practiced motion. “Walk with me,” he said, already turning toward the hallway that led to the back office.

Rory didn’t move. “I came to speak to Arthur.”

Stopping mid-step and turning back, Tommy eyed him with a glint of steel behind his eyes. “You’re speaking to the man in charge.”

Arthur let out a small chuckle behind the counter, clearly enjoying the moment. Mostly because he was still pissed at Tommy for the entire affair. “He is, y’know. Always has been.”

Rory’s shoulders squared slightly, but Tommy saw the hesitation. He didn’t trust this. Didn’t like being led somewhere less public. Smart.

But Tommy didn’t ask twice. He met the boy’s eyes, voice low and final. “If you want answers about your sister, you’ll come with me.”

There was a beat of silence, thick with challenge. Rory’s hand hovered near his coat again, and for a second Tommy wondered if the lad would actually try to be brave enough to draw on him. But then—a slow nod. Rory stepped forward, lips pressed into a grim line, eyes burning with controlled fury.

Tommy turned without another word, the sound of Rory’s boots following close behind. And just like that, the game moved behind closed doors—where Tommy always played best. 

Once the door was closed and it was just the two of them in the back office, Tommy voice was calm, final. “She’s safe.”

[ilikepjo24]

On The Ashes of the Academy...

This will be a full review/analysis of the newest atla comic, now that I finally got my hands on it. I'll duel on some things more than others but overall, I'll share my unfiltered thoughts and feelings about it.

SpoliersSpoilersSpoilersSpoilersSpoilers!

First things first, this is such a hit-and-miss.

We're all glad Ursa is looking after Kiyi and we're all glad she sees that there was somthing wrong with Azula's upbringing, but ma'am, the school is not the problem. Sure, a bad learning environment doesn't benefit children in any way, but Azula's main problem was what was happening in her home, not in her school. Maybe, since you're finally considering taking a look in your daughter's childhood, you should also start looking inside and taking note of where you failed her. This just seems like an attempt at making Ursa look blameless by saying "Oh, look, Azula isn't inherently evil, it's her school that messed her up. Certainly, Zuko's perfect mom didn't contribute to it at all!"

I mean, if you want my opinion, you lost her when you subconsciously decided to give her less attention than Zuko, which, tragically, could have been before she was even born. But this series of panels, once again, does the same thing I mentioned above; passing the responsibility around. Ursa didn't lose Azula to someone or something. She let her go. And that's assuming that she even had Azula is the first place, at any point, which could be just wishful thinking. While Ozai, and the FN as a whole played a part, Ursa can't keep viewing them as the only parties responsible instead of holding herself accountable.

Zuko pisses me off her as well because he's doing the exactly same thing, but in a different way. He removes responsibility from Ursa, but instead of placing it on the school or his father, he seems to place it on Azula's very own nature, implying that her problem was just that she was Azula, and other kids under similar circumstances would have done better, simply because they are not Azula, which is simply not true. Azula's problem isn't that she's Azula, it's that she is a product of systematic propaganda and domestic abuse and neglect.

It must take lots of nerve to hire a person that's a product of Ozai's rule, that actively and publicly supports Ozai's way of doing things, and then being bothered and flabbergasted that this person wants to do things Ozai's way. Zuko, my man, hire a new headmistress. I've seen this lady once and I know better than to trust her. Are all that survival instincts Zuko ever had sliding right off his smooth, shiny brain? Either he is actively trying to sabotage himself, or he's just that stupid.

DOGSHIT. Arguably the most annoying thing about this comic, methinks. Such a lazy way of trying to redeem Mai. I understand that she's meant to be Zuko's love intrest, so she needs to be good and support his deals, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, this must be the worst way to do it. This is just anti-Azula propaganda by this point.

If you want to redeem a character, hot take, actually redeem them. Instead of actually moving forward with Mai's character, they're backpetaling. Instead of adding redeeming qualities, they are removing the bad ones in an underhanded way. Very lazy, very bad writing. Both Mai and Azula deserve better than this.

I have way too many thoughts about these bit specifically, but this is an overall review of the comic, so I don't want to duel on one thing apecifically. I' ll talk more about everything that I hate about this "twist" in regards to Mai's character and her relationship with Azula in a different post on a different day.

Can't wait to show this to the "Azula is abusive for thowing fire at an apple that was on top of Mai's head" people. Behold! Mai started throwing dangerous shit at Azula first. This is them becoming friends. If Azula is abusive for continuing the tradition, what does tha make Mai, the one who started it?

This is more amusing to me than frustrating, if I'm being honest. They are trying so hard to make Azula out to be this inherently evil hell creature, that they don't even realize how terribly they're failing. The only thing making this interaction intimidating is framing. Azula is genuinly just being a normal kid here. Seriously, I dare you to antagonize a kid and count the minutes until they pull the parent card. I've had kids tell me that their parent works in the environment of political figures and can get me fired unless I let them run wild. Children are terribly aware of their powerlessness even if they don't show it. Borrowing mommy and daddy's "power" to wield as a threat is very typical behavior, especially in new environments. Azula isn't any more evil than any other first grader is. Which, to be fair, is reletavily evil, dependend on who you ask XD.

"Being friends with her sucked. Yeah, she was the only person I had growing up that made me feel like I mattered, since my dad used me and my mom wanted me to be an unemotional porcelain doll, but she was evil."

Two faced. Too fake. Do better. I am officially a certified Mai hater.

At this point, Mai confuses me. On one hand, she acts as if Azula is the antichrist and being mean just for the hell of it. Then, when Kiyi asks, she seems to display some actual understanding towards Azula's situation. Seems to acknowledge that who Azula is right now is the handywork of a third party, the intentions of which Azula herself doesn't fully understand, but blindly follows anyway because what else can she really do? The third party includes the only parent that pays attention to her after all.

Listen closely, because I will say this once. I better not see any of you haters blame Azula for this. "Oh, Azula is still trying to take the throne-" Shut your bitch ass up. Azula is not talking to those guys. She's working with her Fire Warriors and has no interactions with those dudes. Their actions do not reflect on her in any way, shape, or form. Them waiting for her doesn't mean she's working with them or that she has promised them anything at all. They're popping off in the assumption that she's coming back and the assumption that she'll reward them when she does. Key word beinh assumption.

And that will be all for now folks. All in all, this comic sucked. It attempts to redeem Mai and to demonize Azula and, franky, it fails at both those tasks as far as I'm conserned.

I do have that the empathy Mai showcased towards Azula is the begining of something. That her new role as a teacher and her mission of helping clean up the rooten system that raised Azula will develop into a teaching moment for the cast and the fandom. That it'll show them that Azula isn't inherently evil and therefore not beyond redemption. I genuinely hope that, eventually, we'll get the redemption Hicks teased in The Spirit Temple and that she's just playing the long game.

But for that to happen, some things have to change. The sytematic abuse needs to be showcased even more. We need to see the neglect Azula endured at home. Ursa needs to be held accountable for her failures. Azula should be given the chance to be a kid, not a weapon. I want to see a comic taking place before she displayed her firebending abilities for the first time.

Do better, Hicks.

[l-evans-world]

Can't let you go

AU-Widower Zayne with kids and fell in love with MC got insecure and jealous (just want to see Zayne act possessive a little bit leave me alone)

Zayne was silent.

Too silent.

MC could feel his eyes on her, sharp and unrelenting, but he hadn’t said a word since they got home.

The tension was suffocating.

She finally sighed and turned to him. “Alright, just say it.”

His jaw clenched. “Say what?”

“You’ve been glaring at me all night.” She crossed her arms. “Just spit it out.”

Zayne exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching at his sides. And then—

“I heard him.”

MC blinked. “What?”

Zayne’s gaze darkened.

“Your friend.” His voice was cold, but there was something else—something tightly restrained. “He said I should let you go. That you shouldn’t be tied down to me.”

MC froze.

Oh.

Zayne’s fists clenched. “And you didn’t deny it.”

“I—”

He took a step closer. “Why?”

MC swallowed. “I didn’t understand what he meant at first. But… I think I do now.”

Zayne’s entire body stiffened.

She sighed. “I need to talk to him.”

Zayne stopped breathing.

The blood drained from his face, and for the first time since she had met him—he looked terrified.

Zayne’s hands were shaking.

His entire body was tense, but his voice was eerily calm.

“You’re… going to talk to him?”

“…You’re leaving?” he whispered, and God, he sounded so broken.

MC sighed. “Zayne, that’s not what I meant—”

“No.”

Her breath caught.

Zayne stepped closer, his eyes dark, his expression unreadable.

“No,” he repeated, voice hoarse, as if the word itself physically hurt. “I can’t let you go to him.”

MC blinked. “What—?”

His hands found her waist, gripping tightly—as if she’d vanish the moment he let go. His fingers dug in, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell her one thing.

He wasn’t letting her go.

His jaw clenched. “I know I’m being selfish.”

MC’s heart pounded.

Zayne exhaled, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. His voice shook when he spoke.

“But I can’t live without you anymore.”

MC felt her chest tighten. “Zayne…”

His arms wrapped around her tightly, as if he needed to feel every inch of her against him. “I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care if they think I’m a burden to you. I need you.”

MC swallowed hard.

His lips grazed her skin, hot and desperate. “You said you love me.”

She shivered.

“I won’t let you go,” he whispered, kissing her neck slowly, deliberately. “So don’t even try.”

Her breath hitched.

His grip on her waist tightened as he pressed against her “Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded.

MC swallowed.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Zayne froze.

For a moment, the room felt unbearably silent—suffocating.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—

They were dark, stormy, and filled with something that made her stomach drop.

“…Why aren’t you saying it?” His voice was eerily quiet, strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

MC opened her mouth again, but the hesitation must have flickered across her face because—

Zayne snapped.

His hands suddenly cupped her face, tilting it up, forcing her to look at him. His grip wasn’t rough, but there was desperation in the way he held her.

"Say it."

MC’s breath hitched.

"Tell me you're mine, MC," Zayne whispered, his voice pleading, but underneath it—there was fear.

Fear that she wouldn’t say it.

Fear that she didn’t mean it.

Fear that she… might leave.

His fingers trembled against her cheek, his forehead pressing against hers now, his lips so close she could feel the heat of his breath.

"Don't make me doubt you," he murmured.

MC’s chest tightened.

She hadn't meant to hesitate. It wasn’t because she doubted her love for him—it was because she had never seen him like this before. So raw. So vulnerable. So… afraid.

His lips ghosted over hers, but he didn’t close the distance. He was waiting.

Waiting for her to say it.

MC reached up, her fingers tangling into his hair, and she pulled him closer until their bodies were flush against each other.

Then, she whispered it.

"I'm yours, Zayne."

Zayne let out a shaky breath, his entire body shuddering against hers.

She barely had time to react before his lips crashed onto hers, desperate, claiming, and painfully intense.

One of his hands slid to her waist, the other gripping her thigh, hoisting it up against his hip as he pressed her against the wall, his body caging her in completely.

"You hesitated," he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with emotion. "I won't let you do that again."

MC could only gasp as he bit down on her lower lip, punishing, possessive, and entirely Zayne.

[sylusonychinus]

Side Story: A Day in the Life of Captain Caleb Xia

The sunlight filtered through the curtains of the master bedroom, casting a warm glow over the room. Caleb stirred in bed, blinking his eyes open as the faint sound of giggling reached his ears. He turned his head, noticing the empty spot beside him where Reader usually slept. His lips quirked up in a sleepy smile—he had a good idea where she was.

Before he could roll out of bed, the door burst open, and two little whirlwinds barreled into the room.

“Daddy!” Rose’s voice rang out as she climbed onto the bed, her pigtails bobbing with every movement. Jaden followed right after, though with slightly more caution, his little face lit up with excitement.

Caleb groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillows. “What’s this? An ambush first thing in the morning?”

Rose giggled, bouncing on the mattress. “Mommy said we could wake you up!”

“Did she now?” Caleb chuckled, scooping both kids into his arms and pulling them into a bear hug. They squealed in delight, their laughter filling the room.

“Okay, okay, truce!” Caleb laughed, sitting up with the twins still in his arms. “Let me guess—your mommy is in the kitchen, right?”

Jaden nodded. “She’s making pancakes.”

Rose grinned. “She said you’re late!”

Caleb glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was 6:30 AM. He had a flight to catch later, but there was still plenty of time to spend with his family before he left. He kissed both their foreheads and set them down. “Alright, let’s go see what your mommy’s up to.”

—

Morning Madness

The smell of pancakes greeted Caleb as he entered the kitchen. Reader stood at the stove, flipping a pancake with practiced ease, wearing one of his oversized shirts as her makeshift apron. She looked up when she heard him enter, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“You’re finally awake, Captain Sleepyhead,” she teased.

He smirked, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I was rudely awakened by two very energetic little spies,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

She laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow. “Breakfast is almost ready. Go set the table with the kids.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Caleb replied with a mock salute before turning to Rose and Jaden, who were already digging through the drawer for forks and napkins.

By the time breakfast was ready, the table was a mess of syrup spills, crumbs, and giggles. Rose and Jaden competed to see who could eat the most pancakes, while Caleb chimed in with exaggerated commentary. Reader shook her head at the chaos, but the fond smile on her face said she wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The Work Day Begins

After breakfast, Caleb got ready for work. He buttoned up his crisp pilot uniform, adjusting his tie in the mirror. As he grabbed his suitcase and flight bag, he heard tiny footsteps behind him.

“Daddy, are you leaving again?” Rose asked, her big eyes watching him as she hugged her favorite stuffed bear.

Caleb crouched down, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Just for a little while, princess. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Jaden stood nearby, his expression unusually serious for a five-year-old. “You’ll come back safe, right?”

Caleb ruffled his son’s hair, grinning. “Always. I have to come back to my favorite co-pilots, don’t I?”

Reader appeared then, holding a small lunchbox. She handed it to him with a smile. “Something for the flight. Don’t skip meals.”

He leaned down, kissing her softly. “Thanks, love. I’ll call you when I land.”

“Stay safe,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

“Always.”

With one last wave to his family, Caleb headed out the door, ready to take to the skies.

—

The Flight Routine

At the airport, Caleb slipped into his role as Captain Xia effortlessly. He greeted his crew with his signature charm, checked over the flight plans, and ensured everything was in order before takeoff.

As the plane soared above the clouds, Caleb found himself smiling as he thought about his family. He pulled out the small lunchbox Reader had packed and opened it to find a neatly wrapped sandwich, a small note tucked beside it.

“Fly safe. We love you! – Reader, Rose, and Jaden ❤️”

His chest tightened with warmth. Even miles above the ground, they were always with him.

—

Back Home Again

Hours later, Caleb returned home, exhausted but happy. The sound of laughter greeted him as he stepped inside. He found Reader and the kids sprawled out on the living room floor, playing a board game.

“Daddy’s home!” Rose exclaimed, running up to him.

Jaden followed closely behind. “Did you have a good flight, Daddy?”

He laughed, scooping them both up. “Yes i did Co-pilot Jaden.”

Reader walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Welcome home, Captain.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her. “It’s good to be home.”

And as the four of them settled in for the evening, the chaos and laughter of their little family filled the house once more. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs—and Caleb wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

A/N: Captain Xia is back did yall miss him?

[pink-ladybugs]

Harvest Moon Ch. 2

Farmhand Abby Anderson x Femme Reader

See ch.1

Inspired by:

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Description: Fluff, angst, friends to lovers, time skip. Abby Anderson farmhand AU. Modern AU.

Plot: You and Abby had been best friends since childhood. You basically grew up together in a small town in eastern Washington. However, a vicious fight separates the two of you. Only the most unpredictable circumstance can bring you back together. This is the second installation.

Author’s Note: Just some character/story building in this one.

─────── current day ───────

The last time you were driving down these long, winding roads was on your way to California. The fields and flowers used to be so vibrant then. Not now.

Rain pelts your windows as you think about all of the things from your childhood that you’ll have to face again. Your childhood home, white paint peeling off the old wood. The fields of wheat that rippled like waves on a windy day. And… Abby.

You planned to stay as far away from her as possible on this trip. You weren’t staying long. Just enough to get Dan back on his feet again.

The only doctor in Dry Creek had called you when you had just finished up your finals at Stanford.

“Dan had a heart attack. He’s been working himself to the bone on the farm. Refuses help from anyone. Said he doesn’t want to hire someone he doesn’t know personally.” He had said.

“Is he okay?” You asked panicked. The doctor sighed.

“He’s alright now but he shouldn’t be alone on that farm. It would be a good idea to come and take care of him. At least until he practices a healthier life style. He has a lot of blood clotting. If this continues, he could have a stroke…”

You knew it was true. Dan worked himself way too hard. Harder than a man of his age should. The fact that he only had a steak and a beer for dinner most nights probably wasn’t helping.

And that’s how you ended up taking your last semester off, frantically packing a suitcase to drive back to Washington and get him up and running again.

You pull into the long driveway leading to the farmhouse. No animals wait by the fence to greet you like they usually did. They all take shelter from the rain instead. You turn the car off once you reach the house. Your body doesn’t let you move.

What do I even say? “Sorry I havnt visited you in years and I only call you on birthdays and holidays. Sorry Ive been too busy to know about your heart condition. Sorry Im the worst niece in the world.”

You sigh and rest your head against the steering wheel. Then all of the sudden you hear your name called out.

Your head shoots up to find Dan on the porch waving you over.

“Get out of that car right now young lady!” He barks. Just like he used to when you did something wrong as a kid. You step out of your car and run through the rain until you get under the cover of the porch.

You stand in front of Dan like a child in trouble. Your tail tucked between your legs. Dan stands there for a moment. His stance is weaker than when you left. His beard is now more salt than pepper. You brace yourself for an endless guilt trip about how you abandoned Dry Creek… and him. Something you could never forgive yourself for.

Instead, Dan walks towards you and gives you a hug. A warm, tight, bone breaking hug.

“I missed you kid.” He says in his usual raspy voice. Your eyes sting as you pull away to look at him. You wipe the formation of tears from the inner corners of your eyes.

“What are you doing outside? You should be lying down and resting!” You say trying to ignore the heap of emotions you feel from his unexpected welcomeness. You swing your arm around his waist and walk inside. The smell of your childhood hitting you like a brick.

“Doc can’t tell me nothing.” He says giving you a crooked smile. You roll your eyes.

“Doc told me you’ve been a real dummy.” You say leading him to his leather recliner. “Don’t worry Im gonna have you healthy as a horse for harvest alright?” You say as you put a blanket over him.

“Im already healthy as a horse!” And with that, he bursts into a coughing fit. Your eyebrows stitch together in concern.

“You can’t work on that farm anymore Dan. It’s literally killing you. You’re not a young buck. You can’t go lifting hay bales and corralling the cows like you used to.” You say.

Dan looks away from you for a moment. A look of guilt passing over his face. “Well I may have gotten some help.” He says sheepishly.

“You did? Doc said you refused to hire anyone because you didn’t know them.” You say confused.

“Well er… I changed my mind. Just hired someone a couple days ago.” He says obviously hiding something. You quirk an eyebrow. You begin to ask him what he’s talking about before something in the kitchen falls and causes a huge crashing sound to ring out through the house. You rush to see what it is.

Pots and pans litter the kitchen floor. “The pan rack fell!” You call out from the kitchen. As you pick everything up you notice the horrible state of things. Ingredients and utensils sit on the counter, never put away. Old coffee stains decorate the kitchen island. It looks like no one had cleaned it in months. “Jesus, what happened to this place? It’s like the second I leave a tornado hits this house.”

Dan lets out a course laugh. “An important man like me cant trouble himself with chores.”

You walk back into the living room and place a hand on your hip. “Or general hygiene I see.”

Dan’s eyebrows furrow as he smells his armpit. His face breaks into a smile as he realizes you’re right.

“Shower.” You say pointing towards the bathroom. He nods. “Im making you dinner too!” You shout as you walk back into the kitchen.

“Steak with gravy and potatoes please!” He shouts back. “Crack open a beer for me too would ya?”

Is this man insane? You think to yourself.

“Not a chance!” You yell as you hear the shower turn on. You shake your head as you open up the fridge to find some vegetables. Surprise, there are none. You groan as you slam the fridge shut. You’ll have to go shopping. You grab your coat and your keys.

“I’ll be right back! I gotta go to the store!” You shout as you make your way to the door. You stop as something catches your eye.

Next to the door are Dan’s old, muddy work boots, but that’s not what caught your attention. Next to them are a tinier pair. The little cowgirl boots register in your mind as you realize Dan never got rid of them once you were too big to fit them anymore. Your heart clenches as you look at them for a second longer. Part of you misses when you fit into those boots. When things were simpler.

You lock the door and leave the house, hopping into your car to go to the nearest grocery store. A thought occurs to you as you drive down roads you know like the back of your hand.

Maybe I do still belong here.

You let yourself imagine being here again. Making more memories in a place that means so much to you.

But no, you have a different life now. One far away from here. Which is what you wanted…

This is only a short trip. You remind yourself.

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Thank you for sticking around for the second chapter!! I really appreciate everyone who reads these.