#betty x y/n

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

MILLION REASONS

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe cameron’s fear of love/commitment pushes y/n away—until he realises losing her is far worse. desperate, he finally confesses his feelings and gives her a reason to stay.

based on this ask !! this was so cute but so sad and angsty and i love it :’) thank you for requesting anon and i hope it’s what you asked for <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: angst w/ a fluffy ending, cursing, arguing, rafe & reader crying, rafe literally begging on his knees, angsty love confessions, fears of commitment/love, rafe’s insecurities :((, sad!rafe, mentions of ward (bitch ass). (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

THIRD PERSON +

The soft hum of the cicadas filled the thick summer air as Y/N leaned against Rafe’s porch railing, watching the way the sun melted into the ocean. The evening was warm, carrying the scent of salt and bonfires, but an undeniable chill sat in her chest. She swirled the condensation on her glass of whiskey with her fingertip, gaze drifting toward the open door behind her.

Rafe was inside, slouched on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, but she knew his mind was elsewhere; like it always was.

It had been like this for weeks now. No labels. No real conversations about the future. Just a limbo of stolen moments, soft touches, and nights tangled up together, pretending like nothing outside their little world existed. But that wasn’t enough, not anymore.

Y/N took a deep breath and turned back toward him, stepping inside. “Hey,” she said softly, standing by the couch.

Rafe glanced up, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable before he set his phone down. “Hey.”

She hesitated for a second, then sat beside him, close enough that their knees brushed. “I got a call today,” she started, her voice carefully neutral. “About a job.”

Rafe nodded, waiting for her to continue, but there was something stiff in his posture, something defensive.

“It’s the one I told you about. The uh, the one in Florida,” she continued, watching him closely. “They offered it to me.”

There it was. The slight shift in his expression. It was subtle—just a flicker of something in his eyes, the faintest tightening of his jaw—but she caught it.

“That’s… great,” he said after a moment, voice measured. “You worked your ass off for that.”

A part of her deflated at the way he said it. Like it was any other piece of news. Like it didn’t affect him at all. She fought the urge to look away, to retreat. Instead, she pushed forward, just a little.

“Yeah,” she murmured, fingers tracing the hem of her shorts. “It’s just… if I take it, I’d have to move.” She glanced up at him, searching for something—anything—in his expression. “I don’t know if I want to leave the Outer Banks. Not if I have a reason to stay.”

Rafe’s stomach twisted violently. His grip on his thigh tightened as his breathing shallowed. This was it—the moment he should tell her that he was her reason. That the thought of her leaving made his chest ache in a way he didn’t understand. That he had never let anyone in before, but he wanted to try for her.

But instead, panic took hold.

“Then you should take it,” he said too quickly, too flatly.

Y/N stilled. Her heart dropped to her stomach, fingers curling into her palm as she forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Right,” she said quietly, nodding. “Yeah. I guess I should.”

Rafe saw it—the way her expression flickered with something broken before she schooled it into indifference. He wanted to reach for her, to take it back, but the words caught in his throat like razor blades.

She stood abruptly, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans. “I should go.”

His pulse hammered. Say something. Tell her to stay. Tell her she’s the only thing that makes you feel sane.

But his lips stayed sealed.

Y/N lingered for just a second, almost like she was waiting for him to stop her. When he didn’t, she nodded to herself, jaw clenching.

“See you around, Rafe,” she murmured before turning on her heel.

He didn’t move. He just sat there, listening to the sound of the front door opening and closing behind her.

—

The second Y/N slid into her car, the first tear fell. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles went white, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

She had been stupid to hope.

She wiped at her cheeks angrily, but the tears kept coming. She had given him the chance—the opportunity to prove he cared, to show her that this thing between them meant something to him.

And he let her go.

The sob broke free before she could swallow it down, her forehead dropping against the steering wheel as her whole body shook. She had been so sure there was something real there, but maybe it had all been in her head. Maybe Rafe Cameron would never let anyone truly see him.

And maybe, she thought bitterly, she had just been another passing moment in his life.

With a shaky breath, she turned the key in the ignition.

She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew one thing for sure.

She wasn’t staying.

—

The days that followed Y/N’s departure from his house were nothing short of agonizing for Rafe. Every second that passed was filled with an unbearable weight pressing against his chest, suffocating him with regret.

He couldn’t eat. Could barely sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her walking away, saw the way her face crumbled right before she masked it with indifference.

It killed him.

He had been a coward.

Instead of telling her what she meant to him, he had let fear make the decision for him. He had let her leave, had given her permission to move on, all because he was terrified of what it meant to let her in—to truly let her see him.

The thought of her leaving the Outer Banks, of being in a different state, living a life where he wasn’t by her side, was unbearable.

And yet, he had told her to go.

Rafe’s hands shook as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor. He could feel the panic creeping up again, clawing at his throat. The same panic he had felt when she told him about the job offer, when he realised he could lose her.

Only now, it wasn’t just a fear. It was a reality.

She was leaving.

And it was all his fault.

—

Y/N wiped at her cheek in frustration as she stacked another empty box against the wall of her bedroom.

Packing up her life in the Outer Banks wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

She had spent the last few days trying to distract herself—throwing herself into preparations, making lists, telling herself that this was an exciting new chapter.

But no matter what she did, her thoughts always drifted back to him.

To Rafe.

To the way he had just let her walk away.

To the way he hadn’t fought for her.

To the way she had given him the chance to stop her, and he hadn’t taken it.

He’d given her a million reasons to walk away, but all she needed was just one good one to stay—him.

A shaky breath left her lips as she sat on the floor, knees tucked to her chest as her eyes scanned the boxes scattered around her living room. She was so tired of crying over him, but her heart had other plans.

A loud knock at the door startled her.

Her brows furrowed as she stood, wiping at her face before making her way toward the front entrance. It was late. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

When she opened the door, the breath in her lungs vanished.

Rafe.

Standing in the pouring rain, his hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, his clothes drenched, his chest heaving.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was his expression.

He looked… broken.

His blue eyes, usually sharp and filled with some sort of cocky confidence, were desperate. Red-rimmed and filled with emotions she had never seen so plainly on him before.

“Don’t go,” Rafe rasped. His voice was raw, like he had been screaming, like he had been drowning.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening against the doorknob.

“What?” she whispered.

“Don’t go,” he repeated, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “Please.”

Confusion and frustration twisted inside her. “Rafe, you told me to take the job.”

“I know,” he choked out. His jaw clenched, his hands trembling at his sides. “I know, and it was the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever done.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to change your mind now that it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late,” Rafe said quickly, stepping closer. “Not if you stay.”

Y/N stared at him, anger bubbling beneath her skin. “Why, Rafe?” she challenged. “Why should I stay?”

He exhaled sharply, his fingers running through his wet hair. He was shaking, the rain dripping from his clothes, but he didn’t care.

“Because,” his voice cracked, “I love you.”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

He sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly as more words spilled from his lips.

“I love you, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that scares the absolute shit out of me.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Rafe let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Do you know how fucked up I am?” he asked, eyes glistening. “I don’t know how to love someone. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. My father never showed me how. After my mom died, everything just—” He exhaled sharply, clenching his jaw. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking that letting someone in was just setting myself up for disappointment.”

He took another step toward her, voice thick with emotion.

“But then you came along,” he whispered, his eyes softening. “And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I had to hide. For the first time, I had something good—someone good.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away.

“And I was too much of a coward to tell you.”

Y/N’s own vision blurred as she stared at him, her whole body trembling.

Rafe sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to,” he said desperately, his voice cracking. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Just please don’t leave me.”

And then he did it.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt like a man grasping onto the only thing keeping him from drowning.

“Please,” he begged, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t lose you. You’re the only thing in my life that makes sense. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”

Y/N let out a quiet sob, her hands coming up to cup his face.

“You are not your father, Rafe,” she whispered through her own tears. “You are capable of love. It doesn’t have to be scary. It can be—beautiful.”

Rafe sucked in a sharp breath, his hands tightening around her like she might disappear at any second.

Y/N swallowed, her thumb brushing over his cheek. “I love you too.”

A quiet, broken sob left his lips as he pressed his forehead against her stomach, gripping onto her like she was his lifeline.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “I was so fucking scared.”

Y/N cradled him, running her fingers through his soaked hair. “I know,” she murmured. “But I’m here. I’m right here.”

And for the first time in his life, Rafe Cameron let himself believe that he was worthy of love.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such a cute one :’) i’m a sucker for angst with happy endings !! also soft!rafe is my absolute favourite, like him LITERALLY begging on his knees for a girl is so attractive😫

anyways i’m editing all the fics i’ve roughly written from requests that are like two weeks old, hence why i’m pumping out so many fics atm !! one request was like a month old and i felt HORRIBLE but i’m getting them all out now and i appreciate everyone’s patience <3

[jesterwriting]

reacting to you getting kidnapped and being grievously injured. both recovery and death routes

pairing: trafalgar law x reader, crocodile x reader, doflamingo x reader (separate)

contents: kidnapping, blood, death, grief, general angst, and a little but of toxicity from doffy because let's be real here.

word count: 1.9k words

The stench of iron clouded your senses. Despite the heat, you shook uncontrollably, barely able to curl in on yourself. Numbness spread from your chest outward until the pain you had once been so intimately acquainted with felt like nothing more than a distant memory. You could barely hear over the blood rushing in your ears. There were voices above you, but they were far too muffled for you to make out anything aside from sharp, jeering laughter. A kick to your ribs made pain bloom from your abdomen before it tapered off into nothingness. It was supposed to hurt. Why weren’t you hurting anymore?

It had been a long time since you had been so afraid. She was an old friend, one you hadn’t been visited by ever since you met your partner. You were a weak little thing, especially in comparison to them. It had never been more obvious than now, left more of a pile of meat and bone rather than a person on the rickety floor of the old shack you’d been dragged into.

All it took was a distraction. Today was your birthday, and you were so focused on thinking about your special day, that you were taken by surprise. A sob rattled from your chest as your terror faded away, slipping from your grasp, just as your blood spilled from the wound on your belly. As if to catch the fleeing emotion, you clenched your fist tight enough for your fingertips to bury themselves into the meat of your palm. All you felt was a dull pressure.

I think I’m dying.

Whether you wanted to or not didn’t matter anymore. Another weak sob shook your body. Looking down, you acknowledged that you could reach out and touch your insides. All it would take was an exploratory hand and an insatiable curiosity, neither of which you thought you were capable of at the moment. It wasn’t until you looked up did you realize one of your eyes was swollen shut. Or missing, you thought tiredly. It wasn’t like it would matter anymore. There was no surviving this.

Acceptance did not come easy. You wanted to fight, you wanted to scream, beg, cry, anything, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. As one last act of defiance, you flexed your toes in your boots. Even that minute task felt monumental, like you were at the last stretch of a marathon.

“I don’… Wanna-” You didn’t want to die.

There was someone waiting for you. Someone strong, someone who protected you, who loved you. Someone whose notoriety got you in this position in the first place. If you were a lesser person, you would blame them for what happened to you.

Where were they when you needed them most? You did nothing to deserve this. It wasn’t fair. You inhaled a sharp breath as tears poured down your face, mixing with your blood to create a pinkish puddle on the floor. The fact of the matter was: it wasn’t their fault, and as easy as it was to blame yourself, you knew it wasn’t yours either. Those who were at fault were above you, drinking and laughing over your battered body like they weren’t soon to follow. Your lips twitched upward at the thought. At least you would be avenged. It was a small mercy, but one you indulged greedily.

You didn’t hear the door open, nor did you see who entered, but judging by the horrified faces of your assailants, you could wager a guess. Your body moved as if on autopilot, unbroken arm sliding across the floor towards your lover, smearing gore across the wood as you reached for them. It was a shame that this was it. You only hoped they would move on without you.

If only you got to say goodbye. If only you were able to tell them not to hide from your bones, but build something new with them. As if they could bury your spine in the ground and you would sprout anew, whole and intact again.

As your vision faded to black, you caught your lover's expression. It was…

Trafalgar Law

Fear. It was only there for a second before blue light filled the enclosed space and the men who surrounded you were diced into tiny little pieces. Law would not allow his emotions get the better of him, not when you were in critical condition. Your heart was still beating. That meant he had time, he wasn’t too late. Steady hands — but, oh, how they shook when he was done with you — stitched you back together, piece by agonizing piece. Even when he was done, Law wouldn’t rest. He would spend his days watching you, counting your breaths with the rise and fall of your chest.

Recovery would be slow, made even slower by his insistence to treat you as if you were made of glass. He would be more irritable than usual, especially if you went against his orders as your doctor. If he had to strap you down to keep you from moving and reopening your wounds, so be it. As long as you were alive by the end of it to scold him for it, he didn’t care. Law could not fathom how close he was to losing you, and it will take a while to process. He might come off as wishy-washy, some nights holding you as tight as your injuries would allow, breathing in your scent as if it was the last time he would see you. Other’s, Law would throw himself into his work, so as not to allow himself to think, avoiding you when he wasn’t treating you.

If Law lost you, he would close himself off entirely. Whatever walls you had managed to tear down would return stronger than ever. He wouldn’t allow himself to mourn properly, rather, he would throw himself back into his plans full force. Barely eating, barely sleeping, barely living. The crew can tell he’s not handling your loss well, though whoever attempts to bring it up is subjected to a brutal verbal lashing from their captain. It isn’t until night comes and Law finds himself in a cold, empty bed would he allow himself to cry.

Sir Crocodile

Disbelief. Whatever Crocodile expected, it was not this. While he certainly did not expect you to single handedly beat your attackers into submission, he certainly didn’t expect to find anyone stupid enough to so brutally harm someone that belonged to him. Crocodile did not trust easily. Many said that he did not trust at all. The fact that the one person that he allowed in was inches from death was enough to make his stomach churn. He would waste no time with the fools who attacked you, dispatching them swiftly before he contacted the best doctors at his disposal to treat you. As much as he would love to whisk you away into his arms, Crocodile knew moving you while you were so injured was not a good idea. Instead, he would crouch next to you and keep you awake until the doctors arrived. As if you would break, he would hold your smaller hand in his, gently brushing your blood-smeared hair from your forehead with his hook.

Recovery would be spent in the lap of luxury, showered with not only gifts, but more of your lover’s attention than ever before. That wasn’t to say Crocodile usually neglected you, it was the fact that he was a very busy man. Normally, he would be in meeting after meeting. Now, with you laid upon silk sheets and covered in bandages, Crocodile was by your side twenty-four/seven. He would spend his days relaxed in a plush chair by your side, either reading the newspaper or filling out paperwork. The doctors who treat you would never be alone with you, always under Crocodile’s threatening stare, as if daring them to slip up in some way.

If Crocodile lost you, he would be numb. He would attempt to go back to his life before you. While he knew it wouldn’t be easy, he didn’t realize how your ghost would haunt him. Your pillow still carried the scent of your shampoo, the sweets you kept hidden in his desk would crop up from time to time, and the indent on the cushion of your favorite chair would not fade no matter how many times he flipped the cushion. On busy days, Crocodile found himself looking for you in his office, always ready with a silly quip or observation he would huff at, only to be met with hollow disappointment when he found nobody there. He goes full scorched earth, ridding himself of all your possessions, attempting to cut you from his life entirely. Even then, he still dreams of you.

Donquixote Doflamingo

Rage. You were his. The threat of his wrath should be enough to guarantee your safety. But it didn’t, and here you were, barely breathing at the feet of scum that were worth less than the mud on his shoes. Doflamingo kills them swiftly — it was a shame he couldn’t take his time punishing them, you, however, took precedence — before he finds himself by your side. He prods you, as gentle as he is capable of, with the tip of his shoe. When you squirm, he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A good partner was hard to come across, and while Doflamingo was not picky with his flings, he did prefer someone with a little more substance to rule beside him. You would be hard to replace. Doflamingo calls for the best doctors in Dressrosa to attend to you. While he waits, he allows you to dirty his pink jacket with your blood, draping it on top of you so he doesn't have to look at your battered form for longer than he has to. While he would never admit it, not to himself and never aloud, seeing you so broken left a pit in his stomach.

Recovery would be tedious. Without you around to terrorize tease, Doflamingo finds himself bored with his daily comings and goings. More often than not, he’s beside your bed, frowning down at your sleeping form, waiting to get your reaction to some ridiculous, teasing notion he had in store. He hates seeing you so unresponsive. Doflamingo is used to your laughter, your stuttered words, your shy expressions, not whatever this is. It isn’t until now that he realizes just how attached to you he has gotten. For the hundredth time since Doflamingo found you, he regrets not torturing the scum who hurt you more. Once you awake, you will be confined to the palace until further notice. You will only be safe if you are within his grasp, and he knows now more than ever, that he will never let you go.

If Doflamingo loses you, he will be furious. The doctors who were supposed to save you are unceremoniously killed in his rage. And so is anyone unlucky enough to cross his path for the next few days. It isn’t long before Doflamingo is looking for your replacement. The palace is empty without your presence, and there is a you-shaped hole he intends to fill before he can think too hard as to why he misses you so much. No one is good enough for him. No matter how many applicants he gets, no matter how many new playthings color his life, none of them will ever be you. Doflamingo finds himself discarding people from his life quicker than usual, especially if they did something you would never do.

[bumblesimagines]

so… what are we?

i had a ring and everything.

i wish i could take it all back.

(post timeskip) Betty Cooper

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Sexual content

(Y/N) wanted to hate himself. 

He knew better than to answer Archie Andrew's call. He knew better than to take days off work at the local university to visit Riverdale. He knew better than letting Betty sit beside him in the booth at Pop's and speaking more than a few sentences to her. He knew better than to agree to drive her home. 

He made a promise to himself two birthdays back that he'd forgo anything and everything that reminded him of Elizabeth Cooper. It was for his own good, for the sake of himself and any stable future relationships.

She chose work over him, over every single aspect of her social life, and he simply couldn't stand to continue living like a toy forgotten in the attic. It was for the best, he convinced himself repeatedly throughout the following years, each time his friends forgot about 'she-who-will-not-be-named'.

But it was hard to say no to so much history, and he was a sucker for familiarity. 

He knew Betty well, probably knew her better than she knew herself. He knew what made her tick, what amused her, what made her coo and awe, what made her blush, what made her gasp and moan. It annoyed him how pleasantly surprised he'd been to discover little to nothing had changed about her in the two years since they last saw each other.

Betty's blunt nails dug into his skin from the hand firmly planted on his chest, her other hand tightly gripping the armrest his head was leaning on. She rocked back and forth on his lap feverishly, her movements growing clumsy whenever he squeezed her ass with a lift only to push her back down. Her wavy blonde hair swayed and bounced, draped over her shoulders and cascading down her back. She'd grown it out since he last saw her. 

His hand slipped to grip her thigh and squeeze it, briefly amused by the sight of her underwear hanging limply from her knee. He leaned forward, his hand lifting to palm the back of her hair and bringing her in for a kiss. She cupped his face, her palms lightly pressing into his jawline, and breathily moaned into the kiss.

She pressed her body as close as humanely possible to his, her bra scratching against his chest in the progress. Betty was beautiful when she unraveled. There was a frothy ring at the base of his length and his lap was already a mess, a mess that covered her inner thighs with evidence that they weren't fully done with each other yet.

He was almost twenty-eight; he was well-aquatinted with the half-truths others spewed to appear innocent while plotting otherwise, especially when it was Betty.

She claimed she wanted to see his old childhood again after the years since he was staying there for the time being, he drove her there. She asked to see the inside again to jog her memory, he opened the door for her and pointed out things still there from their teen years. She asked for a drink, he poured a cup of wine for her. 

Within a few minutes and some jogs down memory lane, her mouth was on his and his hand was slipping past the waistband of her underwear. It was a tale as old as time.

Betty squeezed around him and her toes curled, her head tilting back and chest stuttering with a deep inhale of air that was released in cut-off exhales afterward. She spasmed in his lap a moment after, her hips jerking and hands digging into the muscle of his shoulders while her high washed over her. Betty panted and slumped in his arms with tired kisses pressed to the nape of his neck. 

"So…" Betty tucked some locks behind her ear and tucked her head further into his neck. He leaned back into the armrest again, his arms loosely wrapped around her and eyes focused on the white ceiling. "What are we?"

"Exes, Betty. This was just.. a lapse of judgment." 

Her hands pushed against his chest when she lifted herself to look down at him, her brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Betty," He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We broke up, remember? Three years down the drain because you were more committed to being an agent than being an actual human being. I had a ring and everything. I was going to propose the night of our anniversary and you couldn't even show up for dinner!"

Betty's breath hitched in her throat and her pale green eyes flickered wildly between his. Her features softened. "You were going to propose?" She asked softly, the rising and falling of her chest quickening. "I didn't know. I.. I wish I could take it all back. If I'd known, I-"

"Nothing would've been different." He breathed soberly and reached back toward the side table beside the armrest to retrieve the box of tissues his mother often kept tucked inside. Betty grimaced. "You would've been married to your work instead of me." 

"Being an agent-"

"Almost got you killed." (Y/N) swallowed harshly and shook his head, averting his eyes to avoid looking at her saddened face. "It's in the past- we're in the past. I'm not doing this again, Betty. Not with you, not with anyone. I deserve better than that."

[nekojaf]

Did you think Quik E Lot only had two workers? No there's three. Betty is a high schooler who works weekend mornings. She's there to witness shenanigans every now and then. Fun fact she was Y/N's last worker after her previous two other people had quit for various reasons.

I have quite a few side cast characters for my different stories I really need to put them out there.

Anyway now I can put her into stuff without confusing people.

[alwayschaoticbouquet]

I am so not sorry.

[morgandr]

Imagine:

Betty Davis arriving at a party looking around for you.

——————————————————————————-

(NOT MY GIF!)

(Betty Davis X Reader)

——————————————————————————-

(TAGS)

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

No More Chances

✧ M A S T E R L I S T ✧

Yandere Platonic Batfamily x Neglected Regressing GN Reader

In which a sad little child of a Wayne is somehow curse by the fates to live again and again, facing death in the end just to relive their fears, trauma and neglect from their own family.

Will they find away to end this looping nightmare or to live another reset again just to find a good gooddamn ending?.

Warning this Fic will contain:

Suicide and Suicidal thoughts, Death [Mainly Y/N's], Violence, Cursing, Drugs and substances, Guns and other weapons, Family Neglect, Talk about traumas or phobias, out of characters from the DC characters, mixed versions of the Batfamily [Will be mentioned if there are changes or implications of specific depictions of comics, games or other media for DC characters], Typos [ I can edit if there are typos but don't expect perfect or poetic English from me cuz I'm not that great in English ] and lastly This is NOT a Jinx!Reader I only had inspo of jinx and Arcane reference for this they are not fully Jinx because if they are then that would be a different fic now.

EXTRA EXTRA NOTE :

For the love of anything out there if you do not like to consume these type of fics in tumblr, DO NOT message or comment to me about how you don't like to read yandere or even x reader fanfictions in your feed, it's not my fault, I don't control your recommendation or what pops up in your screen, you have fingers SCROLL AWAY.

--- 0 0 0 0 ---

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1 : Dear Mother, Goodbye

Chapter 2 : A New Reset, An Old Story

Chapter 3 : Hello Father, Die

Chapter 4 : Oh Love, Why can't I See You?

Chapter 5 : Poor Goldilocks, Nothing Is Just Right

.......

[ O N G O I N G ]

Headcannons

--- ? ? ? ---

Fate's Chapter Assessment

[ 0 ] ,

No More Chances Q&A [#No More Chances Q&A]

Flasbacks&Babies

Doodles& Hallucinations

BadguyOrNot?

-✧✦✧-INTERTWINED FATES-✧✦✧-

Melody composed by fate [song fic]

Death by Family

Father

Sons

Daughters

Grandfather

✧✦✧ CRACKED VISIONS ✧✦✧

Imma finna rock yo' shit

Black Betty Bam Balam

〖 = ✧ = 〗

A taglist will be made if you want to be updated quickly, I only tag when I reblog a chapter so please comment your @ below thank you so much.

Q&A for No More Chances are open (Don't ask for updates you already know why I don't post much)

[ If you're having trouble finding the chapters for this fic all of them will be tag with #No More Chances or find #Masterlist ] (all images are from mixed media of screenshots, Pinterest, tumblr and google)

[honeyedmiller]

Pretty Little Thing | Joel Miller

joel miller x oc!f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

synopsis: it’s summertime and you’re working at a retro diner on the outskirts of austin. you’ve seen many faces and heard many voices all in a passing blur; ones you’ve never really payed any mind to—until one handsome southern gentleman in particular catches your special attention, and he’s got a voice you’d recognize anywhere—one that’s gotten you off more times than you’d like to admit.

warnings: original female character, no outbreak (game) joel, joel has a hidden identity in this for a bit, joel is taller than reader, joel can pull reader’s hair, reader is mentioned to blush once, joel indulges in virtual sex work, joel has no kids in this, flirting, talks of masturbation, smut (protected sex, blowjob, consensual choking, spitting, hair pulling, many ass slaps, edging, squirting, name calling, ass play), no use of y/n.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: this is entirely self indulgent. sorry for the small writing hiatus, life has been insanely busy. thanks for being patient with me as i ease back into writing fanfic.

-

It was like clockwork. 

Every day was the same. 

The same regulars, the same orders being put in, the same rushes. 

The lunch rush usually died down around two, which gave you time to prepare for the dinner rush before five. 

It was funny, really. You never thought that such a tiny diner off of Interstate 35, tucked in a corner on the outskirts of Austin, would have such an attraction as it does. 

Maybe it was the house favorite flapjacks you guys sold. Maybe it was the friendly hospitality you and your favorite coworker, Betty, gave to new and familiar faces. Hell, maybe it was the half-decent coffee and the low prices for everything that kept everyone coming in and coming back. 

Either way, it was all the same every single day. 

Until today. 

Usually, there’d be no more than three stragglers from lunch, and no one would come in until around five. 

The little bell above the door chimed as someone walked in, and Betty tapped you on the shoulder with a pleading look in her eyes. 

You averted your gaze from the sugar pourers you were refilling, giving her a small smile. 

“Honey, I’m sorry, I was about to take my break. Can you take that table for me? I need a cig after this morning’s rush.” Her blonde-gray hair was in disarray and her voice was scratchy and desperate. 

“No problem. Enjoy your break.” 

“Bless you, sweetheart.” 

You brush off the straggling sugar crystals that stuck to your hands on your black apron, pulling out your pad of paper and pen before approaching the man that sat with his back facing you. 

You muster up the best smile you can before stopping at the booth, ready to jot down his order. 

“Hello sir, how are you doin’ today?” You ask, and he looks up from the menu with a grin. 

The first thing you notice is his eyes. They’re a warm and inviting shade of hazel; a mixture of a beautiful green that reflects off of his tan skin and an amber as smooth as whiskey. 

Then you notice his lips. Pink and plush. Kissable. 

And then there’s the smile hidden behind the lips. Bright, pearly whites that take your breath away and make your heart palpitate, because god, why is he so handsome? 

It’s like he won the genetic lottery or something.

The mustache above his lips and the scruff on his jawline matches his dark hair with a few silver strands peeking through; the only identifier of his prospective age. 

His lips pull up into a smirk as he watches you shamelessly checking him out. Truthfully, you want him to watch you watching him. 

He clears his throat and your eyes snap back up to his. You tilt your head to the side and study him for a moment further before he finally speaks. 

“I’ll take a black coffee n’ the number three please. Eggs over easy.” 

You write down his order and your brows furrow as he speaks. Something about his voice sounds so… familiar. 

“Midday breakfast?” You tease, and he offers you a shrug and a grin. “It’ll be right out, sir.” You gingerly take the menu from him and walk back behind the counter. 

His voice keeps ringing through your head as you ring in his order on the POS system. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but his voice was attractive nonetheless — deep and gruff, yet sweet and polite. 

Where the hell have you heard that voice before? 

And then it hits you. 

Fuck. 

Oh, fuck. 

That man’s voice has brought you more orgasms than you can possibly even count. 

In a desperate need to get yourself off one night, you explored your options until you came across a faceless account. It was his broad body and thick, muscular arms that caught your attention. And — yeah, okay, maybe his deliciously girthy cock, too. 

The final nail in the coffin was that thick, syrupy Southern drawl that reeled you in and immersed you in a world full of pleasure. 

His voice and groans alone have made you come harder than any man you’ve ever been with. 

Your throat goes dry as you look back at him, tucked into the booth he chose to sit at, looking at his phone. 

You mindlessly pour his coffee and bring it out to his table, legs seemingly floating in his direction.

You set the coffee cup down on his table. His large hand grabs the cup, making it look nearly miniature. 

Your mind was fuzzy and your core suddenly had an aching throb as you thought of his hands exploring your body; what they’d feel like all over you and — god, get a fucking grip. 

“Was there anythin’ else I can get for you?” You ask as nonchalant as you can muster up. 

“Nope, that’ll do it darlin’. Thank you.” The crinkles beside his eyes deepen in the slightest as he tosses a polite smile your way. 

“Food should be out in a couple of minutes.” You rap your knuckles on the table once before turning around to finish topping off the sugar pourers. 

The chef chimed the bell indicating the handsome man’s food was done. You wipe your hands on your apron once more before sucking in a breath. 

You decided to shoot your shot and call him out by his screen name. You were confident it was him. 

You saw no wedding band on his finger, either, so what the hell, right? Worst that could happen is he rejects your advances. 

You grab his plate from the kitchen window and head toward his table. Your palms start to sweat and you’re nervous as hell, because fuck, a face like that is hard to forget. 

You set the plate down in front of him and he softly thanks you. You hesitate for a second before tucking a stray hair that had fallen out of your braid behind your ear, shooting a wink his way. 

“Anytime, Mr. Ryder. Let me know if you need anythin’ else.” 

He pauses before looking up at you again, eyebrows furrowing. 

“How do you—?” He starts, clearing his throat as his eyes travel down your figure. 

“I’m a fan of your work.” You shrug, passing it off like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

“I see,” He looks back at the now empty diner, gaze shifting back to you. “Wanna sit for a minute and chat?” His voice holds sincerity and — god, let it be — desire. 

You nod and hold a finger up to him. “Just a sec.” 

You walk back to the counter, catching Betty at a perfect time. She grins at you as she re-ties her apron around her waist. 

You jerk your head back to Ryder. “The guy over there wants to chat for a few. Mind if I take a break?” 

“Go ‘head baby. Not like we got a ton ‘a people to serve.” She laughs, and you shoot her a smile. 

“Thanks, Betty.” 

You untie your apron from your waist and walk back over to his booth. He gestures for you to slide into the side opposite of him, and you clumsily settle into the worn leather bench. 

He chews on a piece of bacon before his gaze roams your face, seemingly studying you before he swallows. 

“So, what’s the first video you watched?” He asks, and you feel your face burn with a blush. You thought he’d be more subtle, but it’s better to lay the cards on the table you suppose. 

“Truthfully, I’ve scrolled all the way to the bottom of your page and have probably watched every single one.” You shrug at your confession, and that pulls a smirk out of him. 

“What about your favorite?” His tone is almost challenging, but truthfully, he’s intrigued. Never did he think anyone could recognize him by just his voice. 

Joel was careful not to show his face on camera. He wanted to keep himself a mystery—the gruff, sexy voice of a suave cowboy and his perfect body that he shared with the world—a secret. 

“It’s probably gonna have to be the one where you’re pretty much just talkin’ the viewer through it and, fuck, this is kinda embarrassing but we’re already here,” You huff, and Joel shakes his head and urges you to continue. “When I watch that video, I’ve kinda timed it to make myself come the same time you do.” 

“Not embarrassin’, sugar. That’s the sexiest thing a woman has ever confessed to me.” 

“Yeah, well, when you got a voice like yours and a dry spell like mine, it’s the perfect mix for a most blissful—” Joel’s hearty laugh cut you off, and you couldn’t help but admire him from across the table. 

He was so fucking handsome and you genuinely couldn’t believe you were seeing the man who’s made you come more times than you can count without even fucking touching you, in person. 

“Can I see your notepad and pen real quick, baby?” He asks, gesturing down to your lap. You shuffle the items out of your apron pocket before sliding them across the table, and at the click of the pen, he starts to write something down. 

You lick your lips and cross your arms over your torso, lolling your head to the side. He clicks the pen once more before sliding it back over to you with the notepad. 

You look down at what he’s written, to see his fake name, phone number and an address. 

“Whenever you get off, gimme a call n’ come over if you’d like. No pressure though, sugar.” 

Holy fuck. 

No way in hell you’re passing up this opportunity, so you shoot a smirk his way and tuck the paper into your apron pocket. 

Play. It. Cool. 

“I get off in about,” You look down at your watch, twisting your lips to the side. “An hour.” 

You try to keep your voice steady, but your heart is thumping in your chest and your desperate, aching cunt. 

“Sounds good,” He raps his knuckles on the wooden table before grinning at you, nudging your foot in the slightest before he finishes off his breakfast for lunch. “Just the check, sugar. Then I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“I’d rather you pull it than get out of it.” You grin wickedly at the astonished man in front of you, sliding out of the booth. 

You walk away to the counter before he can retort and ring the check up for his meal, but before you can bring it back to him, he slaps two twenties on the counter before you. 

His thick fingers find their way to your wrist and give it a squeeze as he leans down to you and whispers his next words. 

“Hope I can satisfy you in more ways than one, baby. See ya in an hour,” He straightens back up before looking down at the twin Jacksons staring back at the both of you, “Keep the change.” 

He walks out without another word, without looking back, and it leaves you nearly winded. 

“What was that all about?” Betty asks, sidling up beside you as she gently nudges your ribs.

“Looks like I got a hot date.” You half joke. 

“If I was thirty years younger I woulda been all over that too, baby,” A hearty laugh escapes her and she shoots a wink your way. “Have fun tonight.” 

-

The hour goes by surprisingly fast and you find yourself almost scurrying to your car after you clock out. You toss your apron into the passenger seat of your car and immediately roll down the windows. 

The AC decided to give out on you about a week ago, and of course it was during a time where it was hotter than the devil’s fucking asshole outside. 

You groan as you close your eyes, the heat already making you miserable. At least the diner had a good central air system. 

You peel your eyes open to fish the paper out of your apron pocket with Ryder’s number and address on it, dialing the numbers scrawled across in blue ink. 

After the second ring, his rich voice picked up on the other end of the line. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Ryder. ‘M off work now if you still want me to head to your place.” 

“Hey sugar. Head on over. There’s a spot in the driveway for ya.” 

“See you soon.” 

Nerves coursed through your veins as the line went dead. You type in his address into your phone, and to your surprise, he only lived fifteen minutes away. 

You threw your car in drive and you were off, the hot air whipping through the cab of your car. 

It was truly unlike you to do something so bold like this. 

You never went to strangers houses, always ignored when you got hit on at the diner, rejected offers from several men for what would probably be a night full of mediocre sex—and yet, there was something about this man that you couldn’t shake off. 

Even with just video evidence of this man’s gruff voice, veiny cock and skillful hands, you could just tell he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. 

It wasn’t long before you pulled up to a quiet neighborhood. His house was on the right hand side, and you pulled up into the driveway next to his black truck. 

You took a deep breath before looking at yourself in the mirror of your sun visor before touching up with some lip gloss. You spray your perfume on your pulse points before deciding to stop stalling and finally get out of your car before psyching yourself out. 

Your beat up work shoes scuff the concrete path leading up to Ryder’s door, and you swallow thickly before you knock. 

Thirty seconds later, a now shirtless Southern gentleman answers the door, hazel eyes catching yours as you stare up at him in awe. 

“Well fuck me.” You mutter under your breath as you study his handsome face and his thick, toned torso. 

“Tha’s the plan, sugar.” His deep voice shoots straight down to your core, nearly making you audibly moan. 

He steps aside to let you into his house, which is surprisingly warm and inviting. It’s cozy with its worn-in furnishings and family photos on the walls. It smells like him too; something earthy and musky and delicious. 

He guides you into the living room with his hand on your lower back, touch sending a chill down your spine. 

“Make yourself cozy, darlin’. Would y’like anythin’ to drink?” 

“Whiskey, neat please. If you have it.” You respond, and he softly smiles at you before nodding and retreating into the kitchen. You can’t help but watch him walk away with the muscles clearly rippling in his back as he walks, all the way down to the back dimples he has. 

There’s no fucking way this man is real. 

You sigh and settle onto the couch, folding your hands into your lap after setting your purse and keys on the coffee table in front of you. 

It’s only a couple of minutes before Ryder reappears before you, handing you a glass of amber liquid. You thank him and sip on it graciously, the smooth taste gliding down your throat and going straight to your already throbbing core. 

He sits next to you and slings his arm over the back of the couch, allowing himself to get comfortable as if this occurrence is the most natural thing in the world. 

Fuck, maybe it might be for him. You wouldn’t really be surprised considering the charm and suave demeanor he possesses. 

“You can relax, darlin’. ‘M not gonna try anythin’ or touch ya without your consent.” 

Your shoulders visibly relax at that, not even noticing they were tense to begin with. He didn’t give you bad vibes or scare you. He made you nervous—a feeling you haven’t felt with a man in a very long time. 

“So,” You start, voice scratchy from talking so much hours prior and the burn of the whiskey affecting your throat, “You usually bring women home like this?” You’re half teasing and half curious, wanting to see if this really is a regular occurrence for him. 

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest and practically vibrates the whole couch. “No, sugar. You’d be the first t’ even recognize me just by my voice. Gotta say, ‘m pretty impressed with that. Guess you’re a regular viewer then, I take it.” 

Now he’s the one teasing, but there’s a knowing tone in his voice. You didn’t even have to say it. He knows. 

There’s really no point in denying how turned on he gets you, so you just… let it happen. 

You feel a little looser with the whiskey swimming in your veins, giving you the bit of courage you mustered up within the past minute or so. You sink into the couch further, spreading your legs enough to keep the man curious. 

He watches you wearily, eyes trained on your body and the signals you were emitting. 

“You’re the only man that can get me off now. You’ve got me wrapped around those skillful fingers, Mr. Ryder.” Your voice sounds more smooth and sultry than you expected it to, but it was definitely working in your favor. 

“These skillful fingers would love to show you a thing or two, baby.” His fingers twitch around the glass he holds tightly; clearly a form of self-restraint. 

You didn’t want him to hold back anymore. 

“Show me.” You say. 

A small groan emits from the back of his throat. 

You suck in a breath as your eyes notice his going completely dark, drowning in desire for you. His once bright hazel eyes have since been replaced with something deeper than a simple need to satiate. 

It was fucking carnal. 

He downs the rest of his drink and licks his lips, patting his jean-clad thigh. 

“Sit on my lap. Back against my chest.” He commands, and you try to smoothly maneuver yourself onto him just as he’d asked. 

Once you’re settled on top of him, he gently grips onto both of your knees to spread your legs apart so they’re on either side of his thick thighs. 

Your lips part and you don’t even notice you’re breathing heavier until you feel a soft kiss on your shoulder. 

“Relax, baby. ‘M gonna make you feel good. If you need me to stop, just tap my thigh twice and hard. Got it?” 

“Yes.” You whisper, nearly shaking in anticipation. 

“Good.” 

And his hands are grazing up your legs to the inner part of your thighs, delicately tracing your skin. Goosebumps raise at his featherlight touch, and before you know it, he’s spreading his own legs wider to spread yours. 

You were aching and damp even back at the diner as you sat with him in the booth, studying his handsome features. The cool air of the home hits the dampness on the cotton panties you wore. 

Ryder’s fingers made their way up to the lace trim of your panties, causing you to softly whimper for him. You genuinely didn’t think you needed anyone to touch you so fucking bad in your life. 

You didn’t want to come off whiny and absolutely desperate, so you kept your pathetic begging to yourself. 

“So wet already, pretty girl. This all for me?” 

You can’t muster up the words because your brain is simply mush at this point, and all you want is his fingers on you, and fuck, in you. 

“You know I respect you, right baby?” 

Respect you? 

You’ve only known this man—physically—for a few hours, albeit knowing his voice and his body long before he’d even tell you his real name. 

And yet, there’s a comfort in his presence. One that would have you willing to do nearly anything for him—with him. 

And all you could do was meekly nod your head at his words, his Southern twang dripping in honey—buzzing into your veins. 

You turn your head to look at him with a bewildered expression on your face, though, wondering why he’d ask such a thing. 

He shoots you a devilish smile. 

“Good, ‘cuz for the next few minutes it’s gonna look like I don’t.” 

“Oh, fuck.” You mewl, tossing your head back onto his shoulder. He noses at your jaw, littering kisses and small nips all along your jawline and neck as he slides your panties to the side.

He slides his middle finger through your slick slit, moving up to circle your already sensitive clit. You shudder at the touch, clamping your eyes shut as you softly moan. 

“Fuck baby, you’re drippin’ already. This what I do to ya? You get this wet when you’re by yourself and you’re bein’ a dirty fuckin’ girl gettin’ yourself off to my videos? Hm?” 

His deep voice vibrates through your body, finger traveling down to your entrance. He teases you as he slips the tip of his finger into you—nothing more—and moves it back out. 

He continues this a few times, and when you don’t answer him, he slaps your dripping cunt lightly. You gasp and grip onto his forearm that was wrapped around your torso. 

“Answer me.” 

“God, yes, I–I fuckin’ love your videos. You always get me this wet. Every time. You’re just so—fuck—goddamn hot.” 

He chuckles at your blabbering. “Hot, huh? You think that highly of me?” 

“Ryder,” You moan as he fully sinks his middle finger into you. He stops his movements and it takes everything in you not to rock your hips. 

“Joel.” 

“W-what?” 

“I want you moaning my real name, baby.” 

Joel. 

Joel. 

That name is somehow very fitting for him, and lucky for you, it rolls off the tongue easily. 

“Joel.” You test it, and his grip on you tightens. 

“Atta girl.” He praises, sinking a second finger into you. You moan at the feeling, long fingers hitting spots yours never could. He curls his fingers to hit that exact spot and you cry out in pleasure. 

You can feel Joel’s cocky smirk on his lips as he kisses your braided hair, likely in a complete disarray at this point. 

The squelching noise that reverberated throughout his living room was truly obscene, but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, it seemed to spur him on as he twisted his wrist and worked his fingers faster, pressing into that spot inside of you that had you choking on your own moans. 

Without warning, you felt yourself nearly at the brink of your orgasm—and Joel pulls his fingers out of you. You cry in desperation, the beautiful build up completely dissipated. 

“Not. Yet.” Joel’s mouth was next to your ear, nibbling at your lobe as he worked you through the edging. 

He didn’t stop after that, though. He kept the momentum going, sliding his other hand from your torso down to your swollen clit. He slowly starts to rub small circles onto the already overstimulated bundle of nerves, and you cry out a strangled moan as the feeling surges through your body. 

“Now.” He says. 

Your mind was going blank at this point and a pressure kept building and building and building—until you felt a huge gush, forceful and draining. Your eyes snap open to see clear liquid dripping all down the couch. 

“Fuck, Joel I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologize baby. You ever done that before?” He asks, and you shake your head no. He moans at your wordless response and readjusts himself beneath you, and you can suddenly feel how hard he is in his jeans. 

Even through the denim he felt fucking big, and you knew you were in for it. 

“Let me,” You start, shakily sliding off of his lap and onto the floor. “Let me take care of you.” 

Joel watches you and the same muscle in his jaw ticks furiously. He nods without another word as you lean up to kiss the hot skin above his jeans, trailing your lips down to the hemline. You undo the button and zipper swiftly, and he lifts his hips to pull his pants and boxers down to his mid thigh. 

Your hunch was correct: he’s fucking huge. You swallow as you take in the sight of his cock in-person rather than over a screen, and it was even better than you’d imagined all those times. 

You gently grab the base of his silky flesh, giving it a soft squeeze as you move your hand to the tip. Your eyes flicker up to his, and he’s watching you intently. You smile sweetly up at him before bringing your head down to lick the pre come from his slit, moaning as you get a taste of the salty musk. 

Joel’s hand flies to your head, threading his fingers through the loose braid as you slowly lick your way down the vein on the underside of his cock. 

“So fuckin’ pretty,” You say, and he groans at your praise. “Even better than I imagined.” 

You bring your tongue back up to the tip and take him in your mouth this time, going as far down as you could before you gagged softly. 

“Fuck yeah baby, just like that. Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me,” He mewls as you set a faster pace, one of your hands coming to pump the rest of his cock you couldn’t reach with your mouth, the other gently fondling his balls. 

You moan around him as his silky flesh easily glides onto your tongue. You enjoy getting him off like this; unraveling him inch by inch just as he’s done to you many times before. 

He began to rock his hips up into your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you try your damndest to not forcefully gag around him. 

“Mouth feels so goddamn good on me, honey. ‘M not gonna last much longer.” Joel confesses, and your tighten your lips around his cock to silently urge him to let go. 

It was only another minute until his hips completely stilled and his pulsing cock was drained, salty spend coating your mouth in haste. 

He groans loudly as he reaches down to cradle your jaw, slowly sliding your mouth off of him. You swallow his spend and sit back on your heels, looking up at him innocently. 

“On your knees, baby. Ass up.” He pats the spot next to him on the couch, and you happily oblige. He pulls the skirt of your uniform up over your hips and slides your wet panties down your legs so you’re on full display for him. 

You feel his hands slide over the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to get a good look at all of you. You suck in a breath for a second before you feel his fingers slide through your slick folds once more, teasing you so. 

“You ever had a man touch you back here? Pretty little thing.” He asks as his thumb circles the tight ring of your ass. 

“No.” You moan, closing your eyes as you press a cheek to the couch cushion. 

“Hm. ‘S a shame. Feels real good.” 

“Please, Joel.” You truly weren’t above begging for this man to touch you in any way possible. 

“Please what, sugar?” 

“Please—please touch me. Make me feel good. Even better than I already feel.” 

You turn your head more to lock eyes with him staring down at you with a look of determination and hunger. 

He keeps his eyes locked on you as he grabs his half-hard cock, reaching to the coffee table beside you both to grab the foil packet you didn’t even see until this very moment. 

He rips it open and slides it on before sliding his cock through your slick folds. You sigh in pleasure as your eyes flutter shut for a brief second before you open them again as his tip notches your entrance. 

“You ready baby?” 

You nod your head, but he shakes his. 

“Need your words this time darlin’.” 

“Yes Joel. Please.” 

He sinks into you slowly, his girth stretching you out so deliciously. It stung a little, because in truth, you’ve never been with anyone his size. 

Once he’s fully sheathed into you, he shoots you that same wicked grin before letting spit slowly dribble out of his mouth and onto your asshole. 

“Oh fuck me,” You whisper, moaning as his thumb circles the tight ring once again. “Please.” You say, and he hooks his thumb gently into you. 

You feel so full like this, barely even able to comprehend the fact that you’re about to get fucked by your favorite adult content creator. 

Joel starts to rock his hips slowly at first, moaning at how tight you are. He picks up his pace once you’re both comfortable and it feels like he’s punching your fucking gut. 

It’s almost unbearable— but the pleasure outweighs the pain by a mile. He’s rocking his hips so hard that the couch starts to scrape onto the floor, nothing but skin  slapping on skin. You feel a sting on your left asscheek and moan at the contact, realizing Joel had slapped you. 

He does it again, and again, and again, until tears are in your eyes and you can no longer bear the sting. 

“Pussy feels so fuckin’ good baby. Was meant to take this cock, hm?” He says through gritted teeth, and you can’t help but agree with him. 

His hand slides up your back and reaches your hair, pulling it so your head tilts upward. 

“So fuckin’ pretty like this. Love the way you feel around me.” He confesses, taking his thumb out of your tight muscle before wrapping his other arm around your torso once, only to pull you upright this time. 

He’s pistoning into you as you lean back onto his body. His hand wraps gently around your throat as he scatters more kisses onto your jawline and up your earlobe. 

“Can I?” He asks, and you choke out a meek yes. 

His large hand wraps all the way around your throat, squeezing the sides. Joel turns his head down to look at you, all helpless as he fucks you relentlessly. 

Your jaw hangs open and your eyes are squeezed shut, relishing in the all-consuming feeling of Joel. 

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

You open your eyes as you plead his name, feeling another orgasm burning within you. 

He moves his fingers up from your throat to grab at your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he spits into it. 

“Swallow.” He commands, and you don’t question him one bit. 

He likes seeing you like this—submissive and practically breedable—and yet, he barely knew you. He knew he wanted that to change after this, though.

“Joel I’m gonna come.” Your voice is hoarse and desperate, trying so hard to keep the feeling of pleasure at bay. 

It was no use, though. The way he was looking at you made you want to fucking risk it all, and when he finally bent his face down to kiss you, you knew it was a wrap. 

You both moaned into each other’s mouths as your tongues tangled together, tasting each other and exploring one another. 

It wasn’t long before the coil finally snapped for you, and seconds later, him as well. You both panted heavily as you were submerged in the post-coital bliss. 

“You did so good, baby. Hopefully I lived up to your expectations.” 

You huff a laugh at his words as he pulls out of you and  shuffles himself down onto the couch, pulling you on top of him. He kisses the top of your head as he plays with your hair, a strange feeling blooming in his chest as you both enjoy the presence of one another. 

One thing’s for sure and two things for certain: 

You’re everything he’s wanted, and he didn’t even know how to tell you. There was no way he was letting you go now. 

-

tags: @endlessthxxghts @punkshort @ilovepedro @nostalxgic @party-hearses

@joelsgreys @ozarkthedog

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭*

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → Slight smut! 18+ , masturbation

Summary → Peter gets caught by his girlfriend while masturbating.

(gif not mine)

You had just come back from a long day with MJ and Betty, feeling refreshed and ready to see Peter. After all, he had been texting you non-stop, asking when you’d be back, telling you how much he missed you. You smiled to yourself as you walked down the hallway toward his bedroom in the Avengers compound, thinking about how cute he was when he got clingy.

But as you reached his door, you decided to let yourself in without knocking, excited to surprise him. You twisted the knob and stepped inside, but what you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

Peter was on his bed, his back slightly arched, one hand gripping the sheets and the other firmly between his legs, pumping himself slowly. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted, soft moans escaping from his mouth. And then, you heard it — your name.

“Y/n… fuck, baby…” he groaned, his voice breathy and desperate.

The sight was enough to freeze you in place. Despite the fact that you and Peter had sex before, you had never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so completely lost in his own world. Before you could stop yourself, a startled gasp escaped your lips.

Both of you screamed at the same time.

“OH MY GOD!” Peter’s eyes flew open, and he bolted upright, trying to cover himself with the nearest thing—his pillow. “Y/n! What are you doing here?!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, wide-eyed. “What am I doing here?! What are you doing?!” You stammered, trying to process the situation.

Peter looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “I—I didn’t think you’d be back so soon! I—this isn’t what it looks like—okay, maybe it is—but—”

You were already laughing, shaking your head as you closed the door behind you. “Peter, you’re literally sitting there with your dick in your hand, and you’re trying to say ‘this isn’t what it looks like’? Seriously?”

He groaned, flopping back on the bed with his face buried in his hands. “This is so embarrassing. Please, can we just pretend this never happened?”

You grinned, walking over to the edge of the bed. “No way, Parker. You’re never living this down.” You sat down next to him, poking his arm. “We’ve had sex before, but seeing you like this? That’s new.”

Peter peeked through his fingers, his face bright red. “I—uh—well, I missed you…”

You bit your lip to stop from laughing again. “Yeah, I could tell. You were moaning my name, Pete. My name while jerking off.”

He groaned louder, rolling over to hide his face in the pillow. “Please stop talking…”

“Nope,” you said, pulling the pillow away from his face. “You missed me that much? You couldn’t wait for me to get back? You had to… take matters into your own hands?”

Peter let out a soft whine, rubbing his face in frustration. “I didn’t think you’d walk in on me! I thought I had more time before you got back. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All day. And I… I needed to—well, you know.”

“Clearly,” you teased, your smile widening. “You could’ve just waited. I would’ve been happy to help.”

Peter shot up, looking at you in disbelief. “Wait, really?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. “I mean, if you were that desperate, you could’ve waited until I got back home, and I could’ve taken care of it for you.”

Peter blinked, clearly flustered. “Y-you would’ve done that?”

“Uh, duh? I'm your girlfriend,” you said, leaning in a little closer, letting your voice drop teasingly. “But now you’ll never know, because you were too impatient.”

Peter’s mouth fell open, completely mortified. “You’re—oh my God, you’re evil.”

“And you love me for it,” you shot back, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips, only to have him grab your wrist before you could pull away.

“Wait,” he said, his voice low, suddenly much more serious. “You mean it? You… you’re not weirded out by this?”

Your expression softened at his question, realizing that under all the embarrassment, Peter was genuinely concerned about what you thought. “Peter, no. It’s not weird. I mean, yeah, it was a little shocking walking in on you like that, but… it’s kind of flattering, you know? Knowing you were thinking about me like that.” You gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re allowed to have needs. Everyone masturbates. I just wish you’d let me help you next time.”

His eyes softened, and his grip on your wrist tightened just a bit as he pulled you toward him. “I promise I’ll wait next time,” he whispered, his voice full of affection. “I just… I missed you so much. You don’t even know.”

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing gently across his skin. “I missed you too. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed out so long…”

Peter’s eyes flicked to your lips, his voice hushed. “You could make it up to me now…”

You couldn’t help but smile as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. “Maybe I could.”

Peter’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his embarrassment melting away with every passing second. You could feel the tension in his body, the need he had been bottling up all day, and you couldn’t help but be a little smug knowing that he had been thinking of you the whole time.

When you finally pulled back for air, Peter’s forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy. “You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?” He asked, his voice breathless.

“Not a chance,” you replied, grinning against his lips. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t have to resort to handling it yourself next time.”

Peter laughed, the last bit of tension fading from his body as he hugged you close. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You pressed another kiss to his lips. “I know.”

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ‎∗

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

SOMEONE TO STAY

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: when rafe’s girlfriend doesn’t show up to his safe house during a hurricane he fears the worst, and wonders if he’ll get to tell her that he loves her.

based on this ask !! i hope this is what you wanted anon :) i wasn’t sure if you meant pogue!reader or actually meant pogue!rafe so i kept this open as to not interpret it incorrectly !!

A/N: my drew starkey & characters masterlist is here !!

WARNINGS: cursing, hurricane, fear of loved ones dying, crying, panic attack, arguments, angsty love confession, angst to fluff !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

SECOND PERSON +

The storm came fast and without mercy. What had started as a mild tropical storm rapidly intensified into a Category 4 hurricane barrelling toward the Outer Banks. Mandatory evacuation orders were issued for the Pogues and parts of the Cut, but for the Kooks in Figure Eight, the luxury of reinforced homes and private shelters meant hunkering down. The air felt thick with panic and pressure as everyone prepared for the worst.

Rafe had been at his father's old office on the more secure side of the island, trying to sort out some financial mess left behind by Ward, when the weather reports turned grim. His phone buzzed incessantly with texts and calls from people checking in or offering refuge. But Rafe didn't care about any of them.

He cared about one person.

"Y/N, just listen to me for once!" Rafe snapped, pacing the office as the storm began to howl outside. His voice was sharp, desperate even, as he tried to reason with his girlfriend. "Don't try to be a hero. Don't stop for anything. Just get in your car and come straight to the safe house. I'll meet you there."

"Rafe, I'll be fine," you said over the phone, your voice calm but firm. "I'm already on my way."

"You're sure? I can come get you. I should come get you," he pressed, running a hand through his hair. "This storm's getting worse by the second. I don't want you driving in this."

"I've got it under control," you reassured him, a smile in your tone even though he couldn't see it. "I'll see you soon."

But the second the line went dead, unease settled deep in Rafe's chest. He tried to tell himself you were capable, smart, and resourceful—qualities he loved about you. Still, that didn't stop the gnawing anxiety that clawed at him as he headed toward the safe house.

—

The drive was hellish. Rain lashed against your windshield, the wipers barely able to keep up. Floodwaters licked at the sides of the road as you maneuvered carefully toward Figure Eight. It wasn't long before you lost signal entirely, your phone cutting off mid-text to Rafe. You cursed under your breath but pressed on.

You'd been almost to the safe house when a thought struck you like lightning. Earlier that week, Rafe had been pouring over some old financial records and papers that he needed for his next move with the family business. He'd spent hours meticulously going through them, and you knew they were stored in his father's house.

Your chest tightened. If the storm destroyed everything, Rafe would lose all that work. Against better judgment, you turned onto the road leading to Tannyhill. You told yourself it wouldn't take long—just in and out.

By the time you made it to the safe house, it was well past dark, and the storm had intensified. The wind howled like a living thing, rattling the reinforced windows and slamming against the door as you stumbled in, soaked to the bone.

"Rafe?" you called, setting the plastic bag containing the saved papers down on a table. "I'm here."

It took less than ten seconds for him to appear. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled from hours of pacing. The moment his eyes landed on you, relief flickered across his face—but it was quickly replaced by something far darker.

"Where the hell have you been?" he shouted, storming toward you. His voice was a mix of anger and panic, his chest heaving as he stopped in front of you. "I've been calling you for hours! Do you have any idea—" His voice broke, and he ran a hand down his face. "I thought something happened to you."

"Rafe, I'm fine," you said, trying to placate him. "I—"

"You're not fine!" he snapped, his voice rising again. "You think this is fine? Driving through a hurricane, ignoring my calls—what were you even doing?" His eyes darted to the bag on the table, and something clicked. "You stopped for papers?"

"Rafe, I know how important they are to you—"

"Papers?" he interrupted, his voice incredulous. "You risked your life for some stupid papers?"

"They're not stupid!" you fired back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "You've been working so hard on this, and I didn't want you to lose it all."

"I don't care about the damn papers!" he yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Don't you get it? I don't care about any of that fucking shit if it means losing you!"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, his breathing growing erratic. His hands trembled as he backed away, pressing his palms to his temples. "I can't—God, I can't do this," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you were dead, Y/N. I thought I lost you out there.”

"Rafe—"

"You're all I have," he said, his voice breaking completely as tears streamed down his face. "You're all I have, and I can't lose you. I won't survive it."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the raw vulnerability in his voice leaving you momentarily stunned. You stepped toward him cautiously, reaching out to touch his arm. "Rafe, I'm here. I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm right here."

But he didn't seem to hear you, his breathing growing more rapid as he sank onto the couch. His chest heaved, and his hands gripped the edge of the cushion like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You knelt in front of him, your heart aching at the sight of him falling apart. "Rafe, look at me," you said firmly, taking his hands in yours. They were cold and clammy, shaking like leaves in the storm outside. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

He tried to match your breaths, but his body refused to cooperate. Desperation clawed at him, his gaze wild and unfocused. "I can't—I can't—"

"Yes, you can," you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. You guided one of his hands to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heartbeat. "Feel that? I'm still breathing. I'm still alive. I'm here, Rafe."

Something shifted in his eyes as he focused on the steady rhythm beneath his hand. He gripped your shirt like a lifeline, his breathing slowly evening out. "You're here," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "You're here."

"That's right," you said, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The storm raged on outside, but inside, the only sound was the quiet rise and fall of your breaths. Finally, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair. "I'm sorry for yelling. I was just so scared."

"I know," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry, too. I should've just come straight here."

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his blue eyes searching yours. "I don't say this enough—or at all—but you mean everything to me, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you. You’re my whole world. Not work, not money, not anything; you. I love you, so fucking much.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they were from something far warmer than fear. "I love you, too," you said, leaning into his touch.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms as the storm began to lose its fury. Whatever chaos the hurricane had brought, it couldn't touch the calm you found in each other.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i hope this is what you wanted anon !! this was such a cute one to write and i love me some angst to fluff😫

pls request some more angst guys !! i absolutely LOVE writing it :) and as always, likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[betterthanyalls]

hey betty wetty bo confetti

How’s about Ares x Reader in which she’s the daughter of Odysseus and and and she’s defending Telemachus & Penelope from the suitors and after getting into a fight with Antinous or however u spell his name, she meets Ares somehow?

BTW DONT FEEL PRESSURED OR FEEL THERES A TIME LIMIT - TAKE YOUR TIME 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

Okay love ya 🤩🤗

that nickname concerns me BUT HIIIII so ion know how good this is :sobs: , i made it in the span of like 2-3 hours from a burst of motivation. HERE YOU GO TAKE THIS AS A LATE BIRTHDAY PRESENT

Masterlist

Warrior's Blood

Ares x Reader

EPIC: The Musical ~ Oneshot ~ Action

Words: 1.4K

Published: 11-3-2024 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud belch sounded from the palace’s dining hall, followed by boisterous laughter and unorganized yells. The princess of Ithaca glared down the hallway while she stalked past the dining hall to her destination of the training grounds. “Men,” a loud voice called, the speaker standing up on a wooden bench, “we have been waiting for the throne for far too long. Can’t you see we are being played?”

Y/n slowed her pace, taking a peek into the crowded room to see the one suitor she hates the most speaking. Antinous. 

“I say, we take the throne. That boyish prince and his sister only stand in our way to the queen. Once we are rid of them, we shall have full access to the crown." Cheers and yells followed quickly. The onlooking royalty sneered in disgust. Normally, Y/n would only walk away and tell her mother about the new plan, but something inside her felt different—an urge to fight, a need for conflict. 

Taking a step into the light of the hall, Y/n cleared her throat.

“What would my mother think of this? Threatening to kill both of her children and then seizing her by force?" Y/n had to keep from gagging, not only at the idea of their threat but also the horrid stench of the room. 

Antinous turned to the princess with a look of pure murder and flame.

“Well, if it isn’t the weak girl. If you speak even a word of our plan, I will rip you limb from limb so you can meet your father in the underworld,” he stalked towards the younger girl with a vicious grin. “Now that I’ve thought about it, how about we begin that plan now? Starting with you.”

Y/n was wise enough to duck down, blocking an oncoming punch, only to be nailed in the gut with his knee. Falling to the ground with a sharp gasp, she was pulled to her feet by her hair. “Come on, girlie. You had the strength before to challenge me; where is it now? You’re as weak as your father.”

Staggering and getting out of his grasp, she pulled up a loose fighting position. The princess narrowed her eyes at Antinous’ insults while taking steps back to match his steps forward. Y/n tried to find some sort of strategy to take him down, like how Telemachus taught her. Her brother would always say to fight with wisdom, but there was no wisdom anywhere near this fight. Strategy only works if your opponent has strategy too. Antinous was anything but a planned fighter. 

So with her next best option, Y/n grabbed a nearby vase and chucked it at her rival's head. She missed, making Antinous even more angry. With a yell, a foot made contact with her stomach, throwing the princess to the floor and her head hitting a pillar. Pain shot through her entire body as she struggled to regain her breath. 

‘So, I did this easily. Thanks for the amazing lessons, Tele.’ Her mind wandered, forgetting about her approaching opponent as she took a glance at a nearby wall. There, up high, hung a tapestry by her mother. The twelve Olmpyians were displayed with divine glory. Glory that could help Y/n not die, if only they saw her. With nothing left to lose, the princess sent up a silent prayer before deciding to help herself.

With much pain and huffs, Y/n managed to stand on her feet once more with a sway.

Antinous offered a loud laugh, ricocheting off the stone walls.

“You just can’t stay down, can you? Do you not want to see Odysseus in Hades?”

“Don’t you dare speak my father's name,” she hissed through gritted teeth. She leaned onto the pillar with one hand while her other held her hurt stomach. Something other than pain burned inside her—a yearning to see him hurt, to see Antinous suffer. 

A new energy boosted her body; her muscles didn’t feel as sore, and the pain was dissipating. Deciding not to question this, Y/n dodged another punch aimed for her jaw. With fast footing, she grabbed a spear off the wall beside her and countered another punch.

Antinous grabbed the spear to rip it from Y/n’s grasp. Quickly, Y/n pulled the spear closer to her and kicked Antinous in the ribs. Instead of knocking him down, he only stumbled back. 

‘Left’ A voice spoke in her mind. Y/n was about to question the order until she noticed Antinous barreling towards her and instantly followed the demanded direction. 

Dodging a swipe of his sword, the princess swung her spear down at the man's knees, causing him to trip. Looking down to where he fell, a sudden push of rage flowed through her veins.

‘Blood’

She didn’t need to hear the voice again to know exactly what to do. With momentum, Y/n brought the weapons head down into Anitnous’ thigh, earning a scream from the male. She ripped the weapon from his flesh only to bring it down once more with another bloody cry. Her thoughts seemed barren except for a new order from the unknown voice. 

‘Stop’

That order only seemed to boost her adrenaline. Stop? She couldn’t. Not with all this pent-up anger and frustration she felt for Antinous. Y/n needed to make him learn where he stood as a guest in her kingdom. But as she raised her spear once more, the voice barked a command louder and all her pain and exhaustion rushed in.

‘STOP’

In an instant, her spear clattered to the floor as Y/n held her head with a groan. Antinous was being tended to by his fellow suitors, who had opted to stay on the sidelines. With labored breaths, Y/n managed to stumble away from the dining hall and towards the empty training grounds. 

Exhausted, she slumped to the sandy floor and leaned her back against a rack of swords. Her eyes shut against the glaring sun as the royal attempted to regain her breath. To her pleasure, the heat was blocked by a sudden shadow. The young adult cracked open her eyes to see a darkened figure wearing the full armor of a Spartan soldier. A mixture of emotions flooded into her soul as she recognized the nation's armor. Was this news of her father from serving beside the Spartans? But her hope was snuffed out as the familiar voice spoke.

“Stand up.”

She wanted to argue, but something in her felt compelled to follow the instructions. So, shakily, Y/n stood up in front of the warrior. From a new angle, she could see the stranger's identity. All breath escaped her lungs as she recognized the being from similar statues and paintings.

“Ares.”

The god, who towered over her with his divine form, smirked at the recognition.

“Indeed. I’ve seen your skill, princess of Ithaca. You fight well,” the god of war stalked around the girl in a circle, seeing her state after the fight. 

Finally, the two pieces connected in her mind as she turned to face him.

“It was you. The voice. The orders. That was all you.”

“You follow orders well, except for when you’re told to stop. I like that sort of fight.” Ares stood tall, power and bloodlust radiating off him as his armor seemed to brighten a bloody red in the sun’s light.

“Why’d you stop me anyway? You are the god of bloodlust, are you not? I could’ve killed him and solved the whole problem!” Y/n argued, upset at the missed opportunity.

“Have you forgotten the laws of hospitality? You would have been punished harshly by the gods had I let you continue. Not even I can defy those.” He glared down at her with warning. In response, she looked away with a defeated huff.

“Why’d you even help me then?” She grumbled, looking at the nearby swords; a few training weapons had begun to rust from limited use. 

"You have the ambition needed for the battlefield. Why would I let such skill go to waste with no proper mentor?” This caused Y/n to look at him instantly in shock, meeting the gaze of a grinning god beneath his helmet.

“Mentor?” 

“Y/n of Ithaca. You fight to protect. You fight to the last stand. That is a warrior’s blood. Like your father before you, you have the makings of a legend.” Ares held out his hand like he was shaking for a deal. “Become my champion, and I will help you become stronger than any opponent you shall face.” 

Y/n thought it over for less than a few seconds before grabbing the gods hand in her own and shaking them up and down. 

“Deal.”

[bed-chemist]

ommmmg can u write something with nicolas being a new dad x reader wife 🙏🙏🙏 maybe them visiting his family during a short trip and him being sooooooo daddyyyy 😭😭 after seeing him in those GH pic with this baby …. 🥵😮‍💨 i just need a dad imagines with him since there isn’t any

❝Juno❞

─⋆♡ summary: You’re married to Nicholas Chavez and you bring your newborn baby to meet his grandparents.

─⋆♡ warnings: pregnancy, postpartum depression, fluff, allusions to sex but no smut, Daddy!Nicholas Chavez, Y/N used a few times, 1st person POV. as always i’m always learning so correct me if i missed something!!

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask & shoutout to that person because this was super sweet to write. there’s no public info on his parents and i felt weird looking for it so here’s some Chavez grandparents content. since this may be your introduction to me, i do write in first person, just inserting Y/N. 2nd and 3rd person are absolutely insufferable to me and make me wanna die. with that being said, i’m glad there’s no shortage of those fics on this website. my masterlist is the pinned post on my profile and i hope you all enjoy this imagine! ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

The journey to Nicholas’ grandparents’ house is filled with quiet anticipation. We haven’t visited in a while, not since Colette was born. I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of introducing Colette to her great-grandparents, Nick SR and Betty. Nicholas always speaks of them with such affection, often recounting tales from his childhood spent at their cozy home. They were instrumental in raising him, and their influence is deeply ingrained in who he’s become. Now, I’m eager to see how they’ll respond to our little family, especially to me as a new mother.

The sun is high in the sky as we pull into the gravel driveway, which crunches under the tires. The house is a charming, white colonial-style home with flower boxes beneath the windows, bursting with vibrant blooms. It looks like something out of a postcard—quaint and welcoming. Nicholas squeezes my hand as he turns off the car.

“You ready for this?” he asks, his brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

I smile, though my heart races. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond unwilling to let his hand go for the last time.

I eventually gain enough strength to go a second without touching him. We both step out of the car, and I unbuckle Colette from her car seat, carefully lifting her into my arms. She’s dressed in a soft, pastel onesie with tiny flowers embroidered on the front. Her big espresso colored eyes, so much like Nicholas’, blink up at me as she squirms a little in my hold. I kiss her soft forehead, breathing in that sweet baby scent that always seems to calm my nerves.

Before we even reach the front door, it flies open, and Betty appears on the porch. Her face lights up in a radiant smile as she hurries down the steps toward us. She’s a small woman, but she moves with surprising speed and agility, her silver hair tied back in a loose bun.

“There she is! Oh, it’s about time!” Betty exclaims, ignoring Nicholas entirely as she comes straight for me and Colette. Her arms are wide open, and she pulls me into a hug, careful not to crush the baby between us. “You, my darling, look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you. And this precious girl…” Her voice trails off as she gazes at Colette with shining eyes. “Oh, she’s just perfect.”

I laugh softly, returning her hug. “I’ve missed you, Mrs. Betty and thank you.”

Betty steps back, her hands still on my arms, her attention fully on Colette. “No, thank you! You brought another little angel into our family,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve made me the happiest great-grandmother.”

Nicholas, standing off to the side, grins as he watches the scene unfold. “Hey, Grandma,” he chimes in, clearly amused. “Good to see you too.”

Betty waves a hand in his direction without even glancing his way. “Yes, yes, Nicholas. We’ll get to you in a minute.” Her eyes shimmer as she reaches out to gently stroke Colette’s chubby cheek. “She’s absolutely precious,” she coos. “She looks just like Nicholas did when he was a baby.”

Just then, Nicholas’ grandfather steps out onto the porch, his tall frame casting a shadow as he approaches us. His blue eyes light up when he sees me holding Colette. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite girl,” he says with a warm grin, pulling me into a quick hug before peering down at Colette. “And look at this—another beauty in the family. You’ve done well,” he adds, giving Nicholas a nod of approval before clapping him on the shoulder.

“Well she is 50% of me so…” Nicholas’s twinge of jealousy for his favorite girls peeks out.

“Oh, hush, Nicholas,” Betty replies, waving a hand at him dismissively before turning to me again. “Come on, dear, let’s get you inside. You must be exhausted after the drive. And you must let me hold this precious girl as soon as you’re settled.”

Inside the house, the smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the air, mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers. The living room is cozy and welcoming, filled with family photos and knick-knacks that speak of years of love and memories. There are pictures of Nick as a little boy, his brother, and even one of us on our wedding day.

Betty leads us to the couch, offering to take Colette for a little while so I can rest. “She’s such a calm baby,” Betty remarks as she cradles Colette in her arms. “I remember Nicholas being a little firecracker at this age—always kicking and fussing. But you, my dear, are an angel, aren’t you?” she coos, her voice full of love as Colette blinks up at her.

Nick Sr. settles into an armchair nearby, watching with a contented smile. “Betty’s right,” he says, his voice warm. “Nick was a handful. Always running around and getting into trouble. I don’t know how we managed to keep up with him.”

Nicholas chuckles, settling beside me on the couch and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve heard those stories a few times.”

“I bet you have,” Betty says, her eyes twinkling. “But look at you now—such a wonderful father and husband. We’re so proud of you.”

My heart swells at their words, and I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. It’s clear how much they love Nicholas and how deeply they cherish their family. Their affection extends to me as well, making me feel welcomed in a way that eases the nervousness I had felt earlier.

Betty carefully passes Colette back to me, and I can’t help but notice how her eyes linger on us—on the way I hold my daughter, the way Colette nuzzles into me. After a moment, she glances at Nick Sr., sharing a look that seems to speak volumes.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Betty says suddenly, rising from her seat with a bright smile. “We have something to show you.”

She disappears into another room, returning moments later with a large, leather-bound photo album. She hands it to Nicholas with a wide grin. “These are pictures of you when you were about Colette’s age. I thought it’d be fun to compare.”

Nicholas takes the album and begins flipping through the pages, his eyes lighting up as he sees the photos. “Oh wow,” he says, pointing to a picture of himself as a baby, bundled in a blanket. “Look at that, she really does look like me.”

I lean over to see the photo, and sure enough, the resemblance is striking. Colette has inherited her father’s dark hair and expressive eyes, and there’s something about the way she smiles that’s undeniably Nicholas Chavez.

Betty beams. “She’s got that same spark in her eyes that you had. And those cheeks! I could pinch them all day.”

I can’t help but smile as Nicholas flips through more photos—Nicholas as a toddler, covered in mud from head to toe; Nicholas on his first day of school, looking serious and determined; Nicholas holding a toy sword, pretending to be a knight. It’s clear that his grandparents were there for all of it, capturing every moment with care.

“Look at this one,” Nicholas says, laughing as he holds up a picture of himself as a toddler, sitting in a high chair with spaghetti sauce smeared all over his face.

Betty chuckles. “You loved spaghetti. Still do, if I remember correctly.”

As we continue to flip through the album, Betty excuses herself and motions for me to follow her into the kitchen. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what she wants to talk about, but her kind smile reassures me.

Once we’re alone, she turns to me, her expression soft and full of understanding. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re doing a wonderful job, Y/N,” she says, her voice gentle. “Being a new mom is hard, and it can feel overwhelming sometimes. But from what I’ve seen, you’re handling it beautifully.”

I feel a lump form in my throat at her words, the unexpected kindness bringing a surge of emotion. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “It’s been… challenging at times. I have moments where I wonder if I’m doing it right.”

Betty reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “Those moments of doubt are normal. Every mother feels them. But you have such a natural way with Colette. She feels safe and loved with you—that’s the most important thing.”

I nod, blinking back tears. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like I should be able to do more. I get so tired, and Nick’s been amazing, but…” I trail off, stopping myself from revealing my biggest insecurities.

Betty’s eyes soften even more. “It’s okay to ask for help, dear. You don’t have to do it all on your own. If you ever need anything—advice, a break, someone to talk to—you can always come to me. I’m here for you, and so is Nicholas. We’re all family now,” she offers.

Her words wrap around me like a comforting embrace, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of relief. “Thank you,” I whisper, grateful beyond words.

Betty smiles and gives my hand another gentle squeeze. “You’re doing wonderfully. Just remember to take care of yourself too, okay?”

I nod, my heart swelling with appreciation for this woman who has welcomed me into her family with open arms. As we walk back into the living room, I feel lighter, the weight of my doubts lifting just a little.

Nicholas looks up as we enter, his eyes softening as they meet mine. “Everything okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly in concern.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Everything’s perfect.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, Betty leans forward with a warm smile, her hands clasped in her lap. “It’s been so wonderful having you all here today,” she says, her eyes soft as she looks between Nicholas, me, and Colette. “Why don’t you stay the night? It’s been far too long since we’ve had a full house, and we’d love the chance to spend more time with you.”

Nicholas turns to me, his voice gentle as he asks, “What do you think? We don’t have anywhere to rush off to, and it would give me a break from driving back tonight.”

I hesitate for a moment, weighing the offer. I think about Colette’s bedtime routine, the packed bags in the car, and my own exhaustion. But as I glance around at the warmth of the house, Nick’s grandparents’ eager faces, and the calmness that seems to settle over everything, I feel myself relax. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a change of scenery, and the idea of spending more time here—surrounded by family—sounds like exactly what I need.

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, smiling at Betty. “Thank you. We’d love to stay.”

Betty’s face lights up, and Nick Sr. nods with a wide grin. “Perfect,” he says. “We’ve got the guest room ready, and I can set up the bassinet in the guest room next to it. It’ll be like old times, having a little one in the house again.”

Betty stands, already making her way toward the kitchen. “I’ll put some tea on for later. You two make yourselves at home.”

Nicholas squeezes my hand, a smile spreading across his face. “See? It’s going to be a nice, quiet night—just us, Colette, and the best grandparents ever.”

The evening unfolds comfortably from there. Betty and Nick Sr. share stories about Nick’s childhood over cups of tea, their voices light with laughter and nostalgia. As the night deepens, we finally make our way to the guest room. It’s cozy and inviting, with a soft bedspread, and warm lighting.

Colette falls asleep easily after nursing, making for an easy bedtime routine. Nicholas and I kiss her on the forehead goodnight once we’ve got her situated in the bassinet. We separate briefly to prep for bed and when I’m finished, I crack open the door to the en-suite bathroom.

Nicholas looks up from a script, setting it to the side of the bedside table. My feet patter over to him and he pulls back the duvet for me to climb in. “I’m so tired,” I note as I slide between the sheets.

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to his body. “I know, baby. Maybe my grandparents will watch her in the morning so we can sleep in,” he theorizes lowly, but I can still feel the bass of his voice rumbling from his chest into my back.

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter closed. It’s been an emotional day, and I’m ready for sleep. “It’s okay if they can’t. I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he breathes out with his lips kissing my ear one last time.

My body lets me drift into sleep, hearing nothing but Nicholas’ breathing and the faint sound of crickets outside. But that peace is eventually interrupted by the familiar sound of Colette’s soft cry filling the quiet room.

I blink awake, momentarily disoriented, unsure of where I am. The dimly lit room feels unfamiliar, and for a brief, groggy moment, I can’t remember how we ended up here. But then the memories come rushing back—the visit to Nick’s grandparents, Betty’s kind words, the warmth of the evening.

With a heavy sigh, I sit up in bed, my body aching with fatigue. I haven’t gotten nearly enough sleep, and Colette’s cries, though soft, feel like they’re pulling me out of the little bit of rest I’ve managed. The sheets feel cold, and for the first time tonight, I realize Nick’s arms aren’t wrapped around me as they usually are.

The bed dips beneath me, and I hear the soft thud of feet padding across the floor. “Shit,” Nicholas mutters under his breath as he comes into view. I lift my head, watching him groggily fumble with the baby monitor to turn down the volume.

His chocolate tinted eyes meet mine in the dimly lit room, his face softened with a sleepy smile. “I got it, baby. Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice thick and gravelly.

I don’t resist as my head falls back onto the pillow. Nicholas tucks the duvet around my shoulders, his touch warm and reassuring, and leans down to kiss my forehead before slipping out of the room.

As my eyes flutter shut once again, I can’t help but feel immense gratitude for him—for understanding, for seeing me. Nicholas has always been an amazing partner, but since Colette was born, something has deepened. Maybe it's the way he’s embraced fatherhood, those tender daddy traits emerging in him day by day.

I don’t know how long I drift in and out of sleep before the bed dips once more. This time, I turn over to face Nicholas, only to find him kneeling on top of the duvet, cradling Colette in his arms. He gently rocks her, and his brown eyes, full of apology, meet mine. “I'm sorry, babe,” he says softly. “She’s hungry, and I checked the fridge and my Grandma must’ve given her the rest. We’re out of pumped milk,” he gives his valid reason for disturbing me.

With a tired sigh, I push myself up, scooting back against the headboard. “It’s okay,” I reply, motioning for Nicholas to hand Colette to me. “It’s not your fault I don’t pump fast enough for her.”

Nicholas shifts closer, still kneeling, his eyes warm with reassurance. “It’s not your fault either, baby girl,” he says tenderly. “You’re doing everything right. She’s just got my appetite, that’s all.”

Nick’s words bring a smile to my face as I take our little girl in my arms, feeling the love and support that radiates from him. Colette’s small body relaxes the moment she’s nestled in my arms, and I adjust my position to help her latch on. Instinctively, her tiny mouth finds its way, and I feel that familiar pull as she begins to nurse. The room is quiet now, save for the soft sounds of her feeding and the gentle rustle of the duvet as Nicholas shifts beside me, sitting back in his spot where he just laid.

The weight of exhaustion still presses heavily on my body, but there's something calming about this moment—something intimate and grounding. Colette’s little hand rests against my skin, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling as she nurses. Despite the tiredness, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.

Nicholas watches us, his expression soft and filled with admiration. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his touch tender. "You’re amazing, you know that?" he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath in the dark.

I smile faintly, my heart swelling at his words, but before I can respond, he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don’t tell you enough how much I love you... both of you." His gaze flickers to Colette, his eyes warm and full of adoration. "Watching you with her... seeing how strong you are, how much you give every day. You’ve made me the luckiest man in the world, Y/N."

His words sink into me, wrapping around my heart like a warm blanket. The weight of my earlier guilt begins to lift, replaced by the quiet assurance that I’m not alone in this. We’re a team, navigating the highs and lows together.

"I love you too," I murmur, my voice thick with emotion as I glance down at Colette, her soft breaths steady against me. "And I’m so grateful for you. I couldn’t do this without you."

Nicholas leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, lingering for a moment as if sealing the promise of his words. "You’re the best mom, you know that? And she’s lucky to have you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin.

I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his presence and feeling the steady rhythm of Colette’s nursing. In this moment, the exhaustion, the doubts, and the guilt of my postpartum depression fade into the background, leaving only the love we share—the love that brought Colette into our lives.

Nicholas settles back into bed beside me, his hand resting gently on my leg, a silent reminder that we’re in this together. And as Colette’s soft suckling continues, I let myself fully relax.

Once Colette finishes nursing, her tiny body grows limp in my arms, signaling she’s drifted back to sleep. I carefully adjust her, cradling her small frame against my chest. Nicholas is still sitting beside me, his hand never leaving my leg, his eyes filled with the kind of tenderness that makes my heart swell.

“Do you want me to take her?” Nicholas asks softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

I nod, and with practiced gentleness, he scoops her up and places her between us on the bed. Colette barely stirs, her little hands curling up by her face as she nestles into the space between us. The sight of her lying there, so peaceful and content, brings a soft smile to my lips. My body involuntarily slides down and I stoke her cheek with the back of my finger.

Nick lays down with his head propped up in one arm, the other sliding around me. But as I gaze at Colette sleeping peacefully between us, a small wave of anxiety creeps in. What if we roll over onto her during the night? My breath hitches slightly, and I turn my head toward him.

Nicholas immediately senses my concern and shifts closer, his hand coming to rest gently on my cheek. "Hey, don't worry," he says softly, his voice reassuring. "I’ve got her. We’ve got her. I won’t let anything happen." His thumb brushes against my skin as he speaks, his gaze steady and full of calm. "I’ve read up on this, remember? She’s safe with us. We’re light sleepers, and we’re both hyper-aware she’s here. I’ll make sure we’re careful."

I nod, though the worry still lingers. Nicholas leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You won’t roll over on her. I won’t either. Trust me, baby. And if you’re still worried, I can take her back to the bassinet,” he assures me.

I glance down at Colette, her tiny chest rising and falling, completely at ease between us. There’s something comforting about her being so close, something I don’t want to give up. "No," I say softly, shaking my head. "I want her here with us. I just... I get nervous sometimes,” I admit to him, the concerns laced with my postpartum depression symptoms.

"I know," he murmurs. "But you’re not alone in this. We’re doing it together, okay? She’s safe. We’ll keep her safe,” he promises.

His warmth and the calm assurance in his voice help to ease the anxiety a little, and I let out a slow breath. I snuggle closer to him, nestling my head in the crook of his neck. "Thank you," I whisper.

Nicholas kisses the top of my head, his hand stroking Colette’s tiny arm before returning it to my waist. “I used to dream about this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You, me, and a baby… just lying here like this, all together.” His eyes shine in the dim light, filled with a quiet wonder. “I’d imagine what it would feel like, how perfect it would be. But this... this is even better than I imagined.”

His words sink deep into my chest, filling me with warmth. I glance down at Colette, her chest rising and falling steadily between us, and I feel a wave of contentment wash over me. “I’m glad too. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed,” I whisper back.

Nick’s thumb rubs gentle circles over the exposed skin on my side, and for a while, we lie there in comfortable silence, both of us watching Colette sleep. I feel the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of his body, and I can’t help but think about our future—about the life we’re building together.

After a while, I glance up at Nick, my voice soft but curious. “Do you ever think about… having another one? Another baby, I mean.”

His reaction is immediate. His brown eyes light up, the glint of excitement undeniable. He grins, that boyish, playful smile I fell in love with, and there’s no hesitation in his voice. “Oh, absolutely. I thought one of you was cute, but two though? Didn’t think I could handle it. But now that I’ve experienced it, I want three of you as soon as possible,” he rambles.

I laugh softly, both amused and surprised by his enthusiasm. “Three of us, huh?” I ask to clarify he’s not drunk on love.

“Yeah, babe,” he says, his hand moving to stroke Colette’s tiny hand before trailing over my arm. “We could start trying as soon as possible. I mean, why wait? We make great babies together,” he jokes and I stifle a laugh to not wake up our sleeping child.

His grin turns mischievous as he leans in closer, his voice dropping a little lower. “We could even try out some freaky positions this time… you know, spice things up.”

I roll my eyes playfully, shaking my head at him, though my heart flutters at his words. “That’s all you, God bless your dad’s genetics,” I tease, eyeing him with a smirk.

Nicholas chuckles, clearly enjoying my response, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes too—a real desire to keep building this life together. “I’m serious though,” he murmurs, his hand moving to rest on my waist. “I want more of this. More of us. I want a whole bunch of mini versions of you running around, driving me crazy in the best way.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting, and I feel a flush of warmth spread through me. I lean closer, letting my fingers trace over his arm. “You’re really ready for another one, huh?”

Nick’s gaze locks with mine, intense but full of love. “Yeah, Y/N. I don’t just want another one. I want a whole football team of kids with you. As soon as you’re ready,” he says firmly.

I bite my lip, considering his words, feeling the quiet excitement bubbling up inside me. “I might just let you lock me down tonight,” I tease, my voice soft but playful.

His eyes darken slightly, that same spark of mischief flickering in them. “Oh, baby, don’t tempt me,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a lingering kiss against my lips.

I pull back slightly, laughing against his mouth. “Let’s not rush it,” I whisper, even though my hormones are raging at the thought. “But... I do love the idea of growing our little family,” I add to soften the blow of sex denial.

Nicholas grins again, his arm pulling me closer as Colette sleeps peacefully between us. “Then let’s make it happen,” he says softly. “One more baby… and then another after that, we can talk again. I just know I want it all with you. Every first word and every first day of school, my love.”

I smile, resting my head on his shoulder, letting the warmth of his words and the future he envisions wash over me. “One step at a time,” I murmur, though the idea is already taking root in my mind, the thought of more little ones filling our home with love.

As we lay there, cuddling around Colette, the future feels wide open—and incredibly full of promise. The room is quiet, the soft hum of the night surrounding us, and as we lay there, I feel the steady rise and fall of Nick’s chest beneath my palms.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. I smile softly, my body already succumbing to sleep as I whisper back,

“Goodnight, Nicholas. I love you,” I murmur, never getting tired of reminding him.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice full of warmth and certainty. “Both of my girls.”

With that, the last thing I feel is the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of Colette’s breathing between us, and the overwhelming sense of love that wraps around the three of us, pulling us into the soft cocoon of sleep.

The next time I stir awake, it’s to the feeling of the sun shining on my face. Nicholas’ familiar presence is next to me, his body relaxed as he leans back against the headboard. I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the slight rustle of pages as he quietly reads. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the comfort of having him close.

But something is wrong.

I don’t feel Colette.

The tiny body that was nestled between us is gone, and in an instant, a wave of cold panic floods my chest. My breath catches, and my heart starts to pound, my worst fear bubbling to the surface. Oh God, did I roll over her? Did we…?

My eyes snap open, and I sit up abruptly, frantically scanning the bed. My hands reach out, patting the mattress in blind desperation as my breath quickens. Where is she? My mind spirals into worst-case scenarios, and my pulse races faster with each second I can’t find her.

Nicholas looks up from his script, his brow furrowing as he notices my panic. “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?” His voice is calm, but I can hear the concern lacing his words.

“Colette,” I breathe, my voice barely a whisper as the fear clutches at me. “She’s not here, Nick. I—where is she?”

Nicholas immediately places his script aside and sits up, reaching for me. His hands find my shoulders, grounding me. “Babe, she’s fine,” he says gently, his voice steady, though I can see the alarm in his eyes as he realizes why I’m panicking. “Grandma has her. She came in earlier to take her so you could rest. She’s with her now, probably showing her off to her knitting group. Everything’s okay.”

I stare at Nicholas, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through me, but the words slowly sink in. Colette isn’t in danger. She’s not here because Betty took her.

I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my chest as the fear begins to ebb away. “I thought… I woke up and she wasn’t there. I thought we—” My voice falters, not even wanting to finish the thought.

Nicholas pulls me into his arms, holding me close. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you to tell you, but you looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you,” he apologizes profusely.

I nod against Nick’s chest, the tension finally loosening from my body as I cling to him. “I just… that’s what I’ve been afraid of, rolling over her in our sleep,” I admit.

“I know,” Nicholas murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “But I would never let that happen. I swear that to you,” he adds.

I take a deep breath, letting the warmth of his embrace steady me. My pulse slows down, and the overwhelming panic that had gripped me starts to dissipate, leaving me feeling drained. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Y/N,” Nicholas says, his hand gently stroking my back. “You’re a mom. It’s normal to worry, but I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

I pull back slightly, meeting his eyes that are full of understanding. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice still shaky but filled with gratitude.

Nicholas smiles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Get some more rest, okay? Grandma’s got Colette covered.”

I nod, feeling the last remnants of panic finally fade. I glance at his script beside him and give a tired smile. “You’re memorizing lines this early?” I pry.

He chuckles. “Just passing the time until you woke up. But you come first,” he vows.

I sink back into the pillows, the warmth of Nicholas beside me a comforting presence now that the fear has passed. As I close my eyes, the world feels right again. Colette is safe, Nicholas is here, and I let myself relax fully for the first time since waking up. The panic has faded into the background, leaving only the steady hum of reassurance from my husband beside me.

[vervainandspritz]

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: drinking, swearing, feelings, friends to lovers trope kind of

Notes: Guys thanks for 400 follows love y'all

Was it possible to get used to a life so bizarrely unusual and different to find it… peaceful? Feeling her lungs fill out with fresh air when in reality every piece of clothing Y/N owned was sprinkled with ash of the wild flame that the Shelby family was?

People were scared of getting burned, naturally. Fading in and out of her life as soon as they'd find out she was associated with Peaky blinders.

At first it bothered her, oh, so much. That people didn't see a thing about her besides her association. Now, she was years into the strange peace she found in one of the most dangerous cities in Britain, with a gun settled in her hand so frequently it fit better than the several sets of leather gloves she owned.

A matter running so deep in her mind, she found herself touching it over and over, sometimes with a glimmer in her eyes.

…or like that day, sitting in the Garrison with her gaze fixated on a glass in her hand. Mentally fiddling with the churning in her stomach as his blue eyes filled her head all over again. The room was as loud as ever, accompanied by both men and women in questionable states of sobriety, laughs and conversations that didn't matter. Not one bit.

An upcoming weekend allowed people of Birmingham to loosen up, shake off the tension from the hard work they've been holding in their tired bones.

Nobody seemed to notice when the door swung open, allowing cold air of a Friday night to seep in. Nobody but her.

Footsteps echoed quietly, going unnoticed in the loud crowd but Y/N knew exactly who came in despite her eyes remaining on her glass of rum.

”Y/N, what do you think about him?” A voice came to her ears suddenly, a slight nudge to her side bringing her out of the weird state.

”Hmm?” She asked before quickly glancing at her friend, gaze looking for clues as to not show her disinterest. Emily rolled her eyes with a sigh, dramatically slumping her shoulders.

”Don’t tell me you just zoned out, again, after I just spent five minutes explaining the matter.” She raised her eyebrows while her blue eyes narrowed for a moment before she sighed again. ”Alright. You're lucky I can't be mad at you. What's wrong?” Y/N’s demeanour seemed to be a little different than usual, and knowing her for so long, Emily immediately picked on it.

Okay, maybe not immediately, she thought, but eventually she got there.

Y/N cleared her throat, a chuckle pushing past her lips before she pushed her glass away.

”Nothing really. I haven't eaten much today, and alcohol hit me harder than usual.” Came out of her mouth so smoothly, despite being just partially true.

”And it absolutely doesn't have anything to do with the pack of wolves you surround yourself with, does it?”

Just like that Y/N loosened up again, laughing at the way Emily always so easily joked about them so lightheartedly, as nobody else would dare. ”Speaking of the devil” she added with a smirk, glancing towards the door. ”Yours just appeared. Right on time as well, because I need to wrap it up and go home. Betty refuses to sleep when I'm not home.” Y/N sighed, feeling bad for not paying attention before Emily had to leave.

”Of course,” She nodded, ”Arthur will drive you home” Y/N said, as usual but Emily shook her head while making a funny face.

”Absolutely not! Send the younger one. Arthur can't seem to understand I'm married,” She rolled her eyes with a giggle as she nudged Y/N’s side. ”I’ll wait outside”

As the taller woman walked away, Y/N threw back the remaining liquor and took a deep breath before she got up, looking around.

Before she spotted the Shelby brothers, she felt a heavy gaze on her back which admittedly made things easier. Turning around, her eyes met Tommy's from the other side of the room. He was sober while she clearly already had a few, her gaze a bit softer around the edges. Making her way to their table, she took a deep breath once again.

”John,” Y/N greeted him first with a smile, “would you kindly drive Emily home tonight?” her speech came out a little smoother than usual, tension from her voice long gone which showed her state, already a bit softened by alcohol.

“I don't mind driving her,” Arthur abruptly interjected.

“No, no that's all right Art you're in no state to drive clearly.” She stated firmly with a hint of humour in her voice. His brows shot up.

”I just had ONE drink! Are you mad?” He asked pretentiously with a huff, making John laugh.

”Seems like you need to try harder, aye!” The younger brother chuckled before getting up and standing by Y/N.

”Sure thing, Darling, but you owe me a drink” He winked, making her roll her eyes playfully.

”Sure thing” She repeated, mockingly.

”Someone already had a few” Tommy interjected suddenly, a hint of teasing in his voice, but one only Y/N could pick up on.

”Oh, and you're here as well” She replied, her gaze meeting his once again with that mischievous glimmer. ”Found time to spend among us, Mr. Shelby?”

Thomas watched her for a moment before slowly but surely one corner of his lips twitched in sort of a smirk.

”Sit down before I kick you out of my pub, eh?” He patted the free space where John was sitting just a few moments ago.

And so she did, ignoring his comment while pouring herself a glass of whisky with a smirk. One thing that never changed between them were their verbal skirmishes. Ever since the young blue eyed boy chased her with a stick dipped in the mud, devilishly proud of himself while at it.

Arthur kept mumbling to himself about the unfairness of the situation, unserious as ever. Pouring himself another drink, he glanced at Y/N, feeling her amused look on him.

”Don’t need me as a driver, so let the man be, would you?” He threw in a snarky remark with a hint of amusement, to which she lifted her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

”Wouldn’t dare to tell you what to do, old man”

a smirk slowly spread on his face and so the game began all over again. Soon John came back along with other Blinders crowding the table as they drank, talked and had fun just like always while making sure everything in the pub was going just fine.

Y/N’s nonchalant, easygoing aura was strong as ever when Tommy's eyes drifted towards her every now and then. Time was passing by quickly when they had fun simultaneously drinking.

Nights like these were secretly meaningful to all the Shelby's, giving them space and time to forget for a little while about the heavy responsibilities and dangers of their day to day life. It was one of the instances where people could see Tommy slightly let his guard down as the alcohol affected his mind, causing him to behave more freely in a less controlled environment.

A lazy smile appeared on Y/N’s face as she chuckled listening to the colourful stories, obviously enhanced into dramatic details to be more entertaining. She liked seeing them like this, these fleeting moments of freedom making each of the men by the table turn into these young boys she used to know long years ago without the scarring of life they all carried nowadays.

Reaching for a pack of cigarettes sitting on the table, Y/N plucked one for Tommy, putting it into his hand out of habit without even thinking. One of those things she'd do even under the influence, with her better judgement clouded almost completely.

Without looking at her, Tommy put it between his lips, reaching for matches to light her cigarette before his own. The gestures were so natural nobody even noticed.

Putting the little box back on a table, Thomas let his hand fall down, landing on her thigh as his fingers began slowly stroking her soft skin mindlessly as he spoke to Isaiah across the table.

Her eyes drifted briefly on his face, grazing over his strong features and the way his lips remained formed in a relaxed smile as he spoke when suddenly another person got her attention.

A man in the background, about ten feet away from them, stood with a woman, kissing her cheek as she hugged him quickly before disappearing in the crowd.

His familiar features and cocky grin immediately sparked her interest, as she recognised Paul, a good friend of hers who happened to be delivering ingredients to her bakery everyday.

Seeing her, he moved closer before finally standing by the table.

“Evening, Y/N” He spoke up, nodding towards the men who quickly realized he was familiar with her, so not a bother. ”Care to go for a smoke with me?” He suggested, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. His light hair dishevelled, eyes shiny from the small amount of alcohol he had as well.

Tommy's hand remained on her thigh, only slipping away as she moved towards the exit.

”Lead the way” She responded, grabbing her coat as well as her eyes briefly met John's who was clearly having a good time tormenting her whenever a man would show any interest.

”See you tomorrow then, aye, Y/N?” John called after her with mischief in his voice followed by a chuckle from Arthur.

She just shook her head with amusement before they disappeared through the door.

Tommy straightened his back, reaching for another cigarette to light, nodding to Isaiah to pour another drink.

”Well..” John started off, clearing his throat, ”At least someone gets some action today” elbowing his brother to the side he laughed, reminding Arthur of the failure in pursuing Emily. One of many.

”Already told you to fuck off, didn't I?” He responded, rolling his eyes before shoving him back.

Tommy remained quiet, his mood taking a hit from Y/N’s abrupt exit with another fella. His emotions usually kept at bay, now strengthened by the alcohol, grew to an alarming size in his head.

Throwing back another glass of whisky he relaxed into the seat once again, barely listening to the conversation as he zoned out, consumed by his contradictory thoughts.

Not long after he decided enough was enough, raising from the seat slowly, letting his brothers know he'd be going back home as tomorrow he had business to attend, as usual. It took a moment for his eyes to regain focus as whisky affected him a bit more than usual, perhaps because once again he forgot to eat anything substantial throughout the day.

Saying his goodbyes Tommy pulled his cap onto his head, walking through the crowd as people parted, not wanting to disrespect the mobster.

Cold air of the night hit him as soon as the door swung open, his eyes getting used to the darkness fairly quickly as he gazed towards his vehicle, simultaneously searching for keys in his pocket.

Making his way to the car he squinted, trying to grasp the right key which was a bit of a challenge in his current state. Getting a hold of the right one, he suddenly dropped the keys hearing a familiar voice behind his back.

”You’re absolutely not driving in this state” Y/N said, grabbing his arm.

”Fuck!” Tommy groaned, eyeing the fallen item. He could barely see them, wiping his eyes he turned towards Y/N. ”I dropped my fucking keys” He informed her, as if she wasn't a witness to this situation.

His balance was slightly off as he narrowed his cloudy eyes, obviously blaming her for what just happened. His drunken state made Y/N unable to hold in a giggle as she rolled her eyes stepping closer. Bending over she grabbed them, choosing the right key as she opened the door on the driver's side, slipping into the seat.

He stood there, his brows raised in a question which she immediately answered.

“I told you. You're not driving. Get into the car before you'll have to walk.” Her voice was lighthearted as she held his gaze.

Thomas tilted his head to the side, the small hint of bitterness making it through his exterior.

”Don’t you have places to be?” He asked, obviously hinting at the man she left with, making Y/N roll her eyes once again on his dramatics.

”Tommy get in the car” She repeated, knowing there was no point in arguing with him over whatever In his current state.

He stood for another longer moment before finally sighing and making his way around to the other side, sitting on the passenger seat. Tilting his head back he let it rest, closing his eyes.

Y/N let her eyes linger on his face for a moment before taking a deep breath and starting the engine.

They didn't say a word throughout the whole drive, and only later she realized Tommy fell asleep. Parking the car she leaned closer, touching his shoulder.

”Come on, let's get inside” She whispered, watching as he slowly opened his eyes in an awfully adorable way.

She bit back the smile as he nodded, mumbling something before climbing out of the car.

She grabbed his arm wanting to help him walk, but he pulled it back, telling her he was perfectly capable of walking alone. Stubborn as always.

A couple minutes later she shed her coat, pulling his own off of him as well along with the cap, making him roll his eyes.

”You realize I'm not that drunk, eh?” He asked, seeing her behaviour.

”I’m not allowed to help, am I?” She shot back, grabbing his hand as she pulled him towards the stairs leading up to his bedroom. ”Oh, and by the way, no. I've got no places to be so I'm staying over.” She stated, completely unfazed and with enough attitude to make him laugh out loud.

”Good to know” He replied, letting her pull him along. Despite his stubbornness, they both knew it happened more times than they'd be able to count. Their relationship was so specific in ways other people wouldn't understand… and neither of them seemed to be ready to admit it.

Thomas was on the edge of bed, groaning as he took off his boots. Y/N walked across the room, opening the wardrobe as she found her own shelf.

He watched her as she pulled out his shirt and her shorts, knowing well she'd be sleeping in this set. Thomas realized he couldn't remember the time before she was in his life. Before the top shelf was hers, filled with pieces of clothing he never cared to move.

She moved around so confidently, knowing exactly where everything was. It brought him a weird sense of comfort, even though his face remained in a neutral expression as she looked back.

”Do you need help changing or are you perfectly capable of doing that too, Mr. Shelby?” She asked, matching his neutral expression along with a professional tone of voice, obviously teasing him.

He shook his head slightly, letting out a sigh as he finally smirked. Looking at her for a longer moment, Tommy let his eyes linger on her body before meeting her eyes again.

”Are you trying to take advantage of me, Dove?” He asked, his voice clearly lower and with intent as he gave her the smile, one he learned long ago worked on women ever since he was a boy.

Y/N chuckled, approaching him to the point where he had to tilt his head back so their eyes could meet. Leaning down to his level, she started unbuttoning his shirt.

”I wouldn't dare” Her voice was calm, even though she felt everything but calm seeing him looking at her like this. Unable to put up the walls that usually surrounded him when he was sober. The tension seemed to grow rapidly as she was halfway down, eyes focused on the task but Tommy's gaze had her face turn slightly red which was not visible in the dim light luckily.

Stepping back, she looked up at him.

”You take care of that, and I'm going to change. Try not to fall, eh?” She teased with a smirk, walking into the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Y/N took a deep breath, leaning forward as she needed a moment. She was very aware of the tension surrounding them the whole night and as she stood in front of him, with his eyes gazing at her this way, it felt more dangerous than ever before despite the fact they were bordering on this line for years now.

Everything felt stronger lately and she was.. more anxious than anything.

Looking up she caught her reflection, silently grazing over her face and body before sighing deeply as she turned around, swiftly changing into his shirt and her shorts.

Returning to the room, she looked up to check whether he was sleeping and surprisingly, Tommy was laying on the bed, shirtless and wearing only his undergarments. His arm was draped over his head, eyes closed but the tension in his shoulders was visible. Y/N knew he wasn't sleeping, but she didn't want to risk anything more after today so she let him be, turning off the lights as she moved around the bed, slipping on the other side.

His bed was big, more than big enough for the two of them. Y/N and Tommy never had an issue sleeping together even back when they were teenagers, sharing a bed in his small room in Small Heath.

She covered herself with a blanket, facing away from him for a while, attempting to get comfortable but the silence was deafening. She heard him move and turn as well, looking for a position comfortable enough to sleep in. Minutes were passing and Y/N was still wide awake, unable to even close her eyes for longer than a moment with the amount of thoughts running through her head.

The clock was ticking, and she looked through the big window, moonlight seeping in through the blinds and she still yet to be comfortable enough to feel even remotely tired.

Eventually the frustration took over and she sighed with annoyance, slowly sitting up. Y/N desperately wanted to sleep, as it would be the easy way out. Making it to the morning and hoping the infatuation would pass or fade away into something more bearable, just like always.

The moon looked beautiful that night, she thought, as she heard him move in a different way this time. The mattress dipped closer and she felt him sitting right behind her, the warmth of his body contrasting to the coldness of her hands caused by anxiety.

Her heart started thumping wildly in her chest, the anticipation almost took much to handle, shivers running down her spine as his breath touched her skin.

Yet she didn't dare to look at him, stubbornly keeping her eyes fixated on the view while he moved closer.

After a longer moment his fingers grasped her chin, making her look at him. Tommy felt the stirring too, somewhere in his chest, and the desperation seemed completely impossible to escape.

Forcing her to look at him, he moved closer. His face seemed even more unreal that way, kissed by the moonlight in the middle of the night causing her to sigh weakly.

He didn't move either, not for a while as they watched, fixated like it was the very first time, even though they knew each other’s features by heart. From her chin his fingers moved to cup her cheek instead, feeling the subtle warmth of her skin.

Lost in the moment Y/N sighed, his face so close to her own she could see every detail. Every scar and freckle decorating his skin. Her lips parted slightly as she tried to catch a breath, but his presence and warmth felt so.. overwhelming in a way she couldn't describe. A warmth she grew to associate with safety while simultaneously feeling like she's gambling every time they're close.

His arms wrapped around her tighter, pulling her on his lap with one hand holding her hip while the other cupped her cheek so roughly. Delicate caresses of his calloused fingers feeling better than she cared to admit. She couldn't think properly while his firm chest was pressed against her soft bosom, his lips ghosting over her jaw.

”Y/N” He whispered, Tommy's hot breath against her skin making her shiver and her eyes fall shut.

She moved her hand on top of his, trying to ground herself. Chaotic snippets of moments and thoughts running through her puzzled mind as her core ached for his touch.

”Look at me” He spoke again, tilting her head down to look him in the eyes. His own were barely open, pupils blown out with need as he stared at her with something she couldn't really understand. Failing to keep herself at bay, Y/N slowly leaned down, their breaths mingling and noses touched. She could feel the ghost of his soft lips touching hers, but couldn't quite force herself to let him have her. Again.

“Why do you keep doing this?” She whispered breathlessly, her other hand grasping his shoulder so hard she thought he might bruise.

Thomas' breath hitched, and he stopped moving for a moment, frozen as he realized the sense of her question. His heart began racing but he kept holding her so close, panting against her lips as he tried to search for an answer in his mind, which now seemed to be.. empty.

Y/N squeezed her eyes painfully hard waiting for an answer that seemed to never come before letting go of his shoulder with a humourless chuckle. Pulling his hands away from her she raised from his lap, quickly fixing her blouse before grabbing her black coat from the chair.

”Y/N” He spoke up, his voice gravely with disappointment aimed nowhere but at himself. ”Y/N, don't go” Tommy tried to convince, attempting to grasp her wrist but she slipped easily, seemingly between his fingers.

Like she always did.

”Goodnight, Tommy”

~~~

The whole next day Y/N threw herself into a bunch of work, whether it was around the house or finishing up the new recipes she prepared to introduce in her bakery the upcoming week.

By the end of the day she was covered in flour, but her apartment was squeaky clean. Her hair was a complete mess when she saw herself in the mirror, making her chuckle. She was physically tired but mentally proud of herself for taking her mind off of the blue eyed man so successfully.

…and then her phone rang. It was late, way too late for any other person to call, so subconsciously she knew it was him. Silently cursing herself for it, she picked up.

”Hello?” Y/N asked nevertheless but she didn't hear anything else for a moment before he cleared his throat.

”Because I can't force myself to let you go” Thomas spoke up, his words a little blurred, gravelly with the weight of his confession. ”...and I'm tired of pretending. This needs to end.” A moment of silence seemed to stretch into eternity, but Tommy knew she was listening. He could hear her breathing. As Y/N finally found some words, wanting to respond, he hang up.

She stood there, frozen for a couple moments, holding the phone as if he was still on the other side. What are you talking about, she wanted to ask, but Y/N knew what he meant. Despite her asking yesterday, it intimidated her a little to hear it from him. They never confronted each other before, but.. her heart swelled with the emotion she was never able to express before.

Suddenly a loud knock on the door came to her ears, her heart froze still for a moment before she opened it.

His eyes were bright, raw and vulnerable as he held her eye contact.

“Can I come in?”

[magicalbunbun]

Got bored from riding in train.

Want to post about stanford x y/n relationship I kinda base off is simon x betty, I just want them happy :)

[sadnymi]

August

[ Mattheo riddle x reader] [part2]

Summary: all y/n wanted is to love and to be loved to see the beauty of the world and to be happy even if that’s mean she will have to hide away , until that summer the summer she talked to mattheo riddle.

Words: 8.5k

Warnings: fluff, Angst , Angst , and a lot of angst, strong language , light smut, toxic, abused father.

August, finally. Summer, at last. The book snapped shut with a quiet _click_, and I slipped it into my bag. A glance at the darkening sky confirmed my decision. Time to go.

The beach was deserted now, save for the distant sound of laughter from a party I hadn’t been invited to. No hard feelings, no bad blood. It wasn’t that they disliked me—they simply didn’t see me.

I was an outsider to that world, a solitary figure on the periphery. No invitations had been extended, no longing glances cast my way. It was as though I existed in a silent film, a mere extra in the grand spectacle of life.

The sky, a masterpiece of blue, held me captive. In that moment, I was adrift, a solitary vessel on a boundless ocean. There was no turmoil, no drama, just the gentle sway of existence.

As I drove away from the beach, a flash of movement caught my eye. I slowed the car, looking out the window. There, on a bench under the pale glow of a streetlamp, was a figure slumped over. A bottle dangled precariously from one hand, and his face was streaked with what looked like red liquid. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized him—Mattheo Riddle, the infamous troublemaker.

I pulled over and got out of the car, the gravel crunching under my feet as I approached him. He was asleep, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his usually sharp features softened by unconsciousness.

I carefully took the bottle from his hand, the alcohol’s pungent smell mixing with the salt air. He stirred, and in an instant, his hand shot out, catching mine.

He sat up abruptly, blinking rapidly, clearly disoriented. “What the—” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep and alcohol. “Betty? Bethany? Is that you?”

"No," I replied, my tone firm yet gentle. "It's Y/n."

He sat up abruptly, blinking against the night. The world seemed to tilt for him, and I extended a steady hand. His fingers, calloused and strong, closed around mine. A wave of dizziness washed over him, his eyes glazing over.

"Y/n Y/L/n," he mumbled, as if testing the syllables on his tongue. "Y/N Y/L/N... I know who you are."

"You do?" I asked, a bit surprised.

"Oh, I know," he said, attempting to stand. He wobbled, and I reached out to steady him.

"You want me to help you get back home?"

He attempted to stand, wobbling on his feet, and I instinctively reached out to steady him.

"Easy there," I murmured, helping him to his feet.

"Thank you, love,"

"It's Y/N," I corrected.

"But 'love' fits you quite fine," he replied, a flirtatious glint in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes. "Let me drive you home."

"Yeah, that'd be nice."He nodded, still leaning on me for support.

"Are you staying with Enzo at the Berkshire house?" I asked.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his head lolling slightly.

With some effort, I guided him to the car and helped him into the passenger seat. As I started the engine, he looked over at me, his expression softening.

"You’re so kind, love," he mumbled. "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Because you need help," I replied simply. "Just doing the right thing,"

He laughed softly, a drunken, endearing sound. "You’re too good for this world, Y/N." he mumbled, "Always thought you were pretty."

"Thank you, Mattheo," I replied, trying to keep my focus on the road.

"I’ve noticed you before, you know. Always so quiet, so calm. I like that," he continued, his voice softening.

"That's sweet of you to say."

He leaned back in the seat, his eyes closing again. "Yeah, love. Sweet."

I pulled up to the Berkshire house and helped him out of the car. "Let’s get you inside."

As we walked to the door, he leaned heavily on me, his steps unsteady. "You’re my angel, love," he whispered.

"It's Y/N, and you’re drunk" I reminded him gently. "And you have a girlfriend,"

"Oh, not anymore," he slurred, his expression turning somber.

I looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"It’s over. She doesn’t want me anymore," he mumbled, swaying slightly.

We reached the front door, and I knocked, but no one answered. Enzo must still be at the party.

"Do you have a key?" I asked.

"Yeah, somewhere," he replied, patting his pockets aimlessly.

"I need more than ‘somewhere,’ Mattheo. Can you please tell me where your key is?"

After a moment of fumbling, he pulled it out and handed it to me with a smile. I opened the door and helped him inside, guiding him to the couch. He collapsed onto it with a groan.

"No one's here," I said, glancing around.

"Are you trying to get me all alone, Y/N?"

"What? No, I just wanted someone to be here so you won’t do anything stupid," I retorted, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.

But he was already drifting off, too drunk to do much of anything. I walked to the kitchen to get a water bottle. It felt wrong to walk around someone else's house like this, but then I spotted a bottle of aspirin on the table. Maybe these boys get drunk a lot; why else would it be there?

I returned to the living room, placing the water and aspirin on the table. I noticed Mattheo struggling to get his jacket off, one arm stuck in the sleeve. Gently, I helped him remove it and set it aside.

"Thanks, Betty," he murmured in his sleep, making my heart sink.

I blinked, fighting the urge to correct him, "You're welcome, Riddle," I whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear it. He thought I was someone else. I was his Betty I doubted he even knew who I really was all that time.

As I get back to the car I noticed the bottle of red wine on the seat and couldn't help but smile.

The next day, the familiar sound of my parents arguing filled the house, so I grabbed my keys and headed to the beach for some peace.

When I got there, I saw him again. He was sitting on the sand, his hair damp, and his shirt clinging to his wet body. He must have just come out of the ocean. I tried to turn away, but it was too late—he had already noticed me.

"Going to ignore me?" he asked, walking towards me.

"No, of course not," I lied.

He smiled, "Liar." Then he looked at me seriously. "Thank you for last night. I'm sorry if I said anything that offended you. I don't remember much, but I appreciate what you did."

I was surprised he remembered at all and I wondered if he recalled calling me Betty too. "It's okay, you didn't. You just had a bad day, I guess."

He nodded. “I can leave if you want.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, sitting down on the sand and pulling out my book.

“Little Women,” he remarked, eyeing the cover.

I nodded. He asked, “Who's your favorite character?”

Suddenly nervous, I struggled to form a coherent sentence. “Uh, Amy,” I finally managed.

“Oh, wow. Amy?” He raised an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes.

“What was that for?” he asked, smiling.

“You’re just going to bully her, probably.”

“No, I would never do such a thing.”

I nodded, turning my gaze to the blue water. “It’s just... she’s not—”

“She’s not what?” I interrupted, defensive. “Amy is passionate and driven. She knows what she wants and goes after it. She’s not afraid to dream big.”

Mattheo was looking at me, truly listening. I blinked and looked away.

He grinned, teasing, “You’re quite the defender.”

I felt his eyes on me, making it impossible to focus on my book. I looked up and met his gaze. “You’re staring,” I said.

“I’m staring,” he replied, unashamed.

I laughed and closed the book. “What do you want?”

“I want to listen to you.”

“Listen to me?”

“Yeah, just like when you were defending Amy with your life a minute ago.”

“I don’t have anything interesting to talk about.”

He sat closer, leaning on his arm. “Then tell me something about yourself, something that no one knows.”

I laughed nervously. “No one knows anything about me, Mattheo.”

“Mysterious, are we?”

“More invisible, are we.”

His expression softened. “You are not invisible. Not to me, not anymore.”

I looked away. “Fine. I can’t swim.”

“You what?”

“I can’t swim. Tried too many times but failed.”

He looked shocked. “I can teach you.”

“Oh no, thanks."

“Come on, that’s the least I can do after last night.”

“No, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that.”

He nodded, sensing there was more to it. “You’re not getting away from it, but we’ll drop it for now. Tell me, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing. You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

Blushing, I tried to say something, anything to distract from his gaze. “You can get me ice cream.”

He laughed. “That’s it? Just ice cream?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“Fine, you get this.” He stood up and offered me his hand. Nervously, I took it, and he helped me up.

As we walked, a comfortable silence settled between us. I broke it, almost without thinking. “Wanna play something?”

I wasn’t sure why I asked, maybe to feel what it’s like to have a conversation, to play with a friend. Wait—a friend? No, we’re not friends.

He interrupted my thoughts. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

“I spy with my little eye...” I said, feeling a bit silly. He laughed, and I knew why. It was childish, very childish. But this was new to me. I hadn’t experienced much of this in my childhood.

“Fine with me. Wanna start?” he asked, grinning.

I nodded. “I spy with my little eye, something... blue.”

He looked around, squinting playfully. “The ocean?”

“Too easy. Your turn,” I said, smiling.

“I spy with my little eye, something... red,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

I scanned the surroundings. “That towel over there?”

“Nope,” he replied, smirking.

“Give me a hint?”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “It’s closer than you think.”

I frowned, looking around us. Then I realized—my swimsuit strap, peeking out from under my shirt. “Oh. My swimsuit?”

“Got it,” he said, his grin widening.

We continued like this, the game bridging the gaps between our words. He was better at it than I expected.

“I spy with my little eye, something... brown,” I said, feeling more relaxed.

“My hair,” he guessed quickly, ruffling it for emphasis.

“Right again.”

“I spy with my little eye, something... beautiful,” he said, looking directly at me.

I blushed. “Mattheo...”

“What? You’re wearing it. That necklace,” he said, pointing to the small pendant I always wore.

“So, what’s your favorite flavor?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to safer grounds.

“Mint chocolate chip. Yours?”

“Strawberry.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sweet and classic. Fits you.”

I rolled my eyes playfully.

“Just being honest.”

We arrived at the ice cream booth, still caught up in our game. “Two cones, please,” he ordered, handing me one.

“Thank you,” I said, taking a bite.

“Anytime, love,” he replied, winking.

I felt his eyes on me again, the way they made me feel seen. It was unsettling and exhilarating at the same time.

Then we continued our game.

"I spy with my little eye, something... on your face," he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

I frowned, confused. "What? Where?"

He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine. "Right here," he said softly, pointing to the corner of my mouth. "You’ve got a bit of ice cream."

I tried to wipe it away, but missed. “Did I get it?”

“Here, let me help.” He reached out, wiping the spot with his finger, brushing my lips. My breath hitched at the contact.

Just then, a cat darted out from the bushes, startling me. Instinctively, I grabbed Mattheo. My ice cream went flying, splattering all over his shirt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I started to panic, my apologies tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t see the cat—”

“Trying to get me naked already, Y/N? If you wanted me to take my shirt off, you should have just asked, love.”

But my mind was elsewhere, trapped in a darker place. I kept apologizing, my breathing becoming erratic. Memories of my father’s anger flashed in my mind, and I couldn’t see Mattheo standing there.

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s just a shirt,” he said, trying to calm me. But I couldn’t stop, the panic rising within me.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me, baby,” he said, more urgently. I didn’t respond until he cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It’s just a shirt. It’s okay.”

I nodded, still trembling. He wiped away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, love,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he assured me. “If anything, you’ve given me an excuse to show off.” He grinned, his flirtatious tone returning. “I bet you’re wondering how someone can look this good, even with ice cream all over them.”

I laughed softly, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Maybe a little.”

“See? Just a shirt and a bit of ice cream. No big deal,” he said, his hands still gently holding my face. “Now, let’s get you another ice cream.”

For the next weeks, we were inseparable. Mattheo and I met at the beach every day, talking, playing, and even reading a book together. His relentless flirting always left my cheeks as red as blood and made breathing a challenging task.

Today, as I parked the car and got out, I saw him playing football with a little boy.

"Who is that?" I asked, curious.

He looked up at me and smiled. "Found him here. He’s adorable—might just adopt him."

I laughed. "You can’t just adopt a kid you found on the beach, Mattheo."

I knelt down to the boy's level. "Hi."

"Hi," he responded, smiling.

"Where are your parents?" I asked.

"Over there," he said, pointing to a small family who waved at us once they noticed we were looking at them.

I looked up at Mattheo. He smiled. "What? You look adorable when you’re confused. I’d never miss a chance to see that expression on your face."

I sat on the back of my car, watching them. He continued to play with the boy for a little while until his family called him to leave. I waved goodbye to the little boy and then turned my attention to Mattheo.

"I never knew you were that good with kids," I said as he walked over to me, placing his hands on either side of me.

"Yeah?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Let me wonder why," he said, smiling. "Maybe because my father who probably wants to end the world died and left me fatherless?"

My eyes widened. "No, no, Mattheo, I didn’t mean that."

He chuckled. "I’m just teasing you, my love."

I blinked, noticing the subtle difference—"my love," not just "love."

"Go ahead, ask it," he said.

"Ask what?" I replied, feigning ignorance.

"I can see you thinking. You probably want to ask something but are afraid to," he said.

I shook my head, but he insisted. "It’s okay, you can ask me anything, and I will answer it."

I smiled, about to speak, but he cut me off. "With one condition."

"What? What is it?" I asked, curious and a bit apprehensive.

"Come with me," he said, glancing at the ocean. "You don’t have to swim or learn, just a little in. I’ll be there and will help you and answer all your questions too."

I felt a wave of nervousness and fear, but he noticed, touching my cheeks gently. "Hey, hey, look at me, love. Forget about it, okay? If you’re not—"

"No, no, I want to," I cut him off, nodding. "Are you sure?" he whispered, and I smiled, saying, "Never had I ever before."

I got off the car, and despite not wearing a bikini, I shyly took off my shirt, revealing my one-piece swimsuit. He smiled, taking off his shirt as well, and grabbed my hands. His touch was reassuring, and as we walked towards the ocean, I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety.

He led me into the water, just a step ahead of me, watching carefully as I looked down, watching my feet touch the water.

"Up, eyes on me, my love," he said softly. I did as he asked, meeting his gaze. He smiled at me and said, "Now, ask your questions."

I knew what he was doing—distracting me from my fear. I smiled nervously. "Okay, it’s personal and-," I began, but he cut me off.

"It’s over," he said, my eyes widening that he already knew what I was going to ask. "Come on, love, I was waiting for you to ask it. You didn’t think I knew? Yeah, me and Bethany—it’s over since that night."

I nodded, feeling a bit relieved. He took his turn. "Tell me, why are you afraid of it?" he asked gently, his fingers tracing circles on my hands.

"My father—my father, he threw me into the ocean once. I thought I was going to die, but then he pulled me out at the last moment," I said, my voice trembling. He stopped walking, squeezing my hands gently.

"Why would he do that? How could he do that?" he asked, his eyes darkening with concern.

"He’s very religious. He doesn’t tolerate... mistakes. I was ten. It was a birthday party for a daughter of one of my mother’s friends. We the kids were playing—a silly game. Seven minutes in heaven. Nothing happened, we just stayed in the closet. But my father didn’t believe me, or maybe he did and was just angry that I agreed to such a ‘shameless game’ as he called it. My mother bore the brunt of his anger after that," I explained.

He listened intently, his face a mix of anger and empathy. I was too afraid to look at him directly, but then I realized the water was up to my chest. I panicked, and he immediately wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I got you," he said, and I clung to him.

"Did your parents divorce?" he asked softly.

"Oh, worse," I said bitterly. "They stayed together for the kid—me. Can’t you see how happy I am now, thanks to them?" I laughed, but he didn't. Instead, he tightened his hold on me.

"You asked too many questions. You cheated," i said, he smiled tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear while still holding me.

"I don’t follow rules, my love," he said, and I smiled. "But you’re right. Ask away."

"Will you—will you still talk to me when we go back to school?" I asked, finally looking him in the eyes. There was nothing under my feet now; I was deep in the ocean. But it wasn't that which made me nervous—it was his answer.

"Why would you think I wouldn’t?" he asked, smiling and touching my hair, then my cheeks.

"I don’t know. I just thought..." I struggled to express my fear.

"You thought wrong, my love," he said, and despite being in the water, I clung to him even more. "Of course I will," he whispered in my ear. I nodded, resting my head on his shoulder, afraid to look at him, afraid to see a look of uncertainty in his beautiful eyes, or worse, something more—a desire I had long craved but thought was a fantasy, a dream people like me couldn’t have.

"Now, my turn. Why do you always hide?" he asked, and I looked at him, confused.

"Hide?"

"Yes, hide from everyone. You’re one of the smartest witches in our year. You have too—"

"I don’t want that," I interrupted.

"Don’t want what?"

"It’s just—I—" I tried to explain. "I don’t want to be noticed. I thought I did, but I don’t. It’s... ugh, Merlin, this is hard to explain. I just want to be happy."

"Happy?" he asked, his tone gentle.

"Yes, happy. Just happy and loved. I want love. I want to see the beauty in everything, but people always ruin that, don’t they? I want peace and happiness and love—a lot of love. And just because I don’t want to be a fighter or always know what to say, always fighting for things, always proving and proving—I’m so tired of always having to prove that I deserve to live, to be part of this world. I don’t want power or everything. I just want a little something, a little love. And I’m not weak, but I can’t explain that without sounding like a weak person, a scared girl. I’m not. I’m stronger than they all think," I yelled the last part.

"I know," he said gently, his hands in my hair.

"I was just trying to survive," I said, and he nodded.

I looked into his eyes and regretted it. The sun made them even more beautiful, and the thoughts I had would make my father get a priest to cleanse my soul. Sadly, I realized how close we were, his hands on my skin, our faces too close.

I didn’t realize I was looking at his lips until I looked up and saw his smirk.

My heart racing as his smile softened into something more tender, more intimate. The sun glinted off the water, casting a golden light over his face. His hand was warm against my skin, the other still wrapped securely around my waist.

"Don’t let go," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I don’t want to die."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "I would never," he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring.

He reached out, his right hand cupping my chin, gently guiding my face until I was forced to meet his gaze. His other arm remained securely around my waist, holding me close. “Don’t look away from me now,” he said, his voice a soft command that sent shivers down my spine.

I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t, that I didn’t want to look away, but the feelings swirling inside me terrified me. I inched even closer to him, our bodies nearly flush against each other. I could feel his breath on my face, warm and intoxicating, and without thinking—or maybe because I didn’t want to think—I leaned in and kissed his cheek.

The moment my lips touched his skin, I felt a jolt of surprise, as if I had crossed a line I didn’t even know existed. He looked just as surprised, his eyes widening slightly.

“Was this a sin?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of curiosity and guilt.

He smiled, his lips curving into a playful grin. “I don’t think so.”

I closed my eyes, feeling his breath tickle my lips as he leaned in closer. Without hesitation, I kissed his other cheek, the warmth of his skin searing against my lips.

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze once more, and then, almost without thinking, I placed another kiss on his jaw. He let out a soft, appreciative hum that sent a thrill through me.

“Definitely not a sin,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.

I couldn’t help but smile at his words. He tilted his head, brushing his lips over mine, teasing, tasting, but not quite kissing me fully.

And then he kissed me.

His lips met mine with a hunger that took my breath away, his arms tightening around me, pulling me even closer. His kiss was searing, demanding, as if he was pouring all of his unspoken desires, all of his pent-up emotions, into this one moment.

I melted into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate to keep him close. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a dance that left me dizzy, craving more.

"You taste like strawberries,” he whispered against my lips.

“And you taste like trouble,” I replied, my breath hitching as his mouth moved to my neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses.

“Good trouble?” he asked, his tongue tracing a path up to my ear.

“The best kind,” I breathed, my fingers tangling in his hair, then his lips were on mine again.

His hand moved from my waist to my lower back, pulling me flush against him, the force of his kiss making my head spin. I melted into him, my hands gripping his shoulders as I kissed him back just as fiercely, my body responding to him in a way that felt both foreign and completely natural.

He broke the kiss for a brief moment, his lips hovering just above mine as he whispered, “You feel this too, don’t you?”

His words sent heat pooling low in my belly, and I gasped as he nipped at my bottom lip, his hands sliding down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the hard length of him pressed against me, a tangible reminder of just how much he wanted this, wanted me.

I nodded, too breathless to speak, my eyes half-closed as I leaned in to kiss him again. He didn’t hesitate, capturing my lips in another heated kiss, his hands roaming up my back, holding me so close that I could feel every beat of his heart.

His lips moved to my neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, and I gasped, the sound swallowed by the crashing waves. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and filled with a desire that mirrored my own.

“Say my name,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear as he nipped at the lobe. “Say it, love.”

“Mattheo,” I gasped, my voice barely recognizable as my own, filled with a longing I could no longer deny.

He kissed me again, his lips crashing against mine with a fervor that made my knees weak. His hands gripped my hips tighter, pulling me closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past my lips to tangle with mine in a dance of want and need.

I was lost in him, in the sensation of his body pressed against mine, his lips claiming me in a way that felt both dangerous and exhilarating. I knew there would be no going back from this, that whatever we were doing, whatever was happening between us, it was irreversible.

A distant sound broke through the haze of our moment. I froze, my ears straining to identify it. Voices—young, excited, and getting closer. I turned my head, my eyes scanning the shoreline, and spotted a group of boys arriving at the beach, their laughter carried on the wind.

“We should probably get out,” I whispered, my heart still racing from our kiss but now tinged with the awareness of being seen.

He nodded, pressing one last, lingering kiss to my lips before we reluctantly pulled apart. The water felt cooler as we waded back to shore, the spell of our private world slowly dissipating with each step.

Once we were out of the water, I sat on the towel, feeling the rough fabric beneath me as I tried to steady my breath. He reached for another towel and draped it over my shoulders, his touch still warm, comforting.

He stood there for a moment, his eyes lingering on me before he sat down. I looked at him, taking in the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his skin glistened with droplets of water. He was beautiful, devilishly beautiful, with the kind of allure that made it hard to look away. My eyes traced the lines of his back, the muscles shifting under his skin, and I found myself wishing I could write my name on it, claim him in some small, secret way.

He turned to sit down beside me, his movement breaking the spell of my thoughts. I smiled at him, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, still flushed from both the water and what had just transpired between us.

Without thinking, I leaned my head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his presence. He didn’t hesitate, his arm wrapping around me as he held my hand in his. His fingers traced gentle circles on the back of my hand, the touch sending soothing waves through my body, calming the lingering adrenaline.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, his lips soft against my skin. I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the moment, feeling safe and cherished in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

It had been a week since that day on the beach, and I had never felt so alive, so completely consumed by happiness. Every thought, every breath, seemed to revolve around him. The world felt brighter, more vibrant, as if everything had been infused with color. I was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, and I didn’t want it to stop.

I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts of him, when my mother knocked softly on the door. She poked her head in, smiling.

“You’re coming, right?” she asked, her eyes warm with expectation.

I knew what she meant. I was supposed to go with her to visit her best friend, a plan that had been made long before all of this. But the thought of missing a call from Mattheo, of not seeing him today, was unbearable. I felt like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t see him, if I didn’t feel his arms around me, even for just a moment.

I sat up, giving her an apologetic smile. “No, Mom, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can. Maybe I’ll just take a nap,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t press the issue.

She looked at me for a moment, then leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. Get some rest,” she said softly, before leaving the room.

I watched the door close behind her and sighed, sinking back onto my bed. Only half an hour had passed when my phone buzzed, and I scrambled to grab it. His name lit up the screen, and my heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, do you want to go out?” Mattheo’s voice was smooth, teasing, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.

“Of course,” I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.

For the past week, we had spent almost every day together, usually at the beach. It was our place, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us. But today, I felt a need for something different, something more.

“Can I come to your house instead?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “I can’t risk my father seeing your car… and then we can go wherever you want.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before he answered. “Sure, wait for me at the front door.”

I didn’t question it, didn’t think much of it until I reached his house and texted him that I had arrived. As I waited, I heard voices inside—Enzo’s voice, unmistakable, and loud enough to carry through the walls. I couldn’t make out all of what he was saying, but one sentence rang out clearly: “This is a mistake, brother. This poor girl doesn’t deserve that.”

I frowned, my heart tightening with unease. But before I could process what I’d heard, Mattheo appeared, slipping into the passenger seat of my car. He leaned over, kissing me, his smile bright but somehow not reaching his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, searching his face.

“Of course, my love,” he said, brushing off my concern.

I hesitated, wanting to believe him, wanting to chase away the shadow that had settled in my chest. “Can we go to the new mall? I heard—”

He cut me off with a smile that felt forced. “I don’t like it. Too crowded. How about the beach?”

I tried to return his smile, but it didn’t come as easily as before. “We always go to the beach,” I said, watching him carefully. His eyes were distant, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, my voice softening.

He blinked, as if pulling himself back to the present. “Oh, nothing,” he said, his smile returning, though it still didn’t reach his eyes.

“The beach sounds good,”I said something hoping that it will make him smile as well.

he nodded, even though I knew something was off. I didn’t push it, not yet. Instead, I drove us to the beach, the familiar route doing little to ease the tension between us.

Once we arrived, the wind was soft against my skin, and the waves lapped at the shore, but the usual magic of the place felt dimmed by whatever was weighing on him. We walked in silence for a bit, the sand cool beneath our feet, until I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped, turning to face him, reaching out to touch his arm.

“Mattheo,” I said, my voice a mix of concern and affection. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He looked down at me, his eyes searching mine as if trying to decide whether to let me in or keep me at a distance. But before he could answer, I rose onto my toes, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that was meant to chase away the darkness I saw in him.

His arms came around me, pulling me closer, and for a moment, everything else faded away. His kiss was slow, intense, as if he was trying to pour all of his unspoken thoughts into that one gesture. I felt the tension in his body, the way he held onto me like I was his anchor, keeping him from drifting into whatever storm was brewing inside him.

When we finally pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his, my breath coming in soft gasps. “I care about you,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

He looked at me, his gaze softer now, though still shadowed by something I couldn’t quite name.

As I looked up, I heard a sound—a bottle hitting the ground. Both Mattheo and I turned to see Inez, a fellow Hogwarts student, standing a few feet away. She seemed startled, her eyes wide with confusion and shock as she stared at us. I wasn't close to her, but I knew she was Betty's best friend. Mattheo's reaction caught my attention; he looked tense, a mix of anger, confusion, and nervousness flashing across his face. They exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them, before she hurried away without a word.

"Was this Inez?" I asked, breaking the silence. Mattheo nodded, still staring at the spot where she had been standing.

After that, it felt like he was with me physically, but his mind was somewhere else. The rest of the day passed in a haze, and the following day he didn’t call or text. He wasn’t at the beach, our usual spot. Worry gnawed at me, and I sent him a message.

"Hey, are you okay?" I texted, hoping for a quick response. But it went on delivered, a silent mockery of my concern.

The next day came and went, and still, there was nothing. I tried again.

"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" I sent, my anxiety growing with each unanswered message.

Another day passed, and desperation seeped into my words.

"Did I do something wrong?" I typed, my fingers trembling slightly. "Please, just let me know."

By the end of the week, my heart felt heavy with worry and fear. I sat on my bed, tears stinging my eyes as I typed out another message.

"I miss you, Mattheo. I'm afraid... Please talk to me."

As I pressed send, a sob escaped my lips, and I felt the hot tears roll down my cheeks. The silence was deafening, crushing me with its weight. I started to type again, my breath coming in shaky gasps.

"Are you ghosting me?" I wrote, my vision blurring with tears. The thought of being abandoned, of him leaving without a word, tore at my heart.

Then, it happened. I watched in horror as all my messages changed to "Seen." He had read them—every single one. But there was no response, no explanation. Just the cold, stark confirmation that he was ignoring me.

I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened, and my vision swam. Panic surged through me, and I clutched at my throat, gasping for air. The room spun, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of despair. My body shook as I tried to steady my breathing, but the panic was overwhelming.

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the raw, suffocating fear that gripped me. I curled into myself, feeling utterly alone and broken. The world felt like it was collapsing around me, the silence between Mattheo and me a chasm that threatened to swallow me whole.

Something had changed. I could feel it in the air, a shift that made my skin prickle with unease. It wasn't just paranoia; there was a new intensity in the way people looked at me. Their eyes followed me, but not in a nice way. They whispered, heads bent together, glancing at me with something close to disgust. I had no idea why.

I hadn’t left the house since that day, too wrapped up in my own misery to face the world. But today, my father had insisted I go out, needing me to pick up something for my mother. Reluctantly, I agreed, knowing I couldn’t hide forever.

As I walked, a group of girls passed by, one of them, no more than fourteen, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, "A slut." My eyes widened in shock, and I turned to confront her, but she was already walking away. Why would she call me that?

Stunned, I got into my car, my hands shaking slightly. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, judged. Instead of heading home, I found myself driving towards the beach, seeking the familiar comfort of the waves and sand.

When I arrived, I parked the car and stepped out, the salty air filling my lungs. I knew he wouldn’t be here, but still, I felt a pull towards our place. As I walked, I noticed groups of people scattered along the shore. And then, it started again—the whispers, the sideways glances, the expressions of disdain.

“What are you doing here, Y/N? Searching for someone else's man to steal?” Martha Grey, one of my classmates, called out, sarcasm dripping from her voice. She clung to her boyfriend’s arm protectively, her eyes narrowed at me.

“What?” I asked, bewildered. The accusation hit me like a slap, leaving me reeling.

“Would you fuck single boys, Y/N, or just the taken ones?” a boy sneered, stepping so close that I almost stumbled back.

“She’s shameless,” another girl muttered, loud enough for me to hear.

“Homewrecker,” someone else hissed.

“A whore with no shame.”

“Slut.”

“Ugly bitch.”

“You really have the nerve to show your face after what you did?”

“Cheap.”

“Who does she think she is? I mean, look at her and look at Betty. Did Mattheo lose his mind?”

“Trash.”

“Did you think you could just get away with it?”

“Desperate for attention, aren’t you?”

“I guess she’ll do anything for a bit of male attention.”

“Pathetic.”

“She’s just a desperate little thing.”

“Doesn’t she have any self-respect?”

“She’ll never be as good as Betty.”

“I heard she practically threw herself at him.”

“Mattheo probably just felt sorry for her.”

“She’s disgusting.”

I stood there, frozen, as the insults kept coming, each one slicing through me like a blade. My ears rang with their harsh words, my vision blurring with unshed tears. I wanted to scream, to run, to hide. But my legs felt like they were glued to the ground, and all I could do was stand there and take it.

Why were they saying these things? What had I done to deserve this? The pain in my chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I felt like I was being suffocated, drowning in their hatred and contempt. All I wanted was to disappear, to escape the nightmare that my life had suddenly become.

"Can't believe she had the nerve to come here."

"She probably thinks she's some sort of seductress."

"More like a desperate wannabe."

"Does she really think she stands a chance against Betty?"

"Mattheo's way out of her league, it's embarrassing."

"Honestly, it's pathetic."

"She should just disappear, no one wants her around."

My heart sank with each word, each cruel remark cutting deeper than the last. The weight of their scorn was suffocating, and I felt tears pricking at my eyes. I had no idea what they were talking about or why they were so angry with me. The confusion and hurt were overwhelming, and I could feel a panic attack rising in my chest, the world spinning around me.

Someone's voice broke through the barrage of insults. “I’m glad Betty forgave him and didn’t let this ugly slut destroy what they have.”

With that, I walked away, the words still echoing in my ears. Their taunts didn't stop even as I put my hands over my ears, trying to block them out. They always said I was too sensitive, too weak. I was used to those words, but this wasn't something I felt like I could handle. Their attention, their eyes on me, their words—those words.

I walked faster to my car, closing the doors and windows before bursting into tears. How I managed to drive, almost crashing several times, I didn’t know. My body felt cold, shaking, and numb as I finally reached his house. The way to the door felt like forever.

With a shaking hand, I knocked weakly, hoping someone would hear it. The door opened, and even through my tears, I could see it was Enzo.

“Y/N, oh Merlin,” he said, trying to comfort me, but I flinched.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, stepping aside to let me in.

I walked in and saw Mattheo sitting on the couch. His eyes widened as he stood up quickly.

“You said you broke up,” I said, my voice trembling. No, he said it was over, nothing about a breakup, I corrected myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“We were on a break,” he said, his expression a mix of guilt and confusion.

“You said you broke up with her,” I repeated, more to myself than him.

“We were on a break,” he said again.

“That’s not the same thing,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Not the same thing,” I repeated.

“You lied to me, you ghosted me, and you... you went and—and—” I didn't even know how to finish the sentence.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer.

I felt like passing out, but I blinked the tears away and asked, “You didn’t?”

“No, Y/N, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said. Was it me? Did I really throw myself at him? No, no, no, I didn’t— You kissed him first, my mind said. But on the cheek, I argued back. Keep telling yourself that, it sneered. No, he did.

I was losing my mind.

“Chase two girls, lose the one, right?” I said, tears falling heavily. “And it wasn’t even me. I’m not the one It wasn’t even my story.”

“Y/N,” he tried, but I cut him off.

“Please don’t say my name. Please don’t try to explain anything,” I said, feeling like I was about to collapse if not for Enzo’s hands supporting me.

“You did that. I had no idea it was you, but no one is pointing their fingers at you. No one is calling you the things they are calling me. No one is saying it was your fault or calling you an ugly bitch. No one is calling you a homewrecker, so don’t—don’t explain anything,” I said, and they were looking at me. I wanted to scream at him, they were looking at me now because of you.

Mattheo stepped closer, but Enzo shook his head at him.

“Everything is back to its place now. August is already over,” I said. Yes, everything is back to its place except for me. Nothing is the same, nothing will ever be the same.

I pulled away from Enzo and walked to the door, stepping out of the house.

“Y/N, wait,” Enzo called, but I ignored him and walked to my car.

“Let me drive you home, please. You can’t go like that,” he said, and I shook my head.

“Y/N, please,” he pleaded, but I kept shaking my head.

I got into my car, closing the doors. He looked at me with sympathy, and I felt bad for shutting him out like that. But I should feel bad for myself, for what his brother did to me, for what he knew was happening but didn’t tell me.

I saw him get into his car. My hands were shaking, my vision blurred as I started to drive. Enzo’s car followed behind, making sure I made it home.

I got out of the car once I reached my house, not even looking back, not having the energy.

I stepped into my house, the quiet enveloping me like a shroud. I walked to my room, but stopped short when I saw my parents standing inside. They turned to look at me, and my father’s eyes were filled with a cold anger.

"What is this?" he demanded, holding the red wine bottle in his hand.

The sight of it brought more tears to my eyes. If that night hadn’t happened, if I hadn’t found Mattheo, if I hadn’t helped him...

"What is it?" my father repeated, his voice rising. "Shame, shame on you."

"Give it back to me," I said, trying to take the bottle from his hands. My mother, knowing better, tried to step between us, but he pushed her away.

"I said, give it back!" I yelled, and then I felt it—pain, sharp and hot, as his hand struck my cheek. He hit me again.

I screamed and lunged at him, trying to wrest the bottle from his grip. He struggled, but didn’t fall.

"Give it back, give it back, give it back to me!" I cried, hitting his chest, my nails scratching at his hands, anything I could reach. He grabbed my hair, and something inside me snapped.

Enough—enough. I’ve had enough.

I started hitting him in the chest, my nails digging into his skin. He was shocked, and I didn’t stop.

"Get out! Get out! We hate you! We don’t want you! Get out!" I screamed.

My nails raked his hands again, trying to get the bottle.

"Don’t you dare put your hands on me or Mother again! I will use my wand. I will cast a spell on you to torture you. I don’t care! I don’t care about the consequences! Get out!" I screamed, and finally, he released his grip. The bottle fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.

He stumbled out of the room, then out of the house. I fell to my knees, touching the broken shards, crying hard.

My mother knelt down, trying to pull me away. "No, no," I said.

"It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll clean it up," she said, but I panicked.

"You can’t. You can’t, please, no," I said, my fingers bleeding as I touched the pieces.

"It wasn’t mine," I said, though I knew I wasn’t just talking about the bottle.

"It wasn’t mine, Mother. It wasn’t mine," I repeated, crying even harder. "It wasn’t mine to lose. It wasn’t mine to lose."

She finally managed to pull my bleeding hands away and hugged me tightly. I cried into her arms, sobbing for Mattheo, for myself, for everything that had gone wrong.

The rest of the summer passed in a blur of anguish and solitude. I found myself on the Hogwarts Express, not knowing how I was going to face the coming year. It didn't stop—the whispers, the sidelong glances, the barely concealed disdain. They had finally notified me that there was no coming back from this. Their eyes found me, and they whispered, not caring whether their words were good or bad. I was sure they were bad.

The journey to Hogwarts felt faster than ever, though I knew it wasn't. It was just that I dreaded every moment, and that dread made time fly. When the train finally stopped, I got out, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible.

As we reached the castle, I saw her—Betty. She stood there, as pretty as always. Unlike the others, her eyes held sympathy, and I hated that. I wanted Betty to give me a reason to hate her, but she couldn't. She was like an angel on earth, everything I wasn’t and could never be.

I walked inside, ignoring everything around me. I didn’t care which house the first years were going to be sorted into, even though I had always loved that part. Not this time. This time, I just wanted to hide.

Then I saw him—Mattheo. Our eyes met for a brief second before he looked away, walking past me as if I didn’t exist. Maybe I didn’t anymore, at least not for him. I didn’t have to look back to see where he was going; I already knew. So, I just walked to my dorm, feeling more invisible than ever.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[starsinthesky5]

you are in love: a snapshot into the past || joe burrow x reader

description: some background information to fill in some gaps about this series! covers what led up to their meeting, her albums & their stories, and a little bit about when they first met

universe: you are in love (click for parts 1-4 of the series)

a/n: this was mostly for me and i had lots of fun making it but i hope you enjoyed if you took a peek at it ;) i should've made this FOREVER AGO but here we are

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

her previous albums:

album name: woodvale (first studio album)

about: With her debut album Woodvale, Y/N establishes herself as a masterful storyteller, blending deeply personal experiences with vivid narratives that feel both intimate and universal. From the very first note, she invites listeners into a world of nostalgia, heartbreak, and longing—where past and present blur, and every lyric feels like a carefully crafted confession.

Pulling inspiration from her own life, she weaves a cinematic experience through her songwriting, turning quiet moments into emotional landscapes. Tracks like “The 1” and “Cardigan” capture the bittersweet ache of what-ifs and lost love, while “The Last Great American Dynasty” expands her storytelling beyond herself, painting a rich portrait of a life lived wildly and without apology. The dueling perspectives in “Exile” (feat. Bon Iver) bring to life the unfortunate disconnect between two people who once understood each other completely--the song feeling like a conversation between two ill-fated lovers.

Her ability to capture emotion through complex lyricism is undeniable. The haunting “My Tears Ricochet” and the aching surrender of “Tolerate It” showcase her raw vulnerability, while “Mirrorball” reflects on the exhausting performance of always trying to be enough. She shifts effortlessly between different lenses—nostalgic and dreamy in “Seven”, reckless and longing in “August”, and unapologetically bold in “Mad Woman”.

But Woodvale isn’t just about heartbreak—it’s about self-discovery. “Willow” traces the pull of fate, while “Tis’ the Damn Season” and “Illicit Affairs” dive into brief love and the temptation of what’s never meant to last. “Cowboy Like Me” tells a story of two outlaws in love, pulled in by deception and desire, while “Betty” unfolds a tale of regret and redemption with the emotional weight of a late-night confession. Closing the album, “Hoax” leaves listeners with a quiet devastation—the realization that even the most painful love can still feel impossible to walk away from.

Through it all, Y/N proves that she is not just a songwriter but a storyteller in the truest sense. Woodvale is a world of its own, rich with characters, emotions, and moments frozen in time—an album that lingers long after the final note fades. A stellar debut from an artist who refuses to be confined by expectations, Woodvale is more than just an album—it’s an experience, a testament to the power of storytelling, and the mark of a rising star whose voice has already touched so many hearts.

noteworthy achievements at the grammy's: best new artist, song of the year: cardigan, best music video: willow, record of the year: willow

tracklist:

the 1

cardigan

the last great american dynasty

exile (feat. Bon Iver)

my tears ricochet

mirrorball

willow

seven

august

this is me trying

illicit affairs

tis’ the damn season

mad woman

cowboy like me

betty

tolerate it

hoax

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album name: is it over now? (second studio album)

about: Following the success of her impressive debut album, Y/N returns with her deeply personal sophomore album, Is It Over Now?—a raw, unfiltered reflection on love, betrayal, and the painful process of letting go. Split into two distinct halves, the album untangles the emotional wreckage left behind by a five-year relationship that was never what it seemed.

For years, she believed he was the one. He was charming, adored, and in the public eye as much as her, if not more—an actor (literally and metaphorically) who knew how to play his part. Even after the first betrayal, she clung to his promises, convincing herself that love was worth the risk. That he was worth it all. But when the lies continued and his betrayals became a spectacle for the world to see, she was forced to confront the truth: this wasn’t love. It was manipulation, disillusionment, and a lesson she never wanted to learn.

Side A: Confusion & Denial captures the internal battle—clinging to the good memories, questioning everything, and trying to convince herself that things could still be recovered. From the restless anxiety of “Out of the Woods” to the desperate plea of “Say Don’t Go,” she narrates the emotional highs and lows of a love that was always on the edge of collapse. But then, there’s "Opposite"—a moment of raw, painful clarity. In a bold move, she takes the risk of directly acknowledging his unfaithfulness, comparing herself to the other girl in a way that’s both heartbreaking and self-destructive. It’s the sound of a realization hitting all at once—that she was never what he truly wanted, that she spent so long trying to be enough for someone who was always looking elsewhere. The lyrics cut deep, the delivery is haunting, and for the first time on the album, she stops trying to rewrite the past and instead forces herself to see the truth.

It’s the turning point of Side A—the moment where the illusion starts to shatter, even if she’s not quite ready to let go yet.

Side B: Realization & Mourning is where the heartbreak settles in. With “You’re Losing Me” and “loml,” she accepts that the love she fought for was never real—just an illusion she refused to see. He promised her the world, giving her all the love she could've ever wanted, and she fell for it. But when he took it away, she got lost, she fell through and drowned. The ballads on this side are devastating in their honesty. "The Great War" paints this love as a battlefield, a war she fought tirelessly only to realize she was the only one still fighting. "The Moment I Knew" captures the exact second everything changed, when she could no longer lie to herself. And then again, there’s "loml"—possibly the most gut-wrenching track of them all and an album highlight. It’s not just about losing someone she loved, but losing the future she once saw so clearly. The title alone is a painful contradiction—love of my life—but he wasn’t, not really. He was the love she thought would last forever, but instead, he became a lesson, a ghost of what could have been. In the album's final track, “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve,” she looks back, no longer grieving the relationship, but regretting everything, and mourning the version of herself she lost in it.

After battling for her voice in the industry less than a year before working on this album, she never expected to have to fight for herself in love too. But Is It Over Now? isn’t just about the destruction—it’s about survival. It’s about facing the truth, even when it’s painful, and finding the strength to finally walk away despite the painful ache in your heart.

Where Woodvale introduced her as a masterful storyteller, Is It Over Now? proves just how versatile she truly is. Sonically, this album expands far beyond the dreamlike, folk-infused melodies of her debut, diving straight into a more dynamic and emotionally, even pure pop charged production. From the explosive, frantic energy of "Out of the Woods" to the stripped-down devastation of "loml", every track is carefully crafted to match the emotional weight of the lyrics.

She experiments more than ever before—incorporating synth-pop with raw, heartfelt ballads, balancing soaring vocals with moments of quiet destruction. It’s proof to her ability to evolve, to push her sound in ways that feel both unexpected and inevitable. With this album, she’s taking control, writing her own ending, and proving that she is far more than just the girl who got her heart broken.

noteworthy achievements at the grammy's: coming after part 5 ;)

tracklist:

side a: confusion & denial

is it over now?

out of the woods

wonderland

question…?

all you had to do was stay

say don’t go

opposite

now that we don’t talk

side b: realization & mourning

the great war

the moment i knew

you’re losing me

loml

how did it end?

would’ve could’ve should’ve

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What led up to her meeting Joe?

After barely surviving the worst breakup, betrayal, and fallout of her life, Y/N was left shattered. She had already spent an exhausting year fighting to prove herself in the music industry—drowning out accusations that she was just a "one-hit wonder," an "industry plant," or that she only made it because of her "connections." She was constantly battling for her place, for her voice, for respect despite breaking records and adding beautiful achievements to her name. And just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, the breakup happened.

It was everywhere—plastered across every screen, magazine cover, and news report. There was no escaping it. Her ex, in a desperate attempt to salvage his own reputation, spun lies and manipulated the media, trying to paint her as the villain to cover up his own repeated affairs. It was humiliating, exhausting, and isolating. She didn’t know who to trust, how to navigate the relentless scrutiny, or if she would ever truly escape the shadow of it all. Her mind was a madhouse, filled with thoughts such as, "it was all my fault" or "i wasn't enough. i'm never enough", and even "what he did was right. i'm not worth it".

She was drained. Tired of fighting. Tired of proving herself. Tired of trying to find solid ground when the world seemed determined to pull her under. Tired of trying to find someone who would reciprocate the love she gave. Music was her outlet, and then came this album. It was met with immense criticism and skepticism because of the way her ex was running the story in the media, but as much as that destroyed her, she couldn’t show it. This was her work, her passion, her love.

Before she drowned in those hellish waters, she felt a hand reach down and pull her back up.

Joe.

It wasn’t really an instant fairytale. She had spent so long being burned by people who claimed to love her, by an industry that made her question her worth, by a world that had watched her heartbreak like it was a scripted drama. She didn’t trust easily—not anymore.

But Joe was different.

He was patient. He never asked for anything, never demanded pieces of her she wasn’t ready to give. He saw the walls she had built around herself and never tried to tear them down—he simply stood outside of them, waiting, showing her in quiet ways that he wasn’t going anywhere.

He was steady. In a world that never stopped spinning, he was the one thing that didn’t waver. He understood what it meant to be under a microscope, to have people expect you to be perfect, to never show weakness. But with her, he didn’t pretend. He let her see the exhaustion behind the confidence, the weight of the pressure he carried. And in return, he let her be real too—no cameras, no expectations, just her.

He didn’t see her as a headline. Not as the girl in the tabloids, not as the singer everyone had an opinion about. He saw her—really saw her. The way she overthought things, the way she tapped her fingers against her leg when she was anxious, the way her eyes softened when she talked about music. He listened, not just to respond, but to understand.

He never pushed, never asked her to let him in before she was ready. He just was—constant, unwavering, a presence she didn’t realize she had been missing until he was there.

And slowly, something shifted.

She started to believe again. In herself. In love. In the idea that maybe, just maybe, she was never as alone as she thought.

With Joe, she discovered what love truly was. It wasn’t the whirlwind promises or the flashy gestures, the "I’m going to marry you" act that her ex had put on for so long—those grand declarations that ultimately meant nothing when they were just empty words to cover up his lies. Joe didn’t need to put on a show. He loved her without needing to perform for her, without any manipulation or games. He showed her that love didn’t have to come with conditions. It didn’t need to be proven with flashy promises or grand, public declarations—it was in the quiet moments, the consistency, the way he would show up for her without hesitation.

In the past, she had been so caught up in the illusion of what love was supposed to look like—the idea that if someone truly loved you, they would chase you, claim you, make bold promises about the future. That’s what her ex had given her—the "I’m going to marry you" act that, in hindsight, was just a performance, a way to keep her tied to him while he continued to betray her. It was about control, not love. She had gotten lost in it, thinking that because he talked about forever, it meant forever was guaranteed. But she had learned the hard way that promises made in the heat of a moment could be shattered with the same ease as the person who made them.

Joe showed her love was different. He didn’t just say the words—he showed them through actions, through trust, through patience. There was no rush, no need to lock her down or convince her she was his. He never pressured her into any promises, never made her feel like love came with deadlines or expectations. He simply loved her for who she was, not for the version of herself she thought she needed to be.

He knew she was for him. He didn’t need her to figure it all out overnight—he was willing to give her the space to heal, to trust again, to find herself in a relationship that wasn’t defined by pressure or insecurity. And slowly, piece by piece, she started to feel it too. She started to trust that this love wasn’t momentary, that it wasn’t built on promises made for the wrong reasons. It was steady, real, and above all, it was hers. Joe had never tried to rush her, never pushed for more than she was ready to give, and in return, she slowly began to realize—he was the one she’d been waiting for all along.

But there was still a part of her that couldn’t shake the weight of her reputation. After the public breakup and the media circus that followed, she felt like every move she made was under a microscope. Her reputation was in the dirt—scrutinized, distorted, and painted with all the wrong colors. The tabloids fed off her heartbreak, and her ex had done everything in his power to tarnish her name, making her feel like her worth was wrapped up in what the media said about her. She couldn’t escape the whispers, the judgments, the assumptions that followed her every step.

But then, Joe showed her something she hadn’t realized she needed: he loved her because of her. Not because of the persona the world had made her into, not because of the reputation she was forced to wear. He loved her for the person she was behind all of it—the one who laughed too loud, the one who stayed up late making music, the one who cared deeply and unapologetically. He didn’t care about the headlines. He saw past them, past the layers of gossip and scandal, and loved her for her heart.

And that’s when it clicked. Slowly, she began to understand that her reputation wasn’t defined by the media or the public. She didn’t have to be a product of what people thought of her. She made her own reputation. She wrote her own story. With Joe by her side, she realized that she could be more than what the world had decided for her. She could rewrite her narrative, build her legacy, and finally, feel at peace with who she truly was.

When and how did they meet?

July 4th. The Hamptons.

A party she really didn’t want to go to. Especially not while being the talk of the town…for all the wrong reasons. There were no friends, nobody she felt like she could talk to or lean on for the night, but according to her team, it would be good for her reputation if she was seen acting unbothered, happy, and fresh, even though she was far from it.

She almost backed out last minute, knowing the media would be there, waiting for any sign of weakness. But, as always, her team had convinced her it was the right move. So, reluctantly, she walked into the crowd of people, putting on the mask of someone who had everything together—when, in reality, she was falling apart inside.

She tried to keep to herself at first, avoiding the cameras and trying to stay away from conversations that felt like traps. It wasn’t long before she found herself standing by the railing, looking out over the water, trying to escape the noise and the pressure. And then, there he was.

Joe Burrow.

He wasn’t like the other people at the party. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone or play any part in the show. He just stood there, leaning against the wall, his eyes calm and steady, as if the whole world didn’t exist except for the moment they shared. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what drew her to him—he seemed unaffected by the world around him.

When their eyes met, she felt something shift inside her, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. He smiled, just a small, genuine smile that seemed to say, “I get it.” Without any words, he made her feel…seen.

She knew of him, but not too much about him. He was a star in his own right—one of those people who seemed to exist in a different world, far from hers but also so incredibly close. She had heard his name, seen the headlines, but the details never really stuck. At least, not until that night.

But him? Oh, he knew more than she realized. He’d never admit it, but he’d definitely spent more time than he’d care to tell scrolling through her Instagram page, his finger hovering over the follow button more times than he could count. There was something about her that pulled him in—something in her eyes, her story, the way her music resonated with him in a way he hadn’t expected. He admired how she carried herself, how she navigated everything thrown at her with a grace he couldn’t help but respect.

They ended up talking, first about something insignificant, just filling the space between them but eventually agreeing that small talk felt too calculated. That's when the conversation quickly flowed into something deeper. She felt comfortable with him in a way she hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time. She talked about the media storm she’d been in, about the pressure she was facing, and he listened, really listened. There were no judgments, no comments about how she should act, no advice on how to handle her image. Just quiet understanding.

And then there was her beauty. He couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t just the kind of beauty you saw in photos or on red carpets. It was the kind that lingered, the kind that came through in the smallest moments—the way she laughed, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved. There was a depth to her that went far beyond her image, and that was what drew him in.

She was too cautious, too guarded. But in that moment, she saw something in him she hadn’t seen in anyone else for a long time: a genuine connection, a space where she could be real. Slowly, very very slowly, she let herself open up, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she had to pretend. Even though she was only opening the door a crack, it was more than enough for Joe to understand her.

Joe wasn’t trying to fix her or be her savior. He wasn’t even trying to impress her. He was just there. And somehow, that was enough.

They left the party together, not because they had some grand plan but because, in each other’s company, they found a sense of peace. That night marked the beginning of something neither of them could have predicted—but something that felt right.

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And then, in the blink of an eye, they went from two strangers who had been through hell and back, to two souls who connected and found each other when they needed each other the most.

It wasn’t anything like a grand or dramatic revelation...it was quiet. Subtle. But in those moments, in the way they spoke to each other, the way their worlds just fit, something clicked. They had both walked through their own storms, faced battles that left scars, but now, they were standing together, joined by the unspoken understanding of what it meant to fight and survive.

In him, she found someone who could see her for exactly who she was—no duplicities, no expectations, just her. And in her, he found a strength he hadn’t realized he needed. It was like they had been written into each other’s lives, without even knowing it.

And that’s when he became her muse.

Her heart, her story, her music—all of it began to reflect him, not in the obvious ways, but in the quiet, soulful details. The way he showed up for her, the way he understood her without needing to explain everything, began to pour into her songs, her lyrics. She started to write not just about her pain or her past, but about something new—a love that didn’t need to be perfect to be real, a love that gave her the freedom to be herself.

He inspired her, not by trying to be someone she needed him to be, but by simply being who he was—steady, patient, unwavering, loving. In that, she found the courage to open her heart again, to let someone in without fear of what the world would say.

And in the way he loved her, she found herself again.

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album name: reputation (third studio album)

about: Reputation isn’t just an album—it’s a statement, a love story, a resurrection. It’s the sound of someone who’s been torn apart by the world, stitched herself back together, and come out stronger than ever.

The first half of Reputation is fire and fury. A continuation of Is It Over Now?, it picks up the shattered pieces of betrayal and weaponizes them. She isn’t just mourning anymore—she’s setting the record straight. It begins with "…Ready For It?", a pulse-pounding, electrifying opener that feels like stepping into the arena, lights flashing, heartbeat racing. It’s the sound of someone who’s been through hell and come out stronger, faster, untouchable. She’s setting the stage, daring anyone to come for her again—because this time, she’s ready. "Cassandra" also opens the album like a warning shot, the voice of a woman who’s always known the truth but was never believed. Then, she unleashes her anger with "Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?" and "I Did Something Bad"—tracks dripping in revenge, anger, and unshakable confidence. "Look What You Made Me Do" is her reckoning, a complete shedding of her past self and the media’s portrayal of her. And then there’s "The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived"—a ruthless, poetic final word to the man who shattered her trust. She takes shots at the industry, too—those who tried to control her, silence her, toss her aside. But with "My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys", she turns the camera back on the men who love to build women up just to break them down. It’s biting, it’s brutal, it’s cathartic.

Then comes "The Prophecy"—the final moment of doubt. Was she always meant to be the girl who was burned by love? Was her fate already written?

Then, "I Can See You" happens. Track 9...a special ode to a certain someone. A turning point. The moment she lets herself feel something new. The production shifts—lighter, warmer, more hopeful. Suddenly, she’s no longer writing from a place of anger or pain, but something entirely new: desire, love, and happiness. "So It Goes…" turns up the heat, sultry and hypnotic, a slow-burning realization that love can be intoxicating in the best way.

Then, "So High School" bursts in—youthful, giddy, pure. It’s the rush of falling, the way love makes you feel like a teenager again, sneaking glances across the room, giggling at inside jokes, feeling untouchable. The euphoria of it is undeniable.

"Delicate" is hesitant, but the moment she realizes this is different. "Gorgeous" is playful, full of infatuation, while "Labyrinth" captures the beautiful fear of falling too fast. And then, "You Are In Love"—a song so soft, so certain, it feels like an exhale after years of holding her breath. "Dress" is all-consuming passion, love in its most vulnerable, intimate form. And "Call It What You Want"? That’s her reclaiming happiness on her own terms. A standout in this beautiful album as she tells the tale of the past year of her life, herself.

"But Daddy I Love Him" is playful defiance, a rebellious whisper, a knowing smirk—she’s heard all the warnings before, but this time, she’s listening to her own heart. "New Year’s Day" is love’s quietest, truest promise—the kind that lasts long after the fireworks fade.

But it’s "End Game" that cements it all. A bold, sweeping declaration of two people with big reputations, two people who have seen the worst of the world and still found each other. It’s love against the odds, the thrill of knowing that despite everything—despite the noise, the criticism, the doubters—this was always meant to.

And then there’s Karma—one of the most satisfying moments on the album. A reminder that she doesn’t need revenge anymore. Karma will handle that for her. Because she’s too busy being happy.

Sonically, Reputation is her most dynamic, most versatile work yet. It moves effortlessly from dark, moody production to shimmering synths, from bass-heavy anthems to stripped-down confessions. It’s grand and cinematic, yet deeply personal. It’s both a middle finger to the past and a love letter to the future.

She told us she was going to write her own story. And this? This is the greatest plot twist yet.

noteworthy achievements at the grammys: coming soon...

tracklist:

...ready for it?

cassandra

who's afraid of little old me?

i did something bad

look what you made me do

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

the smallest man who ever lived

the prophecy

i can see you

delicate

gorgeous

labyrinth

you are in love

dress

call it what you want

so high school

daylight

so it goes

don't blame me

but daddy i love him

i don't wanna live forever (ft. zayn)

midnight rain

this is what you came for

"slut!"

sweet nothing

new year's day

i can do it with a broken heart

this is why we can't have nice things

endgame

karma

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--The End--