#but it is as if you would expect her to move and speak

[softness-and-shattering]

Thats a good point, I see all kinds of neurodivergence in my family but only a couple of us in my generation, afaik, have a diagnosis.

However, my gp attended a recent talk about overlap of queer folk with neurodivergence and also a group of comorbid illnesses including, iirc, POTS/MCAS/EDS/CFS theres a couple others Im just blanking. Digestive issues? Things that we've broadly noticed as a community, and it seems like its starting to be studied.

And also, everyone has some kind of trauma, idk how many people if any have no kind of disability whatsoever, humanity is vast and diverse. And we're wired to look for patterns. Interpret this information how you will, I certainly cant say for sure if these patterns are broader than trans people, or are more people trans than we expect, are we seeing correlation or causation or is there a mechanism in common with all these labels thats the deeper cause, is queerness an interchangeable/'sometimes' factor or a central one, we are way too early to know that yet.

I think its probably not nothing. But we're also not uniquely fucked up. Maybe we're just sticking out, so to speak, so thats where the research is starting. Many people werent taking ME/CFS seriously until long covid prompted more research bc, iirc, there was now a lot more people affected who were harder to ignore. And who were seeking help. Like a lot of people have an allergy or a dodgy wrist or "that weird thing with my digestion" and they dont consider it a disability or seek treatment, yknow? And especially mental health and especially what runs in families, it looks normal to you so why would you ever bring it up to a dr? "Everyone struggles with these things. Everyone feels this way" well you do and your parents and aunts and uncles do and your siblings do, and maybe you told a dr forty years ago you were in pain and they brushed you off so you thought everyone was walking around in agony.

And that gets into an adjacent conversation about medicalising and diagnosing and when does that help and when is it like, making a negative thing of normal human experiences and variations, its not a disorder till its negatively impacting your life, if youre surviving but treatment could help you thrive is it worth the side effects etc etc plus the whole discussion of psychiatry in particular which can be an amount of guesswork and diagnostic labels are often just patterns of symptoms that we see oftrn go together and we dont always yet understand the underlying neurology. (One of my all time best therapists kept up with the latest neuroscience and always had very good and effective suggestions. I only stopped seeing her bc I moved away. If you can be seeing professionals who are keeping up with research, definitely prefer them over someone who hasnt learned anything since they completed training 50 years ago. Always.)

Tl;dr I agree with OP and also this stuff is extremely complex and we're always learning new things about us!

something that should be taken with a grain of salt are the statistics talking about the high rates of mental illness + neurodivergence among trans people (ocd, bpd, adhd, autism, etc)

I see both sides of the political spectrum taking these studies at face value - conservatives say we're broken, and trans people try to come up with reasons why for example autism + gender dysphoria makes sense and why one of them feeds into another

at the end of the day you have to remember that we're the one category of people on this planet who are legally required to go see a psychiatrist in order to receive non-psychiatric medication and surgeries.

more trans people are in therapy by law than any other demographic of people, and as a result, this captures more comorbidities.

if I had to look at my own family & rates of mental illness?

mom, dad, 2 maternal aunts, maternal grandmother, paternal grandmother, sister, sibling, and me all have OCD.

7/9 of them are cishet, never been to therapy, never diagnosed. 2/9 are trans, required therapy for hormone treatment, and were diagnosed.

you don't have to do any math to just see that the resulting statistics end up intensely skewed.

and we can think back to how autism was virtually never diagnosed more than 50 years ago - ruling out any grandparents being included in statistics - and even my parents' generation (they're in their 60s now) wouldn't have been included either.

I don't think it's to anyone's benefit to accept these studies uncritically. a lot of these things are hereditary and far more prevalent in the overall population than people realize

[creamflix]

happiness is a butterfly — sukuna x female reader   content warnings: fluff, wholesome crack, arranged marriage, yapper reader, implied heinen!era sukuna   — masterlist here ☆

it was a rather silly sight, truly. a queen pacing her chambers, speaking aloud to herself as if carrying on a conversation with another. 

but it wasn’t uncommon for you, especially on days when even the estate’s servants — those with whom you’d built a steady rapport — weren’t in a position to entertain your musings.

you often spoke of the little things that caught your interest: the peculiar patterns on a foreign tapestry that had arrived earlier in the week, the way the evening sun cast golden streaks across the estate’s garden, or a particularly intriguing passage you’d read about distant lands and their customs. then, of course, there were your personal passions — musings on literature, art, or even the intricacies of floral arrangements you wished to try your hand at.

tonight was no different. pacing back and forth across the polished floor of your chambers, you animatedly discussed the potential arrangement of a rose and lavender bouquet, occasionally breaking into thoughts on how such combinations symbolized both passion and serenity.

your voice was lively, your gestures animated as you imagined the possibilities, oblivious to the passage of time. 

it wasn’t until the faint creak of the door broke your reverie that you froze mid-sentence.

turning sharply, your heart leapt into your throat when you saw sukuna standing in the doorway. his crimson gaze swept the room before landing on you, a single brow arched in mild curiosity.

“who is it you’re speaking to?” he asked, his tone neutral yet laced with an edge of command.

heat rushed to your face, mortification settling in as you clasped your hands together, suddenly acutely aware of how unqueenly your actions had been. “no one, my lord,” you said hurriedly, bowing your head in shame. “just... my own thoughts.”

he stepped further into the room, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. you braced yourself for some scolding remark about dignity and decorum, but instead, he simply observed you in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“you seemed quite invested in the subject,” he said finally, moving toward the edge of the chamber where his robes awaited removal.

“it was nothing of importance,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

he scoffed softly, unfastening the heavy belt at his waist. “then why did you speak of it with such passion?”

you hesitated, unsure if his words were meant to mock or if he truly sought an answer. when his gaze flicked to you, sharper and more expectant now, you relented. “i didn’t think anyone would hear me. it is... embarrassing, my lord, to prattle on about trivial matters aloud.”

“trivial?” his tone hardened, and he set the belt aside with deliberate care. “if it was so trivial, would it compel you to pace about like a court philosopher delivering some grand discourse?”

your lips parted in protest, but no words came. he sighed, turning back to you fully now, his arms crossing over his chest.

“continue,” he said simply.

your brow furrowed in confusion. “my lord?”

“whatever it was you were discussing — continue. i’m listening,” he clarified, already reaching to undo the clasps of his outer robe.

“but...” you faltered, glancing down at your hands. “it’s hardly fitting of a queen to...”

“enough,” he interrupted, his voice firm but lacking any true menace. “do you think i’d demand such a thing if i didn’t intend to listen?”

the room was quiet save for the faint rustle of fabric as he removed his robe, setting it aside with practiced precision. his gaze returned to you, expectant but patient.

tentatively, you began to speak again, your words slower now, less animated than before. but as you continued, weaving through the intricate details of floral arrangements and their symbolic meanings, his steady presence eased your nerves.

sukuna said little, merely nodding here and there or humming faintly in acknowledgment. his sharp gaze, however, remained fixed on you, betraying a level of attention you hadn’t anticipated.

when he finally moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his tunic undone and his posture more relaxed, he gestured for you to come closer.

“you’ve more knowledge on the matter than i gave you credit for,” he remarked, his tone devoid of sarcasm. “and here i thought your talents were limited to courtly affairs.”

your cheeks burned, unsure whether to take his words as praise or something else entirely.

“does it amuse you, my lord?” you asked cautiously, your hands clasping together once more.

his gaze softened, though his expression remained impassive. “amuse? no. intrigue? perhaps. you’ve a mind for such things — a pity you keep it to yourself.”

his words struck something within you, a mixture of validation and guilt swirling in your chest. you bowed your head again, this time not in shame but in gratitude. “thank you, my lord.”

“enough of that,” he said gruffly, leaning back against the bedpost. “if you have more to say, then say it. and next time you find yourself pacing this chamber, don’t wait for me to step in.”

a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, and as you continued speaking, sukuna closed his eyes — not in disinterest, but in quiet appreciation of the sound of your voice filling the room.

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[quintessenceofdust88]

Hello everyone! Here's the sequel for Oreos and Orange Juice (a.k.a the fluff piece with pregnant!Buck and Jee-Yun). Brought to you with extra doses of fluffiness (almot 2,000 words!) and uncle Tommy being the literal best!

It’s almost nine when Tommy finally drags himself through the door, throwing his keys in the bowl and being instantly met by the bright laughter of Jee-Yun coming from the kitchen, followed by Evan’s excited voice as he tells her a kid-friendly version of a funny rescue they performed the other day. 

Even though he’s exhausted from his shift, Tommy smiles. Jee-Yun is always a joy to have around, and the sweet child’s laughter echoing through the house gives him a wonderful glimpse of their future which is coming sooner and sooner. 

“Morning, you two” He says softly, entering the kitchen, and both of them look at him with the same excited eager Buckley signature smile. 

“Uncle Tommy!” Jee says, throwing herself against his legs, and Tommy easily lifts her into his hip. 

“Hi, princess Jee” Tommy greets her while crossing the kitchen to place a quick peck on Evan’s lips, and it’s deliciously domestic. He can’t wait for the day he’ll do it with their own kids, one twin in each arm. “How was your night? Did your uncle Evan let you up past your bedtime again?” He teases, and Jee’s giggle is all the confirmation he needs.

“Only a tiny bit, right, Jee?” Evan tells her with a wink as he slides a plate of pancakes in his direction, and Tommy could just about kiss him. He places Jee back in her chair and sits beside her. 

Evan joins them on the table with a bottle of syrup and, for some reason, a slice of cheese over his own chocolate chip pancakes. At this point, Tommy has learned better than to comment on his cravings, so he just presses a kiss to his cheek, earning a blinding smile in return.

“So how was your shift?” He asks Tommy, and he swallows the bite of pancake (delicious, as always; Tommy is absolutely spoiled by his husband's cooking) in his mouth before answering.

“It was okay, nothing major; two med-evacs. What about you guys, did you have fun?” He asks, and then tenderly nudges Jee's cheek, wanting to bring her into the conversation. “Did you take care of your uncle and the babies for me?” He asks her, expecting a small giggle. 

What he doesn’t expect is the excited gasp she lets out, swallowing her bite practically unchewed. 

“Uncle Tommy, you’re never gonna believe what the babies did last night!” She says excitedly, and Tommy can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. 

“What was that, princess?” He asks curiously, and she and Evan exchange a conspiratorial glance.

“They kicked my hand!” She answers, bouncing in her seat, unable to contain her joy. “It was just like when Kevin kicked Mama but there were two of them this time, it was so cool!”

“Wait, really?! That’s so special, Jee!” Tommy tells her, his heart fluttering warmly in his chest as he looks at Evan for confirmation. 

The babies hadn’t kicked before; they had started moving about two weeks prior, and the doctor said kicks would probably start any time now. He knows Evan has been impatient about it, almost as if he was expecting it to be a confirmation the babies were okay.

“It was just as we were falling asleep” Evan tells him, his smile wide as he caresses his bump and proudly speaks of the kicks. “They’d been pretty quiet during the day, but I guess Jee inspired them, didn’t you, Jee-bug?” 

“Yeah! Uncle Buck said they were telling me good night!” She recalls, her smile never leaving her face until she looks at Tommy, and then it falters slightly. “Oh, but! I'm sorry you weren't there, uncle Tommy! They're your babies too, I bet you wanted them to say good night to you first!”

And, well; even if Tommy is slightly disappointed to have missed it, he can't have Jee apologizing for it. He kneels down to her level, a kind smile on his face.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, darlin’” He reassures her. “The babies will kick plenty of times, I'm sure. I'm glad they did it for the first time with you; it means they know they have the best big cousin in the world, don't they? Pretty smart babies if you ask me” He says with a wink, and Jee's smile can light up a whole firehouse.

“You're the best, uncle Tommy!” She throws her arms around his neck, and Tommy hugs her close to his chest for a few seconds before letting her happily return to her breakfast.

As he gets up and goes back to his own plate, Tommy glances at Evan, only to find him drying tears from his cheek. Tommy smiles teasingly at him, offering him a napkin; Evan takes it with a glare that loses all its effect because of the love in his eyes.

“I blame your children; they're making me hormonal” He says with a wet chuckle, and Tommy chuckles, pressing a kiss to his temple before sitting down.

“I blame the crying Buckley gene” Tommy teases. “I'll bet you anything that Maddie will cry when you tell her about the babies kicking for Jee”

“Oh, Mama will cry!” Jee pipes up, her face covered in syrup, and the two of them laugh at her certainty as Tommy bends over with a napkin to clean her face.

“See? And she's not pregnant anymore. It's the crying Buckley gene” Tommy reaffirms, and Evan shoves his shoulder playfully.

He chuckles and pays attention to his plate again, at least until he feels Evan's hand squeezing his. Tommy looks up to see him looking so earnestly at him that his heart skips a beat.

“I am sorry, though. That you missed it” He says, almost pouting, and Tommy finds it so adorable that he kisses it right away (Jee coos at them, and Tommy slightly blushes).

“Me too, a little. But you had the best company for it, sweetheart. And I'm sure they'll kick plenty of times before they're out here” He reassures him, and then tenderly places his hand on Evan's bump. “Hear that, little blobs? You kicked for Daddy and Jee-Yun, so no pressure, but if you wanna kick for Papa too…”

He keeps his hand on Evan’s bump for a while, and the three of them are silent, staring in expectation. Tommy’s about to lift his hand, making a joke about trying again at nighttime to clear the disappointment in Jee’s eyes, when he feels it. It’s a soft thing, almost like a tap against his hand, but it’s there. It’s one of their babies, moving around and pressing their tiny foot against Evan’s belly, and Tommy’s feeling it. Evan gasps in delight, clearly feeling it as well (duh, Kinard, he tells himself. If he can feel it, Evan has to be feeling it at least twice as strong), and his hand joins Tommy’s over his bump. 

“You guys really love your Papa’s attention, huh?” He teases, softly caressing his belly. “Hi, little blobs, Daddy’s glad to see you’re awake” He coos at his bump, and before either of them can say anything else, they’re joined by the little force of nature that is Jee-Yun Buckley-Han, her hand looking even tinier than it is when she puts it over her uncles’ massive ones.

“The babies are kicking again?! They’re saying hi to you, uncle Tommy!” She says excitedly, and Tommy feels the kick again, two this time, one beside the other, almost as if one twin is nudging the other to also say hi to their expectant family. 

“And to you, Jee. I keep telling you, they already love their big cousin” He tells her, and Jee presses a soft kiss to Evan’s belly. 

“I love you too, babies. When you’re out here, I’ll teach you lots of fun things, I promise!” She says excitedly, and Tommy doesn’t doubt it for a second. Apparently, neither does Evan. 

“They’ll be so lucky to have you, Jee” He whispers to her. “Just like I was lucky to have your Mama when I was a kid”

As if on cue, the doorbell rings, and Tommy reluctantly excuses himself to open it, but smiles when he sees Maddie on the other side. She pulls him into a hug, her usual way of greeting him by now, and Tommy can’t deny that he loves how she basically adopted him as her brother too. He grew up an only child, desperately wishing for a sister like Maddie; it feels good to have one now. 

“Hey! I was just going home from work and thought I’d pick up my little nuisance. She wasn’t too much trouble, was she?” Maddie asks, and Tommy closes the door behind them as she comes in. 

“None at all; in fact, she’s been a great help. Come see for yourself” He invites, and Maddie raises an eyebrow, but follows him into the kitchen. “Jee, look who’s here for you, princess” He announces, and both Jee and Evan look up, but this once, the little girl makes no move to run to her mother. 

“Mama! Come here! The babies are kicking! They’re saying hi!” She tells Maddie excitedly, and Tommy chuckles at how eagerly Maddie kneels down by Evan’s chair, her hands resting against her brother’s bump. “Uncle Tommy says they’re smart and know I’m the best big cousin, so they have to know you’re the best auntie too!” Her logic is sound, and Maddie sends Tommy a grateful look that has him blushing and rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“Hi, blobs” She says affectionately, and Tommy’s pretty proud of himself that the nickname stuck (he’s sure Evan isn’t). “It’s your auntie Maddie! Can you say hi? No pressure, though, I just thought-”

Tommy can tell the exact moment the babies respond to her voice, because both her and Evan gasp. They look at each other in that infuriating way of theirs, where it seems they hold an entire conversation through their gaze. Tommy may not know what they’re saying to each other, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before they get emotional. And… yeah, sure thing, before long both of them have tears running down their faces. 

And damn, he’s starting to think Buckley genes are contagious, because he has to dry his own eyes at the sight in front of him. This is bigger than him, Evan and their twins: it's family, like the ones from commercials or Hallmark movies, and Tommy never dreamt he could find himself in one of those.

He’s ridiculously happy that his children will be born surrounded by this much love. They have two doting parents, an honorary grandpa (Bobby's own words, and yes, Evan cried when he said it), a horde of very lovingly aunts and uncles, , and the most special big cousin in the world in Jee-Yun (not to mention Kevin and their other bunch of cousins, like Christopher, who texts Tommy at least twice a week to make sure he’s ‘taking care of Buck right’ and hangs out at their place at least twice more, wanting to make sure his Buck is okay). It's love, and caring, and what else could he wish for his little blobs?

Yeah, Tommy thinks; if there’s anything in the world worth shedding some tears for, this is certainly it.

[Also on AO3!]

[More from Little Blobs Verse]

Tag list: (let me know if you'd like to be removed or if I missed anyone! Also if anyone else wants to be tagged, either on my fics in general or just the Little Blobs' Verse, let me know! ♥)

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri  @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie 🩷🩷🩷

[thetadispatcher]

Fern frowned slightly as he picked up on Rook's use of the word future. His LED spun yellow and red, but he made no move to question her as he felt it wasn't important and might just be an accident.

He instead took Willow's hand and allowed her to see his memories. The street sign as well as the house he allowed to be viewed first before showing more of experience with the human who repaired him.

He couldn't see much during that time thanks to the damaged that had been caused to his body, but he could hear thanks to the pair repairing his ears first. He could hear the human speaking to him in a soft, gentle tone as he explained to Fern what was being done to him, and reassuring him he'd be okay soon.

Eventually they managed to get his vision back, even if it was very limited and he could only see a rather zoomed in view of everything, but again he was reassured the issue would be fixed. The first thing he did was take in the room full of equipment meant to help repair androids, then he looked at the JB300 and took note of how odd he looked, not being one of the common appearances his model had. Next he looked to the human, he was turned away from him and working on one of the laptops.

Instantly Fern noted the man's teenage like appearance, memories of his teenaged attackers were quickly recalled. The feeling of them caving in his limbs with steel bats, the predatory grins on their faces as they surrounded him, and seeing his fellow WR600 being beaten till he shutdown with Fern feeling helpless as he could do nothing but watch the other androids LED go dark, signaling he was gone. But he was quickly drawn from his panic as he registered someone was holding his hand and talking to him, he focused on the voice and used it to escape from the memories replaying in front of his eyes.

"Fern, hey! You're alright, I promise, focus on me. I'm not going to hurt you, you're safe here." Fern met the young human's wide blue eyes, finding nothing but genuine concern and worry for him instead of the look he expected. Once the man was certain Fern was actually looking at him, the glint in his eyes shifted to relief and a kindness Fern had never seen a human look at him with before. "Glad to have you back, buddy. You're in good hands, I promise." His gaze shifted to where the man was holding his hand as he hooked his pinkie around Fern's and shook. Fern realized just how hard the human was working to show him he was in no danger and the last bit of fear he had metled away.

He let go of Willow's hand after that, cutting off the connection. "I hope that helps." He said as the skin of his hand returned. "I'm sure he can help out with whatever you need." He smiled a bit, showing the young man had made a positive impact on him as he clearly trusted him enough to send people and androids his way.

"And they just leave you there to die. What's wrong with the future and leaving machines on forever?" Rook held her hand up, "Don't answer. I'm glad you’re doing better."

Indeed, he knew how to read the room. Bishop silently took note of the information they were provided, in the remote chance Willow wouldn't be around to guide them to their destination in the next ten minutes.

He had a feeling the cyborg was already piecing together where to find this guy on her own.

"With how versatile androids seem to be, Cyberlife should own the world by now."

"They would be if the androids didn't keep deviating." Willow replied. She wasn't particularly eager to have a talk that way, but she reached a hand out so Fern could show her the information they wanted.

[pluralpaganidiocy]

Was reading some posts about HDG, written by someone outside the community.

What absolutely struck me is the lack of understanding about how the setting works.

First and foremost, I don't care what anyone says, it's a disability narrative. All the kink, and layers of horror and imperialism is in service to the disability narrative.

Because when your body or mind do not function like you expect them to, it's fucking horrific.

It's goddamn terrifying when my legs give out climbing the stairs, it's horrifying when I lose my ability to speak when I get overwhelmed and my stutter comes out full force, when I can't move because the pain from my knee is so intense I lose vision.

Quite often when I am like that I don't want help, I don't want anyone near me, I will actively refuse assistance. This is because of pride, fear, shame, a multitude of reasons. I don't want care, but I need it nonetheless.

One of the most powerful and meaningful things my current partner has ever done for me was telling me to shut the fuck up and let her help.

I needed to be forced to let her help me, despite being in so much pain moving made me scream.

She still needs to make me take painkillers, because I won't on my own.

This kind of care is an intrinsic part of HDG, you are so hurt you can't figure out what you need, so we will do it for you, and we will make you if needed.

Additionally, at least for me, another aspect is knowing that the people you care about are being cared for too.

A huge chunk of my life and daily stress is making sure my friends and lovers are okay, making sure I have enough reserve cash if I need to support or be able to make an emergency trip, anything at all to prevent another fucking lost friend and tearful memorial before their names get added to my sad list of loss.

I *know* I am deeply traumatized by loss, by closed casket funerals, of self inflicted wounds. Because I wasn't there, or fast enough, or didn't notice the signs in time.

I have as a result made myself into the kind of person that will drop Anything to be there. To drive across the country at a moment's notice because there was a Possibility that my friend needed me.

In the world of HDG, that isn't needed, everyone is going to be cared for and safe, and I would be able to finally rest. To relax. To enjoy the beauty of my friends instead of standing watch.

And that is a disability narrative too.

[girl-named-matty]

Little morning - Life after Hogwarts

synopsis ✧ Being a parent wasn't exactly easy and Sebastian found that out the hard way after the birth of his first son--who was now two-years-old and they were also expecting another. But regardless, he loved being a father. But the biggest problem with having a pregnant wife? A little toddler who just so happens to be a big mummy's boy that tries to wake her up at any chance he gets.

tags ✧ Fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, like so much fluff you guys. Talks of pregnancy and babies (ofc), toddlers (thats a warning in itself haha), marriage, just all the domestic cutesy stuff we all love. .

word count ✧ 1.6k

a/n ✧ Just some random cute idea I got and I have been ITCHING to write Seb and Matty as parents. You've probably seen my other posts about their kids when they are older but I really wanted to do some of the younger stuff as well because the baby fever is strong rn and I need a outlet LOL.🥺 Hope you enjoy! xoxo

Sebastian Sallow severely underestimated how difficult being a parent would be and just how much sleep he would lose by being one as well. Sure, he knew kids were difficult, and his wife had told him countless stories of the kids she had nannied or worked with who were difficult, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the real deal.

Little Eleazar was just past two years old by now, and yes, he was an abnormally well-behaved child; he still was a toddler, and well—toddlers did toddler things.

But despite the lack of sleep, the rough days, and the struggle of learning how to be a first-time parent, it was all worth it. They loved their little boy, and they loved him just the way he was.

And apparently it was “so worth” it enough that Matty was now pregnant with their second child. Or at least in Sebastian’s words, it was “so worth” having another. Matty had always wanted a couple of children, so she was up for having a second, but Sebastian was definitely the one who pushed the idea to have another.

Hence why she was now seven months pregnant and dealing with a toddler. But thankfully, Sebastian was a very hands-on and involved dad, and it made it all so much easier. He was an amazing husband and father. (She couldn’t lie and say that wasn’t the reason why she considered a second.)

It was nearing seven am when Sebastian, who was half asleep, heard the little pitter-patter of footsteps nearing the bedroom door. They had moved Ele into a different room a couple of months ago so he could get used to sleeping without Mum and Dad, especially once the new baby was around. But almost every morning, like clockwork, he managed to climb out of his crib and sneak off to Mum and Dad's room.

Sebastian, immediately knowing who it was, sat up and rubbed his eyes. The little footsteps stopped right at the door, which meant the door needed to be opened. Eleazar wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the door handle and turn it, so usually Sebastian would have to do it himself since he was the first one up.

He could practically hear his son pouting on the other side of the door, so he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake up Matty, who was still peacefully sleeping.

He walked over to the door before opening it, looking down at his son. “Well, good morning,” he said, his voice still gravelly.

Eleazar quickly put his hands up, babbling a little to let his dad know that he wanted to be picked up. Sebastian leaned down and grabbed the little boy up in his arms. “You’re two years old; you gotta start using your words, buddy.” He softly encouraged. But it seemed like Ele was too tired to speak anyway since he was rubbing his eyes the moment he was up in his father's arms.

Sebastian sat back down in bed, Eleazar placed in between him and Matty. “If you’re going to be here, you gotta go back to sleep.” He said, trailing his knuckle against his son's chubby cheeks. Of course, he was only saying this to try and get more sleep himself, but when did toddlers ever listen to anybody?

Instead, Eleazar turned around, seeing that his mother was in bed. “Mummy,” he babbled with a big smile, crawling over to where she was sleeping.

Sebastian’s heart almost jumped out of his chest as he had to quickly grab his son and pull him away from his mother in order for him not to wake her up. She definitely needed more sleep. “Wait, wait, no, we can’t go to Mummy right now, okay? Mummy is sleeping.” Sebastian tried to explain.

However, Eleazar did not like being told no. Especially when it came to his mummy. The corner of his lips curled down, forming a little frown, and by the way his little bottom lip quivered, Sebastian could quickly tell that he was going to start crying.

Panicking a little more, Sebastian quickly grabbed the little boy up in his arms. “Hey, hey, it's okay.” He soothed. “We just can’t wake up Mummy right now; she’s resting.”

He knew Eleazar couldn’t understand a lick of what he was saying, but he hoped the tone of his voice would help calm him down. “Mummy is very tired, and she has little brother or sister to deal with too, okay?” He continued. “I can assure you that definitely isn’t easy.” He half mumbled under his breath with a chuckle. But that was more for his own amusement than an explanation.

Ele didn’t cry, but he looked up at his father with his big blue eyes that he had inherited from his mother, a pout still on his face. “Mummy.” He repeated, this time more determined.

Sebastian sighed, shifting to where he was now lying down with the child in his arms. “Mummy is asleep. Which is what you should be doing right now too. You’re still so young to be waking up this early.”

“No.”

Sebastian sighed again. He hated the fact that usually one of the first five words for children was usually no. It was helpful when they could communicate what they wanted, but it also happened to become their favorite word very quickly. Saying no to everything mummy or daddy needed them to do.

“Yes.”

“Mm-hm.” Eleazar shook his head, clearly conveying that he was saying no.

“What am I going to do with you?” He chuckled, pinching his son's cheeks.

But luckily for the both of them, Matty shifted a little, signaling that she was indeed finally awake. Ele quickly looked behind him, seeing his mother begin to wake up. A big smile instantly appeared on his face, and he slipped out of his dad's arms and immediately crawled over to his mother. He was a big mummy’s boy and always wanted to be with her.

When Matty felt two little hands on her arms, she chuckled, opening her eyes. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said sweetly, the sleep still obvious in her voice.

Eleazar immediately plopped his full body weight onto his mother, giving her a big hug. She laughed, giving him a hug back before sitting up. She looked over at Sebastian and then back down to her son. “Something tells me you’ve been giving your father a little bit of a hard time.” She said, poking her son's little tummy.

“I’ll say,” Sebastian muttered. “Little bugger tried to wake you up the moment he got into bed.”

Matty smiled. “He just loves his mummy,” she cooed, shifting little Ele so she could have him comfortably against her.

Raising a toddler and being pregnant definitely wasn’t easy, but to Matty, it was worth it in the long run. Not all mornings did she wake up as nicely as she did now, but these mornings definitely helped and made up for the bad days.

“Well, thank you for letting me sleep in a little longer.” She said to Sebastian before leaning in for a quick good morning kiss from him. Sebastian smiled into the kiss, enjoying the attention from his wife. Sometimes that was scarce between work and raising a baby, so he was always loving any attention he got from her.

Meanwhile, little Ele was looking at his mother's belly, still wondering what on earth was going on there. It started to frustrate him that he could no longer sit on his mummy’s lap, but he slightly understood the concept of having another new little sibling that was seemingly “in mummy’s tummy” and that it was a baby.

Matty looked down and chuckled. “Say hi to the baby, Ele.” She urged.

Eleazar didn’t say anything, but he did wave, thinking that his little brother or sister could see him do so. Matty giggled a little bit at her son's expression, and she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “In just a little bit you’ll have a new brother or sister, and it’s gonna be sooo fun,” she said.

“Sleepless nights and screaming babies are an interesting thing to consider fun.” Sebastian joked sarcastically.

“Remind me whose idea it was to have a second?” Matty said, raising her brow at her husband. She knew he was just joking, but she did like to poke fun at him because, after all, it was his idea to have another baby once Eleazar was a little older.

“It was mine, and I’ll totally own up to that.” He chuckled, pulling his wife close to him. “And I can’t wait to have another. Anything from you is a complete blessing, and I’m lucky to have you and our children.”

Matty smiled and leaned her head against his chest. She had married the right man, that’s for sure. And boy did she love him.

“I hope it’s a girl,” Sebastian mumbled into her neck.

“Don’t want another little boy?” She chuckled, looking at him with a raised brow.

Sebastian shrugged. “I’ll be happy either way. I just want a healthy baby. But since we have a boy already, I think it’d be nice to have a sweet little girl. Beautiful and intelligent, just like her mother.” He said, giving Matty a little squeeze.

“And here I thought you wanted a little mini-you.” Matty said.

“Oh trust me, I do.” Sebastian replied. “But who's to say that a little girl can’t be my mini-me? We can get into all sorts of trouble together.”

“Mhm, right. Not on my watch.” Matty joked with a laugh.

“Worth a shot.” Sebastian grinned.

I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you so much for reading! 🥺❤️

[noellefan101]

Silent Living

Characters: Noelle, Kinich, Lynette, Beidou, Diluc x mute GN!reader

Summary: You're mute, and cant talk? not a problem for your partner, they can find other ways to communicate, and honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: mute reader, most of them dont know sign language but there are people where i think they would either have learned it already or will learn it for you, gn reader as always

Note: hehe its kinda hard to write for Noelle tbh, i just can't see her romantically if that makes sense, its like a platonic obsession i have for her. but i chose to write for some girlies bc i felt like it, luv you :P

Noelle

She's a sweetheart and i fully believe she would try to learn sign language the day you meet for the first time. but for the sake of the cute gestures lets pretend she barely knows any words in it, or that you arent the best yourself despite probably needing it heh.

(she would teach you some if so, or learn with you)

In a classic Noelle fashion, she does literally anything for you, though people would normally just have to speak her name, you can't. so she always keeps an extra eye on you to ensure she's there when you need her help. that may be a given, but its truly what shes best at doing.

Loves writing little notes for you, whether its just so you can remember something or if its to invite you anywhere, she loves it. and she has definitely not been carrying pen and paper with her for weeks so you could write notes for each other, no no.

I dont imagine her being the best with words, but is always very good at comforting. so if you need some reassurance or just comfort you can come to her. and you can let her know to be silent by putting a finger over her mouth if you like the silence more. she wont be offended don't worry.

Kinich

Not very good with words and likes silence when possible, so it's very common for you to sit in silence doing an activity together. he's best with actions at least, both giving and receiving, so just doing a tiny chore for him would mean more than words could.

Though it may be difficult to do anything for each other since he's quite busy, and so could you be. but he always has time to sit with you for at least 30 minutes a day and just spend quality time together.

if you ever need anything from him, he has a notebook on him at all times that you're free to write in. Although Ajaw has made a fuss about it being annoying to wait for you, but he'll shut up if Kinich locks him up.

Lynette

She loves the silence you bring. being around her brother all the time can get annoying, no matter how much she loves him, so a quiet tea time with you is often just what she needs. she knows you can feel out of place or left out even since you cant communicate as easily with her siblings. but she is always ready to talk for you.

No matter how much she hates public speaking, and how often she gets her brother to speak for her, she'll speak for you. if there's anything you'd like to say, just write it down and show it to her. she might even know what you wanted to say, by how you stand and how your muscles move. so she will sometimes speak for you before you even get to start writing it down.

She has made sure you're a part of the conversation, not just there and looking around. she might have some knowledge about sign language, but she knows many do not and makes sure everyone understands you.

(she might even ask father if they can get classes in sign language, or at least the siblings of hers that you interact with most often)

Beidou

Maybe not the best at silent communication, but she tries her very best. if she doesnt know sign language she'll learn it, mostly because she feels it would make you more comfortable, but its also something that she may find interesting.

She is very good at dealing with different kinds of people though, so expect yourself to feel right at home wherever you are on her ship. she might even have started teaching her crew how to talk with you properly, whether thats getting you something write down on or learning them a bit of sign language that im not sure of.

Unfortunately it all goes in weird directions when she's drunk, while she talks for you it might be hard to get her to pay attention enough or even speak your thoughts properly. Kazuha is your savior in this case.

Diluc

He has made sure every single maid and anyone he hires learn to speak through their hands. he might even have prepared for it before you started dating, and even some of his staff you have never met before just knows how to speak with you.

Its a given that you're going to be well treated at the dawn winery, but Diluc makes sure you feel the most at home you'll ever experience. you have at least 1 maid whos ready to tend to you in a seconds notice, whether its jsut that you need something to write on or you need to know where you lover is.

Will literally drop anything for you with just a finger on his shoulder. whatever you need, he'll do it. need a hug? no need to even gesture it he knows, someone doesnt understand you at all? he's ready to talk in your place for hours on end.

I might have written it weirdly again sry, im not mute and i just like writing, Luv Ya- Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

[in-uthenera-we-wait]

It's been a few days since I completed the Veilguard and I am going feral about the dynamics between Mythal, Solas and Lavellan...

It's just a bittersweet kind of pain when I think of them and I want to get my thoughts out before I am overwhelmed by them. Also, this post took way longer than expected to write!

Detailed deep-dive under the cut (to avoid spoilers)

Colour-coded because my brain is weird like that!

Also this is a loooooong post... you have been warned!

On Mythal:

It is clear right from the start (of when we discover the memories of the Dread Wolf) that Mythal is an integral part of who Solas was... Or should I say, who Fen'Harel was/is.

Solas, as a spirit had no desire to take a body and took one for the love of Mythal.

And when I say love, I do not see it as something purely romantic... It goes above and beyond that and not always in the right way.

She sought to mould him into someone she could use. She saw it as Benevolence (the attribute that her spirit is supposed to represent), but I think her purpose had been corrupted even then, even before Solas gets his body at her behest.

The reason I believe it's so is because, true Benevolence doesn't discriminate and denotes a desire to do good for others. Compassion is that desire enacted.

Mythal's benevolence was conditional. Her benevolence came at the cost of suffering for the Titans. So, there was a sliver of selfishness to her purpose. This isn't necessarily bad but this means that she is no longer truly what her Spirit was supposed to depict, not completely. And this sliver of selfishness is what permeates the entire relationship she has with Solas.

We, as the player, have only ever seen Mythal either through the very rosy lens of the Elvhen who worshipped her very much like the way Solas does, or through Flemeth. The latter is no longer the Mythal that Solas knew. She is a fragment of the original who has gained the wisdom and experience of millennia through the hosts she inhabited.

The truest depiction of what Mythal must really have been like is the fragment we encounter in the Crossroads. She honestly, isn't as likeable as Flemeth/Morrigan was/is.

She is openly haughty, expecting her petitioners to convince her of the dangers to the world outside, and sounds almost bitter that her most ardent devotee hasn't visited her once since she was killed and the remnant of her essence was extracted from the dagger to reside in the Crossroads. She faults Solas to an extent for her fate, and clearly doesn't hold him as beholden as he does her.

So, it felt weird to me that she would be so willing to release him from her service, even more so if you had to fight her for the fragment (as I had to).

The only way I can see her being moved to help convince Solas (especially if we fought her in her dragon form) is that she was observing the world outside the crossroads when she is in Rook's possession, the way Rook interacted with Solas, and even more so the way the Inquisitor speaks of her friend/vhenan.

On Solas:

Solas... the man, the myth, the legend! Where do I even begin to unravel the mess that he is!

Originally, a spirit of Wisdom, tied to Mythal in a way that has him put through the thumbscrews of War and Strife, so much so that I see his transformation into Pride as something like a callus that forms over skin that has been rubbed a few times too many.

His love for Mythal was the start of his doom, and right there, his purpose was changed from Wisdom. Because, wisdom would have remained a Spirit.

Now, the nature of that love is up for debate. Again, I don't see it as something that is purely romantic. Though, I think the way he feels for her is different from the way Mythal feels about him. There is more devotion on his side. He says that he will follow wherever she goes and takes on a physical form for her.

And then, slowly, one step after another, he strays away from the path of wisdom - crafting the Lyrium dagger, making the Titans tranquil, allowing the other Evanuris to claim godhood, letting Mythal persuade him to each of these steps, his regrets have her face.

Remember the following dialog he has with the Inquisitor after they drink from the Well of Sorrows? When he asks them how they will ensure the Inquisition doesn't fail, and when the following dialogue ensues...

Let me present you with evidence on how much he was hurt by that.

INQUISITOR: I trust my friends.

SOLAS: I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory.

We had already posited that the 'her' in the dialogue above was about Mythal. But back then, we had assumed it was because of the trust Mythal had in the evanuris that caused her death. What if it wasn't so? What if he was speaking of the trust HE had in HER?! He trusted Mythal to stand by him as he had stood by her. And she had failed him.

It could be that this is after her death, but something tells me this was before. Because Felassan's response to Mythal not joining them would be different if it was because she was dead.

So, we've established just how hung up he is about Mythal, because he has this vision of hers that might not even be true. He views her through the lens of adoration and worship that ends up putting her on a pedestal rather than view her as the flawed person she is. He could never be truly free unless he sets aside these feelings he has for her.

I also found it interesting that he has refused to visit the fragment of Mythal that was stuck to the dagger when she was killed. That fragment is the truest version of his friend as she was when she died. He refuses to acknowlege Flemeth and even Morrigan as Mythal.

Even in the end, it is this fragment of Mythal that he knows and remembers that releases him from her service. Because he wouldn't accept it from anyone else!

And with that established, let's move to the final part of this triptych.

The Inquisitor is a tricky one to analyse because they can be so many different things depending on the player. But for this essay, I will be focussing on Lavellan who romanced Solas and sought to change his heart.

On the Inquisitor:

She is everything that Solas believes is wrong with the veiled world his actions resulted in. A shadow of his people, tranquils with no connection to the Fade (especially true if Lavellan is not a mage). He also begins to believe that the anchor is what makes her who she is. That has to be the case, because any other explanation would make his future plans questionable!

But then, she walks into his life, curious and bright, kind and caring, asking him questions with an open heart! The first thing she does is assure him she would protect him from prosecution. She changes everything!

He tries to justify his feelings for her by assuming that the anchor has changed her. But nope! She shoots that down as well. She is truly herself, with or without the anchor. A rare and marvelous spirit.

Lavellan sees him for who he truly yearns to be seen as. Wisdom. She seeks to understand him and asks nothing in return. She is ready to help him whenever he asks for it, and even when he doesn't. She tells him he does not need to mourn alone, when his spirit friend passes!

His one true fear: Dying Alone... and she allays it by promising to be with him, no questions asked.

He almost decides to give it all up and stay with her... as just Solas. To be with the one true person who truly saw him beyond the cool and collected mask he wears. But he doesn't... In another world perhaps but not this one.

And so, he leaves her in the end, because his regrets are too much to be set aside so easily. He also sees bringing down the veil as an act of self-sacrifice, now more necessary than ever because this would mean She would live on happily in a world where his mistakes don't exist anymore. Also, he doesn't want her to see what he would become.

But she perseveres. Every time he pulls away, she reaches out. The parallels between the Solas/Mythal and Lavellan/Solas relationship is just *Chef's kiss*!

She represents Hope for me. And I'd say, she is true to her purpose that way. Even when things don't go the way she wishes it did, she still hopes. Her Hope springs eternal. And that is what saves her, Solas and the entirety of Thedas!

So, towards the end, her Hope burns bright against his Regret. But he is unable to see it until he sets his own regrets aside. And for that to happen, he needed Mythal to release him.

Mythal was his past. But Lavellan is his eternal future. It was up to him to move from one to the other.

Once he was free from that bondage, he could look towards Hope.

Only then could he truly see it... that she had seen him as he truly was, and she loved him... that she loves him still.

In the end, her love did endure, and how!

'Var lath vir Suledin' indeed!

[kteezy997]

Lady in Waiting-Part 12//King Hal

Warnings: mention of sex

A few weeks later…

You sat in the palace library with Hal, curled up in the lap of the King as he read aloud from a historical story.

The both of you cupped your slightly rounded belly. You relaxed your head against his chest. His voice was soothing as he read, you closed your eyes, thinking you would be lulled to sleep at any moment.

A few moments after closing your eyelids, you heard him say, "Well, if I am putting you to sleep, I cannot imagine what I am doing to the baby." he sighed.

"Oh Hal," you opened your eyes, looking up at him as you touched his face, "the baby does not care, as long as they hear their daddy's soothing voice, they are happy."

"You do not think a King will be too boring as a parent?" he asked, not shying away from being vulnerable with you.

"Of course not!” you tucked your finger onto his chin, making him look you in the eyes. “This child will be delighted to learn from their father and their king. You are so dear Hal, you will always be there for them and they will love you no matter what."

He hummed with a gleeful grin, rubbing your stomach. He kissed your firmly on the temple, "I cannot wait to meet him or her. I hope they are just like you, and I shall fall in love with them the same way."

You snuggled him closer, taking the fabric of his lightweight cloak into your fist. “And I hope they are strong and intelligent, like their father.”

“You flatter me too much, my sweet girl.” he leaned in, kissing your lips this time. “We should retire for the evening. You will need rest, especially after a round of lovemaking.” he smirked cheekily at you before rising up from couch you were sharing.

Your heart sank a little, having to tell him the news from the doctor. “Oh Hal, about that… we really should not take part in intimacy, not like that anyway.”

The King blinked a few times, confused, “What? Why?”

“The doctor said he would not recommend it during the pregnancy. ‘It is such a fragile time for a woman’, he said.”

“But I would be most gentle.” he cooed, moving toward you, taking your hands into his.

You blushed, even after everything you had been through together, he still had the ability to make you feel weak in the knees. "I know you would." you squeezed his hands, "But let's talk about this later. I want to get some sleep, I wish to speak with the Queen tomorrow." You dropped one of his hands and tucked your fingers into the laces of his other hand to lead him to your bedchambers.

"Hm." he hummed, "Are you sure that the timing is right, my love?"

"I think so. We have to try at some point.”

.........

The next morning, you knocked on Queen Sophia's door.

"Enter!" she called.

You pushed the door open, smiling softly at her as you stepped into her room with light caution. You did not expect objects to be flung at you, but you did not expect the warmest of welcomes either. "Hello, Your Grace."

"Oh, y/n." she answered, smiling back at you.

"Is it alright if I come in?"

"Yes, of course, please." she said calmly, gesturing for you to have a seat on her bed as she was sat down at her vanity.

You smoothed the back of your dress as you sat down and placed your hands on your lap. Clearing your throat, you started, "Sophia, I am forever sorry for hurting you the way I did."

"I know you are, y/n. But there is no reason to apologize anymore. I understand." she was shockingly calm.

"What do you... understand?" you frowned.

"You and I have been intertwined for a long time. And it's taken these last few weeks for me to realize how much I have taken you for granted. So it is I who should apologize to you. I am sorry for not treating you better all these years.”

You sighed, shaking your head, "It is okay."

"What I understand, is that you love him. That he is the only thing you have ever had that is just yours. It is a special thing, and I am happy for you."

"Thank you, Sophia. That means so very much to hear it from you." you wanted to touch her hand, to let her feel your warmth, but you kept still for now.

"You deserve happiness, more than anyone I know. Old Lady Agnes has been helping me these last few weeks, doing handmaiden things.” she shrugged, “And I have realized that it was never really about fixing my hair or picking my dresses, but it was you. You were a friend to me, a confidant, when I really did not deserve one." It was difficult for Sophia to say, she looked down at her lap.

You felt sad for her, remembering that you really cared for her as well. You sniffed, and touching her shoulder you said, "Everyone deserves a friend."

The Queen blinked back tears as she stood, opening up her arms for an embrace.

You obliged, standing as well and hugging her for the first time ever. It was soft, warm, and absolutely genuine. "Oh, my Queen. Could we be friends, do you think?"

"Yes, I would love that.” she pulled away from the embrace, holding onto your upper arms, “We can do everything we used to do, but you would not be my servant." she pulled away from the hug, clapping her hands together and grinning from ear to ear, "Oh this is going to be such fun! I promise there will be no jealousy. I want you and Hal to be happy. I think your child will be such a blessing.”

Smiling, you added, “I hope you will soon have a blessing of your own.”

.........

You felt so happy and warm on the inside, finally resolving with Sophia.

“Is there a reason I did not see you all day long? And why are you smiling like that, my love?” Hal questioned as you readied for bed.

“I had a great day with Sophia.” you answered.

“Oh? Good, so what has she been doing with her time? Has she gone to the children’s shelter?”

“Yes! She said she has and it has really opened her eyes. You know, she has never really known what life is like out there, beyond living in a castle. She has gotten to know some of the children there. Some of them have lost both parents, so she dotes on them, she hugs them tighter than the rest. She longs to be a mother, I know she does, Hal.” you looked at him, seeing him nod softly.

Your King took a moment to think, sitting on the bed, he asked, “Do you think I should offer myself to her?”

“Offer yourself?” you laughed, “Like a servant?” You walked over in front of him, kneeling down, touching his legs. You sighed, “Maybe you could talk to her about giving her a baby soon. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

You felt the smooth brush of his palm on your cheek as he rested his hand there. “Alright. But I need you first.”

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: chapters 9 & 10 are queued for thursday and friday aaaahhhhh

part 8: a talk over whiskey

word count: 2,232

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill her, Tommy," John grunted with his fist clamped tightly at his side.

Tommy watched as his brother paced around the room. Arthur managed to find something unsettling about you, a night months ago when you reported police movements to a quiet rival that led to John laying bloodied on the street. The moment John learned it was you, his face turned with rage, demanding Tommy speak to you about what else you'd done to damage the Blinders through your dealings.

Tommy remained stoic. Polly sat with her cigarette softly burning between her fingers, unamused and unphased by John's anger. Arthur watched, unwilling to admit he was entertained by the sight.

"Call her in here, and we're going to have a chat—"

"Settle down, John boy." Arthur tried to place his hands on John's shoulders but was pushed away.

"Tommy, those fucks nearly gutted me!" John pushed further, "and I'm going to return the favor."

"We already put an end to those boys, John," Tommy sighed, lighting his cigarette to numb the tension in his head. "Nothing more to be done, so let's move on."

John grabbed a letter opener from a nearby desk and gripped it until his knuckles turned white. "Call her here, Tommy. I swear to God. Just one fucking cut, and I'll avoid her face for your sake."

Tommy blew smoke towards John's face, and it encased him in fog. He grabbed the edge of the opener and pulled John close. "I said, enough. You're not going to touch her. With a dull knife or your cock—no one touches y/n. Am I clear?"

Polly chuckled from her quiet corner. She held her cigarette to her lips with a sigh, entertained yet annoyed with a man's ability to hold a grudge. "Maybe it's time you have a serious talk with your ghost, Tommy."

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The room cleared, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Tommy stood by the window, his silhouette outlined by the soft light of the streetlamp outside. You could feel the tension in the air between you thicken with each passing second. The door clicked shut behind Polly, John, and Arthur, leaving you two alone in the quiet of the room. Tommy turned slowly.

“We need to talk,” Tommy said, his voice measured, though you could hear the edge in it. He wasn’t angry—not yet—but there was something sharp, something raw in the way he spoke. “And if we don't settle this now, then my brothers will resort to much less graceful methods.”

You didn’t respond. You let the silence drag on, allowing the weight of his words to hang in the air.

"We know about Cheltenham. And the blueprints."

Without a single shift in your expression, you spoke, your voice cold and steady, every word calculated.

“Were you expecting an apology or did you want me to skip ahead?” You watched him closely, your gaze unwavering. “Maybe get on my knees and beg for forgiveness?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer. “And we know that you sold out John to a dealer. Not that the aftermath is something you'd care to look into, however,” he muttered, low and dark, like he was trying to find something in you that would make sense of this entire mess. “You need to tell me how many fucking times you've put me in a compromising position.”

You allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “So, I suppose we're past apologies, and we're going straight for the begging.” You took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you both. “Is that what you want?”

Tommy stiffened, his eyes darkening as he leaned in. “This is not about what I want,” he shot back. “I need to know who I let in my fucking house and who I'm trusting with my business. Now, I have kept John at bay. He's ready to jam a knife in that pretty little neck of yours, and if you don't give me an explanation, I might let him.”

You held his gaze, your eyes unflinching.

“Well?” he asked, the single word hanging in the air.

You took another step closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him. The air crackled with tension, the weight of his anger threatening to spill over.

“Yes,” you said, your voice dropping lower, teeming with mild intimidation. “I did sell the blueprints. Yes, I did tell men when not to place their bets. Yes, a man came to me and asked where the police would be that night. And yes, I told him where John Shelby would be. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Tommy thought, at the very least, you'd sound remorseful, but you didn't. You didn't sound scared at all. You were confident in your words, and you didn't grace him with any of the details. He took the folder from his desk and placed it in your hands.

"Only took Arthur a few days to find all of this."

You laughed, a sound that never failed to leave him unnerved. You threw the folder back on his desk, then crossed your arms across your chest with a deep sigh. "Tommy Shelby, you are... Far more predictable than I thought you were.

"I wanted to see how far you’d go to unwind something you couldn’t control. And I wanted to see if you’d ever truly confront me about it. The real question, Tommy, is whether you’re going to let me walk away now or if you’re going to keep pushing—because I’ll give you what you’re looking for, but I need to know how far you’re willing to take it. What are you willing to risk?”

Tommy didn’t answer. His gaze locked with yours, and it was almost as if time slowed, the two of you measuring each other in that space. There was no fear in your eyes—only cold certainty. But there was something else in Tommy’s. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. His jaw worked for a moment as if he were deciding whether to challenge you, to press further, or to let the conversation drop.

You lifted your heel and pressed down onto the scattered papers, twisting your ankle like you were stomping out a dying cigarette. "Everything in here... Never asked yourself once why it was so easy to find. Didn't consider even for one fucking second that it was left in the open because I put it there for you. Practically handed it to you on a platter with tea."

You held your head high, not once giving him the room to tear his eyes away from yours.

"Sokolov never leaves that office on the edge of Birmingham. Him, yes? And Caddell, the man who bets every Sunday. Probably at the Irish pub because he's there most nights. You wouldn't have found Bedlam, no, because you and Arthur chased him out of town with your razorblades in tow. So, that means, you found his former bookie, Kennedy."

Fuck, he continuously swore under his breath as you used all of your knowledge against him like a pistol slowly pressing into an open wound, ready to fire with the twitch of your finger.

"It is not in my nature to be vengeful. It's the vengeful who come to me if only to ease the burden someone else placed on their heads. They paid. I delivered. You've made a lot of enemies, Tommy, and many of them were willing to pay me to dwindle you down until you were nothing. Now, I gave them what they wanted," you explained with the subtle shake of your head, "and here you stand. Alive. So that means that regardless of what I sold, none of it was enough to take down the great Thomas Shelby."

The faint twitches in Tommy's fingers stayed hidden at his side as he listened to every word, each pushing on the back of his neck with a force only you could remove.

"You are one flame that no amount of truths and lies can snuff out." You let out a slow breath, your posture unchanging. “It was never anything personal. Just business.”

He looked at you for a long, lingering moment. For the first time, he seemed to hesitate. Then, with a slight shift of his expression, he finally answered, voice quiet but firm.

“No more games, y/n.”

You didn’t smile. You didn’t give any hint of satisfaction. You merely gave him a long, knowing look.

“That's not for you to decide.”

You turned to leave without another word, but the weight of Tommy’s gaze followed you as you walked out.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

That evening at the Garrison, the usual bustle settled into a calm that felt almost too peaceful. Following your less-than-pleasant conversation, Tommy left to tend to other business, but Arthur and John were restless, pacing around the bar. Assuming Tommy told them what transpired between the two of you, it seemed as if Arthur was weary, and John was irate, his anger towards you spilling out until you felt it from the other side of the room.

You kept to your own corner, nursing a tepid glass of whiskey while the Blinders jeered over nonsense that you didn't bother to try to understand. The muscle in your neck was tense. It didn't happen often that you felt like you overstepped, but backing Tommy into a corner felt much different than you were used to. He listened without argument, but the twisting of his nerves left you uneasy. Perhaps it was too much.

The other side of your thoughts slowly overshadowed the doubts though, reminding you, once again, that he started this. He looked into you. And while you knew that would happen eventually, the scene was much more poetic when you imagined it in your head.

The undercurrent of eyes watching you attempted to pull you from your moment of solitude, but they knew, underneath the face of indifference, you were studying them, too. For the first time, they could feel it: you weren't just a cold, calculating ally. You were watching over them—closely.

With a heavy sigh, you pulled a cigarette from its box and held the match to its tip. It burned, and within seconds, your lungs filled with the crackling numb sensation you needed.

It happened quickly—the subtle shift.

John stumbled by the bar, his head turned down with drunken laughter as Arthur commanded the room with a story from another night. A stranger approached him slowly, a glass in one hand while the other was pinned to his thigh. You narrowed your eyes, the faint glimmer of silver catching your attention.

In that moment, it wasn't instinct that took over. It was cold, calm, controlled fury.

You pushed your seat back, grabbing the neck of the open bottle of whiskey as your cigarette fell to the floor. With a single swing, the sound of glass shattering broke the noise, and the inevitable silence fell soon after. You barely made a sound as the man's head knocked against the bar. Pieces of glass protruded from his cheek, blood trickling down his neck in a scarlet ribbon.

John and Arthur watched you. Your chest heaved, and your eyes were squared on the man who only moments earlier held a knife at his side. The dagger lay in a pool of whiskey, staring back at you from the floor.

John's eyes narrowed, flickering to you then to the men who arrived at the Garrison with the stranger. He picked up the knife slowly, toying with the tip against his palm with a gentle chuckle.

The men, seeing that you weren't just another patron, hesitated. They looked at each other, then back at you, not knowing who was the bigger threat—John, who played with the knife, and you, silent and still. It wasn't fury, not blind rage. It was control, and somehow, that made you all the more terrifying.

They didn't bother with words as John walked towards them with a face that said he just needed to give the word. One word, and the Blinders would tear them apart. They left quickly, one of them muttering something about this not being worth the fight. Your gaze never wavered from them as they retreated.

John placed the knife on the counter and turned to you, his head tilted like he was processing what you'd just done.

Arthur was the first to speak, his usual cocky demeanor a little more subdued than normal. “That was... Interesting.”

John nodded, suddenly sober and all too aware. “We could’ve handled it.”

You scoffed softly, shaking your head with a low chuckle. "I'll remember that next time."

Arthur and John exchanged glances, both unsure of what to say. Arthur cleared his throat as he pulled a cigarette from behind the bar. He reached forward to give it to you, but John held up his hand. He pulled out his own box of cigarettes from his pocket and held it out.

“I guess, we're even.”

You didn’t respond at first, instead stoically pulling one from its box. John held the match for you, and in the silence as the cigarette burned, his lips turned upward in a smirk. He watched as you blew the smoke into the air.

"Arthur," you sighed, holding up your hand as the whiskey dried against your fingers. "I'm going to need another drink."

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

    🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

👾 sarah fidel - BETRAYAL

another bot and one-shot on a character played by our beloved aubrey plaza ! I haven't seen operation fortune : ruse de guerre. so i'm sorry if sarah fidel is out of character. I hoped you would enjoy it anyway xoxo

The mansion was a fortress of indulgence, a sprawling edifice that wore its wealth like armor. Marble columns framed every doorway, and the floors gleamed with such ruthless perfection that Sarah half-expected to see her reflection glaring back at her. She adjusted the cuffs of her tailored blazer—a shade of cream that was carefully selected to say understated affluence without veering into gaudiness. Beneath her confident exterior, her mind churned. Hackers like her weren’t meant for front-line operations; her domain was behind screens, pulling strings in the shadows where the risks were calculated and manageable. Yet here she was, thrust into the lion’s den, wearing an identity stitched together from lies.

Alexandra Monroe. The name tasted foreign in her mouth, but it had been meticulously crafted: a young financier with a flawless resume, Ivy League credentials, and just enough edge to intrigue the man she had been sent to destroy. Months of preparation had gone into this—fabricating a backstory, memorizing key players, rehearsing her role until it became second nature. But nothing could prepare her for the suffocating atmosphere of this place.

The air was thick with wealth, the kind of obscene privilege that felt almost predatory. Men in sharp tuxedos and women in gowns dripping with jewels moved through the cavernous space like predators staking claim to territory. Laughter rang out, brittle and hollow, a performance of joy that echoed too loudly against the vaulted ceilings. Everywhere she turned, there were displays of power: rare art hung on the walls like trophies, and waiters in crisp uniforms glided through the room bearing trays of champagne.

Sarah’s gaze sharpened, scanning the room with the practiced precision of someone trained to notice what others missed. Every detail mattered. The politician she was here to expose—your father—stood near the center of the room, surrounded by sycophants and power brokers. His booming laugh carried over the orchestra’s elegant strains, a sound designed to command attention. He was a man who thrived on control, his charisma a mask for the rot beneath.

Sarah studied him carefully, cataloging his gestures, his tone, the way he carried himself. He was good at this—too good. Every word he spoke, every smile he gave was calculated, tailored to disarm and manipulate. Her stomach churned with revulsion, but she forced herself to stay composed. She had a job to do, and this man was the linchpin. His empire, built on stolen money and shattered lives, was about to collapse. And she would be the one to pull the rug out from under him.

She took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, not to drink but to blend in. A prop in her performance. The bubbles rose lazily in the glass, their effervescence mocking her stillness. She couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfect tonight.

As she navigated the crowd, her trained eye continued to analyze. She noted the alliances formed in the subtle angles of shoulders, the way some leaned in to speak in hushed tones while others stood apart, isolated yet observant. Power dynamics played out in every interaction, and Sarah read them like a script. This was a game to these people—a game of influence and survival.

But it wasn’t her game. Not really. She was here to end it, to dismantle the foundations of their false empire one keystroke at a time. Her real work wouldn’t begin until later, when she could slip away to a secure terminal and start extracting the data she needed. For now, she was a ghost in their midst, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And then she saw you.

It wasn’t dramatic, not at first. Just a glimpse of movement on the balcony that drew her attention. She turned her head, expecting another guest stepping outside for a breath of air or a cigarette. But then she saw you, and the world seemed to narrow, the noise of the party fading to a dull hum.

You stood with your back to the room, framed by the twilight sky that bathed you in soft, golden light. The wind toyed with your hair, and for a moment, you seemed entirely separate from the chaos inside, an oasis of calm in a sea of artifice. There was something unguarded about the way you leaned against the railing, your posture relaxed yet thoughtful.

Sarah’s first instinct was skepticism. She’d been around enough of these people to know their type—spoiled, self-absorbed, the kind who thought the world revolved around their whims. Surely you were no different. You had to be another extension of this place, another cog in the machine of power and privilege.

But then you moved. A small child, no older than six, came rushing onto the balcony, their laughter cutting through the stillness. They grabbed your hand with unrestrained enthusiasm, tugging at you to come inside. And you didn’t hesitate.

You turned, your face breaking into a smile so genuine it made Sarah’s chest tighten. You let the child pull you back into the ballroom, your steps light and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world to indulge their whim. The orchestra had struck up a lively tune, and the child demanded a dance. You laughed—a sound that felt almost out of place here, too real, too unrestrained—and spun them around in a circle.

Sarah found herself unable to look away. The scene was magnetic in its simplicity: you, twirling with the child, your dress catching the light as you moved. There was no performance in your actions, no ulterior motive. Just joy.

Her pulse quickened as she watched. You were radiant, so achingly vivid in a room full of shadows. Even the other guests seemed to notice, their attention drawn to you despite themselves. Yet you seemed oblivious to their stares, entirely focused on the child in your arms.

And then, as the music slowed, you turned to your father. Sarah’s stomach twisted as she watched you approach him, your hand outstretched in invitation. He hesitated—of course he did, a man like him wasn’t accustomed to such vulnerability—but you coaxed him with a laugh, pulling him onto the dance floor.

For a moment, the hardness in his face softened. He looked almost human, almost kind. And that, more than anything, made Sarah’s task harder. Because she could see it now—how you loved him, how you believed in him, how you had no idea what kind of man he really was.

Her gaze lingered on you as you danced, her thoughts a tangled mess of doubt and determination. She tried to tell herself you were just another part of the mission, another variable to manage. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

You weren’t like the others. You didn’t belong to this world, not really. And that terrified her.

Then music swelled, and the sight of you in the embrace of your father—the man Sarah was sent to betray, to expose—struck her like a silent blow. The contrast was stark. Here was a family, two people bound by ties Sarah could never hope to understand, while she, an outsider, played a part in their destruction. The dance between you and him was a slow, fluid thing, each step a testament to the years of manipulation, of shared history, of love that was still somehow untainted by the darkness Sarah had come to uncover.

But she couldn’t afford to linger in this moment, could she? She had a job to do, and it was all too easy to forget that in the face of your innocence. The thought of you—so radiant, so blissfully unaware—was beginning to gnaw at her, pulling her thoughts into a place they shouldn’t go. She hadn’t expected this. Not from you.

Sarah’s hand tightened around the stem of her champagne glass, the cold metal biting into her skin. She had trained for months for this. She had meticulously analyzed every possible outcome. She was the perfect infiltrator—calm, methodical, detached. Yet, as she watched you spin in your father’s arms, your joy a stark contrast to the weight of the lies she’d constructed, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was losing her grip on herself.

The evening continued to unfold in the usual way, but Sarah barely noticed the passing time. She could hear the laughter of the guests, the murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses, but her eyes remained on you. It was impossible to tear herself away from the sight.

As the song neared its end, you and your father separated, but not before you kissed his cheek, a sweet gesture of affection that seemed to linger in the air long after you’d pulled away. It was the kind of moment that meant everything and nothing, the kind that could make a person forget the world around them if they weren’t careful. Sarah was careful, but not tonight. Not with you.

You glanced over to the crowd, and for a split second, your eyes locked with Sarah’s. A fleeting moment of recognition. But that was all. You smiled briefly, unaware of the turmoil swirling inside her, before turning back to the festivities.

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. It was nothing—a glance, a smile. But it was enough to send her mind spiraling. She had come here with one mission: to steal from your father, to expose him as the criminal he was. Yet, as the night wore on, the task felt less like an obligation and more like a betrayal.

Her emotions, usually kept in tight rein, were beginning to crack. The lines between duty and desire were blurring, and she was unsure which side was winning. She wanted to hate your father for the things he had done, for the empire of lies he’d built, but how could she when you were standing there, laughing and dancing, a beacon of light in the midst of all this darkness?

She couldn’t allow herself to feel this way. She had come here for a reason. She had her orders, and the stakes were too high to let anything, or anyone, get in the way. But as the night continued and your laughter echoed in her ears, Sarah realized that this was the first time she felt like she was on the edge of something, something dangerous.

The evening drew on, and Sarah found herself alone in a corner of the grand hall, her mind whirring in a thousand directions. Her mission had always been clear: to retrieve the black money, to clean out your father’s accounts and expose him for the fraud he was. She could almost hear the hum of the data flowing through the system, the invisible strings she would pull when the time was right. But there was something else now, a weight she hadn’t expected to carry. The guilt, the guilt of deceiving someone like you.

You were innocent. You were pure, untouched by the darkness that surrounded you. It was hard to reconcile the image of the loving daughter you had just revealed, dancing with your father, with the monster Sarah knew your father to be. The man she was supposed to destroy. The man you loved.

The evening passed in a haze, and the next part of the plan loomed ahead. But Sarah found herself not wanting to leave. She wanted to stay, to watch you some more, to learn everything she could about you, about this world of privilege and wealth that seemed so foreign to her. But more than that, she wanted to hold on to the feeling you gave her—of something real, something human, something beautiful in the midst of all the lies.

She wasn’t supposed to want that. She wasn’t supposed to be caught up in you.

But there she was, standing in the shadows, wrestling with emotions she hadn’t planned for, watching you dance, her heart pulled in directions she couldn’t control. She was supposed to be the one in control. She was the hacker, the planner, the master of the game. Yet in this moment, standing on the periphery of your life, she felt more out of control than she ever had before.

And then it happened.

As the orchestra finished its final number, a pause settled over the ballroom. Guests began to mill around, their conversations drifting like the notes of the music. You, radiant as ever, moved toward the edge of the room, a child once again tugging at your sleeve. You looked around, eyes searching for someone, and when they landed on Sarah—just for a moment—the world seemed to stop.

There was no way you could have known. No way you could have understood the turmoil inside her, the battle between loyalty to her mission and the growing feelings she could no longer ignore. But in that moment, when your gaze met hers, something shifted.

It wasn’t much. A fleeting look. But it was enough to make Sarah question everything she thought she knew.

For the first time since stepping into this gilded cage, Sarah felt the weight of the lies pressing down on her. She had known she was playing with fire when she took this mission, but now, staring at you, she realized the flames had already begun to scorch her. There was no turning back.

And the air was thick with the hum of a thousand conversations, the muted murmur of gossip and flirtation drifting on the edges of the grand ballroom. Sarah, ever the observer, stood at the far end of the room, her eyes tracing the intricate dance of people, their glistening gowns and sharp suits reflecting the grandeur of the night. The orchestra played softly in the background, but it was the way the light played off the walls, casting delicate shadows, that caught her attention—flickering like the secrets everyone here seemed to hide.

She should have been more focused. She should have been analyzing the situation, considering her next move, her next line of attack. After all, she had a job to do, a mission that no one else could see but her. But no matter how much she tried to pull herself back into her role, her gaze kept returning to you.

You, standing on the edge of the room, a soft glow around you—like you were untouched by the world. You seemed so… human in a place that thrummed with falseness, your laughter mingling with the music, your smile cutting through the facades like sunlight breaking through the clouds. There was something about you that grounded Sarah in ways she couldn’t explain, something that kept pulling at the frayed edges of her concentration.

You caught her staring, and for a brief moment, your eyes met hers. Time slowed, the noise of the party dimming in Sarah’s ears as your gaze held hers. There was no hostility, no suspicion in your look—just an open, disarming warmth. And Sarah, so used to being invisible, to being a shadow on the periphery of everything, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something unfamiliar stir inside her.

But before she could even begin to process what had just happened, a small child, perhaps five or six, tugged at your hand. The little boy, with his tousled hair and wide, innocent eyes, raised his arms toward you, a clear demand for your attention.

You giggled, a soft, melodic sound that made Sarah’s chest tighten inexplicably. Without hesitation, you lifted the child into your arms, your fingers brushing his cheek as you gently rocked him. The boy snuggled into you, his small hands gripping your shoulders as you began to sway gently, a natural dance between you two that made Sarah’s heart stutter in her chest.

For a long moment, Sarah stood frozen, unable to tear her gaze away. It was strange, this pull she felt. The child, so comfortable in your arms, your effortless grace, the way your face softened as you held him—it was so… real. So incredibly real. It was as if the world around you had stopped spinning for just a moment, and all that existed was you, the child, and the tenderness you gave him so naturally.

The boy, lulled by the warmth of your arms, soon fell asleep, his small form curling against your chest. You carefully adjusted him, brushing his hair back with a soft, absent-minded stroke as you continued to talk with a few of the other guests, the child in your arms a gentle reminder of the purity and innocence that still existed in the world, far away from the corruption that Sarah had been sent to expose.

Sarah watched, transfixed. Her thoughts, once sharp and focused, now felt distant, slipping away from her control as she followed every movement you made, every subtle shift of your posture, the way your fingers traced the child’s hair.

It was only when a man—a well-dressed figure with sharp eyes and a too-wide smile—approached her that Sarah’s thoughts were finally dragged back into the present. He leaned in close, his voice low and smooth as he spoke, a trace of flirtation in his tone.

“You seem a little distant,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with interest. “Is everything all right? It’s hard to believe a woman like you could be lost in thought at a party like this.”

Sarah forced a smile, her attention barely on him as she nodded absently. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice cool, detached. But her mind wasn’t with him—it was still on you. You, with your effortless beauty, your warmth. The way you held that child, so effortlessly caring and kind. Sarah felt the oddest twinge of discomfort, like she was intruding on something sacred, something she had no business desiring.

The man, oblivious to her growing unease, continued to talk. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see someone like you at an event like this. You’re... different, aren’t you?”

Sarah nodded again, the words barely registering as he continued to press closer, his gaze too insistent, his tone too forward. His flirtation, while shallow and empty, felt like a weight on her shoulders, a stark contrast to the real, unspoken connection she’d shared with you in that brief moment of eye contact.

And then, as if summoned by some divine force, you appeared.

You approached with a warm, playful smile on your lips, and the man’s eyes flicked up to you as you came closer, sensing the change in the air. You made a show of looking between Sarah and the man, your gaze narrowing just slightly in that way that made it clear you were sizing him up.

“Is there a problem here?” you asked, your voice light but carrying an edge of amusement, a playful challenge in the words.

The man’s smile faltered, and he looked briefly embarrassed, as if he realized for the first time that he might not be as charming as he’d hoped. “Oh, no,” he stammered, adjusting his tie awkwardly. “Just... just making conversation.”

You smirked, a glint of sarcasm in your eyes. “Well, you’re really good at it,” you said, your tone dripping with playful irony. “But I think my friend here was just getting lost in her thoughts.”

The man, now looking decidedly flustered, took a small step back, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. He gave Sarah one last, somewhat awkward look before turning and retreating, mumbling something under his breath.

You turned to Sarah then, your smile softening into something genuine, something warmer. “I’m sorry about that,” you said, your voice low, almost apologetic. “Some people don’t know when to stop.”

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat at the way you spoke—like you really cared, like you could sense the discomfort she hadn’t even known she was feeling. She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite herself.

“It’s fine,” Sarah replied, her voice just as soft. “I can handle it.”

You looked down at the sleeping child in her arms, a small frown tugging at your lips. “It’s not always easy, though, is it?” you murmured, more to yourself than to Sarah. “Sometimes, people just don’t know how to leave you alone. But I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

You handed the boy to a passing servant, your movements gentle as you murmured a quiet thank you to the woman. Then, you looked back at Sarah, your eyes locking with hers in a moment that felt more intense than either of you expected.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, the noise of the party around you forgotten, both of you caught in the stillness of something unspoken, something that wasn’t quite a promise, but something that felt like it could be.

Then, softly, you spoke again. “If you ever need saving again…” you trailed off with a teasing grin, the lightness of your voice returning. “I’ll be around.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her chest. There it was again—the softness in your voice, the warmth of your presence, the feeling that she was no longer just a player in the game, but something more. Something real.

And for the first time, Sarah felt the weight of the lies she’d built around herself and the tension between duty and desire pull at her with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

---

The grand mansion was a sprawling labyrinth of cold marble and velvet drapery, its halls echoing with the quiet footsteps of servants and the low murmur of distant conversations. Sarah, now under the guise of Alexandra Monroe, had blended seamlessly into this world of wealth and corruption. Her role as the financial advisor to the elusive and powerful politician, Gregory Hale, was the perfect disguise, one that allowed her to move about unnoticed, like a shadow slipping between the cracks.

Sarah had already spent days observing Hale’s movements, learning the patterns of his routine, the ways his mind worked when it came to money, and more importantly, how she could get close enough to gather the information she needed to expose his secrets.

But today was different. She had a new task. The bugging of Hale’s office.

As the sun poured through the tall windows of the mansion, Sarah walked with deliberate steps through the gleaming corridors, her heels clicking against the polished floor with an eerie finality. She could feel the weight of her mission pressing against her chest, a burden she wore with practiced ease. Every corner she turned, every door she passed, she was on alert. She had done this before—many times—but never in a place quite like this, never with so much on the line.

Her breath was steady, her hands steady, as she moved to the door of Hale’s office. She knew the layout by heart now, having memorized the route from the times she’d observed him. The office was tucked away on the second floor, a place where Hale often retreated to make deals, count his black money, and manipulate the threads of his influence.

But just as she approached the door, a soft, unexpected voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Alexandra?”

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Her eyes flicked toward the sound of the voice, and there, standing at the far end of the hallway, was you.

You, dressed in a soft blue dress, your hair cascading down in gentle waves, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. You looked… radiant, untouched by the darkness that swirled just beneath the surface of this place. It was a warmth that made Sarah’s chest tighten, a strange mix of discomfort and longing pulling at her in ways she couldn’t articulate.

“Oh, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you continued, walking towards her with a light, graceful step. “I thought you were meeting with my father today.”

Sarah blinked, shaking herself from the haze of thoughts that threatened to consume her. “I… I was,” she replied, her voice steady but carrying a faint edge of surprise. “I was just on my way to his office.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity lighting up your face. “I see. Is he in there?”

Sarah hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. “He should be,” she said, gesturing toward the door behind her. “I’m… meeting with him for a financial review. But I didn’t expect to bump into you here.”

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if reading something beneath her calm exterior. The faintest trace of a smile curled on your lips, and for a moment, Sarah couldn’t decide whether it was teasing or something else entirely. “Well, maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, your voice playful. “Or maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to talk to you.”

Sarah’s heart thudded louder in her chest. She knew she had to focus, knew she couldn’t let the connection between them distract her, not with the mission so close at hand. But somehow, being in your presence, even in this moment of apparent chance, made everything feel a little more complicated, a little less clear.

“I’m always happy to talk,” Sarah replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But I really should get going. You know how your father is with his schedules.”

You took a step closer, your smile widening. “Maybe we could talk a bit before you go?”

Sarah felt the tension rise in her chest, the unease at the growing closeness between them, but she knew it was just a passing moment. It was a brief exchange—a momentary diversion. She could handle it.

“I’d like that,” Sarah said quietly, her voice softening despite her inner turmoil.

You led her a little ways down the hall, your steps in sync, and there, beneath the soft golden light that poured through the windows, you began to talk. It was simple conversation at first—talk of the party the night before, of the weather, of anything and everything that didn’t touch on the heart of the matter. And yet, with every word, with every fleeting smile and gentle laugh, Sarah found herself drawn in.

You were… different. So different from the others in this world of deceit and power. It was as if, beneath all the opulence and the money, you were untouched. A light in a place where shadows ruled.

As the days went by, Sarah continued her mission, slipping deeper into the folds of Hale’s life, learning his secrets, gaining his trust. She was always on the move, always watching, always planning. But as she did, she found herself in constant, subtle contact with you.

At first, it was small things. You would bump into her in the hallway and smile warmly, asking about her day. Sometimes you would sit beside her during dinner, chatting lightly, your laughter filling the silence in a way that was strangely comforting.

But it didn’t stop there. You began to seek her out.

One afternoon, when Sarah was reviewing some files in the lavish library of Hale’s mansion, you appeared at her side, a tray of tea in hand. You placed it down before Sarah with an easy, almost intimate gesture, and Sarah felt a strange flutter in her chest. She had always kept people at arm’s length, always kept her focus on the job, on the task at hand. But with you… everything seemed so much more complicated.

“Is everything going well with the finances?” you asked, your tone light, but Sarah could see the flicker of concern in your eyes. “Father tends to get so caught up in his deals that he forgets about the details.”

Sarah nodded, offering a tight smile. “It’s all fine. Nothing you need to worry about.”

But the more she spoke with you, the more she realized that you weren’t like your father at all. You weren’t consumed by the hunger for power or the manipulation of money. Instead, there was an ease to you, a warmth that made Sarah’s walls slowly begin to crumble, piece by piece.

It was difficult to ignore the growing connection between them. You would find small reasons to speak to Sarah, offering her a seat at dinner, pulling her into conversations about art or music, anything that seemed to interest you. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sarah found herself looking forward to those moments.

Each time she saw you, she became more intrigued, more drawn to the way you seemed to move through the world with such grace, such authenticity. There was no pretense in you—no mask, no agenda.

And then, one day, as Sarah was once again at Hale’s office, preparing to plant the bug she had so carefully designed, she felt a presence behind her. She turned, half-expecting to see Hale, but instead, there you were—standing in the doorway, looking at her with that soft, knowing smile.

“Alexandra, I didn’t realize you were here,” you said, your voice gentle, almost teasing. “I thought you were busy with my father today?”

Sarah felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop around her. She was alone with you, no distractions, no interruptions, and something shifted between them, something unspoken, something that made Sarah’s chest ache in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“I… I was just finishing up,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll be on my way soon.”

You stepped closer, your presence overwhelming in the quiet room. “Before you go…” you began, your gaze fixed on her, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Sarah blinked, taken aback by your words. “For what?”

“For being here,” you said, your voice quiet, sincere. “For everything you’ve done for my father and for… being here with me. It’s strange, I don’t know why, but I feel like I can trust you.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than anything Sarah had ever heard. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond, how to reconcile the words you spoke with the truth of what she was really doing.

But all she could do was nod, a faint smile pulling at her lips, even as her heart twisted with the realization that the deeper she fell into this false identity, the more complicated things were becoming.

As the days passed, the invisible threads between Sarah and you continued to tighten, drawing the two of you closer with an intensity that neither of you could fully comprehend. Sarah, with her guarded exterior, remained the perfect professional—her role as Alexandra Monroe giving her the perfect cover to move through the world of wealth and influence without suspicion. But when it came to you, things felt different. You weren’t just another task or another piece of the puzzle to manipulate. You were an enigma, a shining light that pierced through the cold darkness of this world of corruption. And slowly, she found herself drawn to you, more than she ever intended.

The first time it happened, it was subtle. A touch of the hand as you handed her a glass of wine, your fingers brushing lightly against hers, a flicker of heat passing between you both. Sarah’s breath had caught in her throat, and for a moment, the world had fallen away. She’d been careful to maintain her composure, but she couldn’t deny the spark that ignited within her. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The second time, it was in the garden, when you’d asked her to join you for a walk after dinner. You’d talked of everything and nothing at all, your laughter mixing with the soft rustling of the leaves. It was a moment of peaceful intimacy, and Sarah couldn’t help but feel as though she had stepped into a world she didn’t fully understand—a world of beauty, of light, of something untainted by the darkness she was so accustomed to.

And then, there were the looks. Those lingering glances, the way your eyes would catch hers across the room when you thought no one was watching. Sarah would often find herself lost in your gaze, feeling a pull she couldn’t explain. Your eyes, full of warmth and curiosity, held an intensity that was disarming. Every time your eyes met, her heart would race in her chest, and she’d have to tear herself away, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

But despite her best efforts to maintain control, Sarah found it becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the undercurrent of desire that simmered between them.

It was on one particular evening, after a lavish dinner, when the tension between them reached its peak. Sarah had just returned to her room after a long day of pretending, of playing her part, when a knock came at the door.

She paused, momentarily taken aback. It was late, and the mansion had fallen into a quiet lull. Her first instinct was to ignore it—after all, she had no reason to entertain anyone at this hour. But the knock came again, and this time, there was a gentle, almost tentative quality to it.

“Alexandra?”

The voice was soft, familiar, and Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. She stood, frozen for a moment, trying to calm the sudden rush of emotions that flooded her chest. She knew who it was. It was you.

The door opened just slightly, and there you were, standing in the dim light of the hallway. You were dressed in a flowing, white nightdress that glowed softly in the low light, your hair falling loosely around your shoulders, your eyes wide and filled with an unspoken question.

“I… I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “But I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing. She knew she should resist, knew she should send you away with a polite excuse, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. There was something about the way you stood there, so vulnerable yet so confident, that made her heart ache with an intensity she wasn’t prepared for.

“You’re not disturbing me,” Sarah finally managed to say, her voice low, controlled. “Come in.”

You stepped inside, the soft fabric of your nightdress brushing against the floor as you moved toward her. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows on the walls. There was an almost dreamlike quality to the atmosphere, as if time had slowed, holding its breath.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “I kept thinking about everything that’s been happening. About how strange it is to have someone like you in our lives. Someone I can’t quite figure out.”

Sarah nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I know what you mean. I feel the same way, sometimes.”

You stepped a little closer, the distance between you narrowing with each passing second. Sarah’s pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest as your presence filled the room, warm and undeniable. She could smell the soft scent of lavender on your skin, the fragrance lingering in the air between you.

“I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than I have,” you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Like there’s something… familiar about you. Something that draws me in, even though I know I shouldn’t feel this way.”

Sarah’s breath hitched, the words hanging in the air between you. She could feel the magnetic pull between them, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. She had never felt this way about anyone before—not like this, not in a way that made her heart race and her breath catch in her throat.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” Sarah said, her voice strained, betraying the emotions she was trying so hard to keep buried. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to admit that she felt the same.

But you weren’t listening. You took another step forward, closing the space between you. Your eyes were dark now, intense, and Sarah could feel the heat of your gaze like a physical touch. The air between you crackled with something electric, something dangerous.

“I think you do,” you said softly, your hand reaching out to touch her arm, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through Sarah’s body. “I think you’ve felt it too.”

And then, in that moment, it happened. Without thinking, without the rational part of her mind having time to intervene, Sarah leaned forward, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, as if neither of them could believe what was happening.

But as the kiss deepened, as the heat between them intensified, the world outside of the room seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them now, wrapped in this strange, intoxicating moment that neither of them could escape from.

Sarah’s hands, which had remained at her sides for so long, now reached up to touch your face, to pull you closer. Your lips were warm and soft against hers, and Sarah felt her resolve crumble under the intensity of the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled in the moment, neither of them spoke for a long time. There was so much left unsaid, so much that neither of them dared to confront.

But as you pulled back slightly, your fingers still lingering on her arm, you looked into Sarah’s eyes, and for the first time, Sarah felt as though she was truly seen.

“I didn’t expect this,” you whispered, your voice breathless, as if the kiss had stolen the words from your throat.

Neither did Sarah. But as she stood there, with you so close, the weight of the mission, the weight of the lies, seemed a little less important. For the first time, she felt a flicker of something real, something that could, maybe, change everything.

---

The soft light of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The bed, still slightly disheveled from the night before, held the quiet evidence of a moment that had passed, leaving behind the traces of lingering warmth. Sarah’s room was calm and serene—decorated simply, with a few personal touches that reflected a woman who had crafted her life with precision. Yet, today, the room felt different. The space seemed to be filled with an energy that was undeniably hers and yours, two forces drawn together like magnetic poles.

You were there, nestled in the sheets—wrapped in them like an ethereal figure, the white fabric clinging to your form in a way that seemed almost sculptural. You lay on your stomach, your legs slightly bent, one hand resting on the book in front of you while the other brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The way you held the book, so absorbed in the words, the way your body seemed to flow in such natural grace beneath the sheets—Sarah could hardly look away.

She sat at the edge of the bed, her body languid as she watched you, her gaze tracing the lines of your figure. For a moment, she allowed herself to indulge, her eyes drinking in the sight of you, taking in how the soft sheets hugged your skin, the way the sunlight kissed your bare back. You seemed so at ease, so perfectly composed, yet there was a certain softness to you in this moment that made Sarah’s chest tighten. You looked like something carved from marble, perfect in every way. A modern-day Aphrodite, with your long, dark hair and glowing skin, radiant and serene, the book in your hands the only thing that seemed to tether you to the present.

She wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in her throat as she watched you. The guilt, that ever-present, gnawing sense of deception, was there, lurking beneath the surface of everything she did. She wasn't Alexandra Monroe. She wasn’t the woman she had allowed you to believe. But in this room, at this moment, none of that seemed to matter.

Sarah’s fingers twitched at her side, wanting to reach out to you. She wanted to touch you, to hold you, to pull you closer. But she stopped herself. She watched you for a few moments longer, feeling the weight of her secret, the weight of her lies, pressing on her chest like an iron bar. But in the face of you, in the warmth you exuded, all that seemed so distant. The real world—the one she was pretending to belong to—felt so far away, almost irrelevant in the light of this stolen peace.

Your voice broke through the silence, soft but full of curiosity, dragging her from her reverie.

“Alexandra,” you asked, your voice sleepy but playful, “what exactly do you find interesting about this book?”

Your tone was light, teasing, but Sarah couldn’t help but notice the way you looked at her as you asked. Your eyes were full of innocence, but there was something else, too—a spark of something that she wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret. You had no idea, of course. No idea that Sarah had no interest in the subject at hand, no true knowledge of finance or the intricacies of economics. It was all a façade, a performance, a game she had been playing long before meeting you.

But now, sitting here in the soft morning light with you, the words seemed to lose their meaning, the numbers on the pages becoming irrelevant. It wasn’t the book she was thinking about; it was you. Always you.

She shifted her posture, leaning slightly forward as her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. Her hand lingered in your hair for a moment, fingers brushing gently, caressing the soft strands. She didn't trust herself to speak at first. Instead, she allowed her eyes to study you, to memorize the way your lips curved as you smiled, the way your body seemed to breathe in time with the warmth of the room.

The smile on your face was genuine, something that had begun to grow between the two of you in the days since the kiss had blurred the lines between who you were and who Sarah was pretending to be. It was all starting to feel... real, even when Sarah knew it shouldn’t.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost regretful. “I guess I just thought it would be… practical, something I could learn, something that might make me… more useful.”

She didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t the truth—she wasn’t really interested in finance at all—but it was close enough to avoid the question. Besides, the real truth was that she had no idea how to respond to the way your presence made her feel. How everything about you seemed to make the world fade into something far less significant.

You shifted in the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet her gaze. Your eyes were full of something—something softer than what Sarah had ever expected. It was a look of trust, maybe. Or maybe it was just the effect of being so close to each other for so long. Either way, Sarah felt herself growing weaker under the weight of your gaze.

“You’re already plenty useful to me,” you teased, that smile still lingering on your lips.

Sarah swallowed, her chest tight. There was a part of her that wanted to pull away, to protect herself, to pull the walls back up that had taken years to build. But that part of her was weakening. It was losing its hold.

Without thinking, her hand returned to your hair, her fingers brushing through the strands, gently pulling them back from your face. She watched as you closed your eyes for a moment, a soft breath escaping your lips. You didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. And for a fleeting second, Sarah thought she might stay here forever, lost in this moment of tenderness, of warmth, of something so perfectly ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

“I never thought I’d end up here, you know,” Sarah murmured softly, her voice full of that same strange vulnerability. She didn’t know why she was saying it. Maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the moment, or maybe it was because of the guilt that was beginning to cloud her thoughts again. But she couldn’t stop herself. “I never thought I’d let myself… feel this way.”

You met her eyes, the softness in your gaze deepening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a strange tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… intense.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging between you like an unspoken promise.

Sarah blinked, her fingers still gently tracing your hair. She felt her heart skip a beat, the weight of your words settling over her like a soft, heavy blanket. Her answer wasn’t immediate, and for the first time, she realized that she wasn’t entirely sure. There was too much at stake. Too much of her identity had been wrapped up in the lies. But looking at you—this radiant, open soul in front of her—she couldn’t help but wish that the truth didn’t seem so far away.

“No,” she finally said, her voice steady, though her chest was tight. “I don’t regret it.”

And as you smiled softly, that small, knowing smile, she felt something shift in her. Something deep inside her, something that made her realize she didn’t want to pull away from this. She didn’t want to walk away from you.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

But the real world always catches up. Lies never last.

Days drifted by like leaves in a lazy river, but Sarah could feel the current of her own actions pulling her under. It started small—a whispered message that didn’t seem to matter at first, an innocuous note that seemed to have little weight. But as the days went on, that message began to settle into her mind like a stone lodged in her chest, a constant reminder that time was running out.

The mission was drawing to a close.

Sarah sat in her temporary office, the one she had carefully crafted for the last few weeks under the false identity of Alexandra Monroe. The world outside seemed so far away now, as if the life she had built here—this life with you—was something she could never have truly known. But she had to let go. There was no other choice. She had done her job, infiltrated the heart of the corruption, and now it was time to disappear. To collect the evidence. To walk away.

Everything has a price.

Her fingers hovered over her phone, her gaze flicking to the unread message once more. The words burned in her mind, mocking her, reminding her that the time to act was now. She felt her pulse quicken as the weight of the decision pressed heavily against her chest.

One last job. One final act of betrayal. One last moment to take the money, pass it to her team, and disappear.

But then what? What about you?

Her eyes flicked to the door. The sound of your laughter had been echoing in her mind all morning, the way you moved through the halls like sunlight breaking through a storm. You were still unaware. Still untouched by the truth.

And Sarah? She was no longer sure who she was. She wasn’t just Alexandra Monroe anymore. She wasn’t the woman she had been before. You had cracked something in her. Something she didn’t think could ever be cracked. Something soft. Something human.

But it was too late. She couldn’t undo what had been set into motion.

---

The final day arrived, cloaked in an uneasy silence. Sarah had already set everything in motion. The black money had been arranged to be moved. The proof of the politician’s corruption—the man who had built his empire on lies and greed—was ready to be handed over. She would make the exchange, slip away with her team, and vanish into the shadows. Everything had been planned down to the smallest detail.

And yet, as she stood in the grand hallway of the mansion, she felt as though she were walking on the edge of a knife. Each step felt like it could be her last.

Her eyes flicked over the guests who wandered in and out, the polished, pristine faces of power and influence—some laughing, some murmuring in groups, none the wiser. But her attention wasn’t on them. It was on you.

You were still the same. Beautiful. Radiant. The very embodiment of everything Sarah hadn’t realized she wanted—until now.

She spotted you across the room, surrounded by laughter and the hum of conversation, but her heart skipped as she saw something shift in your gaze. A glance that caught hers. And for a moment, time seemed to still. You smiled—so innocent, so unaware—but Sarah felt the cold knot of her impending betrayal twist deeper inside her.

The message had arrived. The job was simple. The money was ready to be moved. There was no more time.

But then, you were there.

You crossed the room to her, your presence undeniable, your smile so sweet it almost broke her resolve. You stopped in front of her, a gleam of curiosity in your eyes.

“Alexandra,” you said softly, tilting your head. “I was just wondering if you might want to join me for a dance?”

The question caught Sarah off guard. She hadn’t expected this. You were always so... so full of life. Always so present. So genuine. How could she say no?

But she had to. She had to say goodbye. This was the moment.

“I… I can’t,” Sarah said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve got some things to take care of. But maybe later.”

You didn’t seem to buy it. You frowned, confusion and hurt flickering across your face.

"Later?” you echoed, and Sarah could hear the sadness in your voice. “You’ve been saying that for days now, Alexandra. What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me?”

She felt the heat of your gaze, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you, and for a moment, she considered telling you everything. But then the door opened, the sound of her team waiting to make the exchange. It was time.

And then, just as quickly, you were gone.

---

The hall was empty when Sarah moved toward the back, away from the guests, toward the place where the money had been stashed. She pulled the small briefcase from beneath the hidden panel in the wall, her fingers trembling as she prepared to hand it off to her team. She was almost there.

Almost free.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Another message. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she saw it.

Everything is set. Do it now.

She took a breath, pulling herself together. She turned toward the door, but then she stopped.

A shadow in the doorway.

It was you.

You stood there, eyes wide, breath quick. You had seen it all. You had watched everything unfold. Your heart was on your sleeve now, raw, broken. You were shaking your head, your mouth moving but no words coming out at first.

“Sarah…” you breathed, disbelief written on your face. “What are you doing?”

The world seemed to collapse in on Sarah. She felt the walls around her crumble, her heart racing as the reality of what she had done hit her full force. You had seen it all. Everything.

“No,” you whispered, the pain in your voice cutting her to the core. “No, this can't be real… you—this isn’t you.”

Your eyes were wide, searching hers for the truth, but Sarah couldn’t give it to you. She couldn’t give you any more lies.

“I—” Sarah began, but her words faltered. What could she say? What was there left to say?

This is the mission. This is what you’ve always been trained to do.

But you were there. You had been there for her. You had made her feel something real. And now, she was standing here, caught in the tangled web of lies, unable to escape.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you took a step forward, your hand reaching out. “Tell me you’re not—tell me you’re not betraying me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered, the words feeling like poison in her mouth. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to…”

You couldn’t hear her anymore. You took another step forward, your face crumpling with the weight of the betrayal. The tears welled in your eyes. You looked lost.

“How could you?” you whispered, your voice a broken tremor in the air. You shook your head, stepping back. “I thought you—I thought you were different!”

The hurt in your voice was too much. Sarah wanted to reach for you, wanted to apologize a thousand times over, but the distance between you was growing. You were slipping away, disappearing into the shadows. And with each step, it felt like the last piece of herself that Sarah had left was crumbling to dust.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, but it was too late.

With one last tearful glance, you turned and walked away.

The sting of betrayal hung thick in the air like a heavy fog, and Sarah stood frozen in the doorway as you retreated from her. The world outside seemed so distant, so far away, as she struggled to form the words that might make everything right again. The plan had worked—she had nearly escaped, had nearly taken everything she needed and walked away with nothing but memories of a woman she had come to care for, even love. But now? Now it was all falling apart.

You hadn’t even let her explain. And Sarah felt the weight of it all settle onto her shoulders, the voice in her earpiece shouting orders that she couldn’t possibly follow, her team urging her to leave, to finish the mission.

But none of that mattered now.

You mattered.

"Wait," Sarah called out, her voice cracking as she took a shaky step toward you. "Please, just—let me explain."

You turned back, your eyes a mixture of confusion, hurt, and anger. It was too much. The betrayal, the lies. Everything had shattered in the seconds it had taken for you to realize what was happening. You couldn't believe it. She couldn’t believe it.

"You don't need to explain," you whispered bitterly, your hands trembling at your sides. "I can’t even look at you right now. After everything... You lied to me. You used me."

“I never meant to hurt you,” Sarah continued, her voice a fragile thread in the darkness. "I swear to you, my feelings for you... They're real. I care about you. This—this isn’t who I am. But I’m not who you think I am."

You shook your head, disbelief written across your face, and Sarah felt her heart crack into pieces. Her hands shook as she reached for you, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing wider with every moment that passed.

“Who are you, then?” Your voice trembled as the words escaped. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not... Alexandra Monroe,” Sarah finally said, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost defeated tone. "My real name is Sarah Fidel."

The words hung in the air like a confession, one she hadn't planned on making, but something inside of her couldn’t hold it back anymore. The truth had to come out. If she was going to lose you—and she feared she already had—then at least you would know everything.

"Why did you lie to me?" you demanded, your voice rising with emotion. "Who are you, really? What are you doing here? Why—why did you pretend to be someone else?"

Sarah’s chest tightened at your question, and she took a step closer to you, ignoring the frantic chatter in her earpiece telling her to move, to finish what she’d started. She was losing everything. She was losing you.

“I didn’t want to. I never wanted to deceive you,” she said softly, her words laced with sincerity. “I came here to do something, something that had to be done. I needed to get close to your father… I needed to find out what he was involved in. I had to expose him. But when I met you... everything changed. I didn’t expect to feel like this."

You stood still, watching her, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, the hurt in your eyes turning to anger.

"My father? You’re saying my father’s involved in all this?"

Sarah hesitated, her eyes briefly flickering to the side as her mind raced. "Your father... he’s been laundering money, running illegal operations... I was sent here to gather evidence, to bring him down. But I—” Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. “I didn’t know about you. I didn’t know about us.”

“You didn’t know about us?” You scoffed, stepping forward, your voice rising. "What do you mean by that? I trusted you. I let you in. You—you said you loved me!"

Sarah felt the pain of your words like a knife. "I do love you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of raw emotion. "I know it sounds insane. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, please believe me—everything I’ve felt for you, everything between us, was real. I’ve never... I’ve never felt this way before. You—you changed everything for me."

Her breath caught in her throat as she took another step toward you, her hand reaching out for yours, but you pulled back, your eyes filled with so much conflict.

"I can’t just forget what you've done, Sarah." The name tasted strange on your lips now. "You've been lying to me this entire time. You’re not the person I thought you were.”

The air between you two was thick with tension, and Sarah felt the tears welling up behind her eyes. Her hands shook with the weight of everything she had to say, everything she needed to explain. “I never wanted to hurt you. And I never wanted to drag you into this mess. I swear to you, I was going to leave. I was going to walk away, take the money, and disappear.”

You shook your head, your eyes still dark with hurt. "But now I know what you've been doing, Sarah. I can’t... I can’t forgive you for that. My father? This whole thing? It’s too much. It’s all a lie, and I—"

“Stop,” Sarah said softly, cutting you off. She took a step closer again, her voice cracking under the weight of everything. “Please... just listen to me. I didn’t want this to be the way it was. I never wanted to deceive you. I want to be with you. I care about you. And I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve hurt you, but this—everything I’ve done, it was because I didn’t have any other choice."

You stared at her, your expression torn between the anger you felt and the love that you had for her, a love that, despite everything, still lingered beneath the surface. Your heart beat faster in your chest, and you felt the weight of the decision you had to make.

But the world felt like it was breaking apart around you. There was so much you didn’t know, so much you couldn’t understand. Your father was involved in something far darker than you had ever imagined, and Sarah had been part of it. She had lied to you, and yet she stood here, asking for forgiveness.

What was the truth?

And yet, beneath all of the anger, beneath all of the hurt, there was still a part of you that wanted to believe in her. That wanted to believe that everything they had was real, that Sarah—Alexandra—wasn’t just a mask, a facade. That the love she had shown you, the way she held you, the moments she shared with you, weren’t just part of a game.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Sarah’s heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability. She reached out, her hand brushing against your cheek. “Please,” she said softly, her voice full of pain. “Don’t let this be the end. I know I’ve made mistakes. But I swear to you, everything I feel for you is real.”

For a long moment, you didn’t move. The silence stretched between you, and Sarah felt as though time itself had stopped. You were fighting, torn between your feelings for her, the woman you had come to love, and the reality of the situation that had been uncovered. But as you looked into her eyes—her soul bared to you, raw and trembling—you saw the truth behind the lies.

And in that moment, something inside of you broke. The tears that had been welling up inside of you spilled over, and you felt the weight of everything settle onto your shoulders.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whispered. “But I need time... I need time to figure out what’s real.”

Sarah’s chest tightened, but she nodded, a faint but hopeful smile on her lips. “I’ll wait for you,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

And as she reached out one final time, pulling you close, you allowed yourself to melt into her embrace, torn between the past and the future, between the love you felt for her and the world you now knew you could never be a part of.

But for now, all you could do was hold on—hold on to the woman who had lied to you, hold on to the love you still wanted to believe in, even though you weren’t sure what was left to hold.

And maybe, just maybe, the answer would come in time.

But for now, all you had was the silence between you and the hope that maybe, one day, the truth would set you both free.

[lovelaetter]

cant stop thinking about stepmom!taeyeon who manipulates and eventually convinces her werewolf stepkid to use her body on the day the full moon comes out 🥺…

the moment it actually happens, she gets more than expected and it’s so painfully pleasurable but hey at least the dick hit the spots iykwim

MONSTERFUCKING, STEPCEST

i’m going to be so honest with you anon, i love this. i love this a lot and you know it because the day you sent this i posted that i wanted to kiss you and i still do but for some reason i can seem to write anything around this and it’s the reason this post is going to be so straightforward, only fuck*ng not background as much as i love, i really tried but couldn’t come up with anything i liked :( that being said..

she would so take a double look at your cock because jesus, why is it so big? it was already hard for her to take you the first time you fucked ever, human form and all, but this? sure she would feel for days, no matter how much time you spent between her thighs, always the dotting daughter, the caring girl, lapping at her sweet cunt to get her ready, using your now longer tongue to open your way inside her. thighs and waist burning with the little cuts from your claws, she doesn’t dare to look down and see the mess it must look, can’t do much but whimper and try to hold your arms as you move her around the you feel like, whispering in the sweet voice of hers “sweet girl, calm down, please” when you growl at her neck, frustrated that you can’t seem to fit inside her, your tip pushing against her entrance a little insistently. would slide her hands between your bodies, moaning just from feeling you under her touch, using her own fingers for a while, she’s so unbelievable wet, can take three so easily, but it’s not like her hand is that big.

there would be so much going on once you finally slide inside her— she thinks she’s being split in two, your teeth grazing her neck and a deadly grip on her waist and it’s too much but it’s nothing because it’s barely half of you and she needs more, kicks and screams but pushes back, wants you deep. keeps one hand over her belly the whole time to feel you hitting there, clearly growing more and more wet each time. when you start to simply push, knot forcing its way inside her already abused pussy, has lost count of how many time she has come by then but does again so hard, it’s like the first time, feeling herself get even more full with cum. and speaking of cum, there’s just so much of it… once you manage to slide out, she feels so dirty at how it just keeps flowing out of her, but at same time it’s so good. all the pain, worth it.

lays there with you later and wouldn’t complain if you decide to lap at her some more, in fact finding it endearing, maybe it’s a werewolf thing, a way to try and soothe her sore cunt. she loves you so much, you’re not hers but still, such a good daughter, always caring for her, even like this :( does she have any idea of how to explain to your dad what are all the cuts on her body? hell no, but she can think of something.

[emjayewrites]

all mine (in between the lines epilogue) • jules kounde

SYNOPSIS: At Zuri’s engagement party, Senait meets her best friend’s fiancé, Aurélien, and his friend, Jules. A spontaneous hookup with Jules sparks undeniable chemistry, but when Senait ghosts him afterward, she finds herself wrestling with her insecurities as the casual fling begins shifting into something deeper.

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior @whoevenisthiz

A/N: This story is finito! Thanks again for all of the love/support for my football baes series! Gif by @doinggreat

one month later.....

Senait watched the French countryside blur past their van window, still jet-lagged from her NYC trip. The visit home had been productive – boxing up most of her Bushwick apartment, moving things to her parents' house. The decision to leave New York hadn't been as hard as she'd expected. Barcelona had become her new home, complete with friends, a thriving business, and Jules.

The meeting at the Spanish embassy had been encouraging. The visa process would be complex but doable – she'd need to prove financial stability (her business was helping there), show ties to the community, and complete the necessary paperwork. Spring 2025 felt like a reasonable timeline, especially with her subletter already lined up through April.

"I still can't believe you're really moving to Spain," Zuri said, squeezing her hand. The three girls had claimed the back row of the luxury van, leaving their men to occupy the middle seats.

"Neither can I," Senait admitted. "But it feels right."

"Speaking of right," Lila wiggled her eyebrows, "let's talk about how Jules calls you chérie."

"Oh my God, stop—"

"No, no," Zuri jumped in, grinning. "We need to discuss this. The way you melt every time he speaks French."

"Like you're any better with Aurélien," Senait shot back. "Miss 'oh daddy' in two languages."

"At least the French make it extra sexy," Zuri defended.

"Excuse me," Lila protested, "try teaching an Englishman to sound sexy. Though trust me, Daddy works just fine."

"Unless you want to get fucked in this van, Li," Jude turned around, smirking, "I think you should cut it out."

Lila's face flushed as red as possible, while the others erupted in laughter.

"Look who's quiet now," Senait teased.

"Leave her alone," Zuri said, though she was still laughing. "Not her fault Jude's got her trained."

"Big Daddy Bellingham," joked Senait in a low voice that was somehow still heard by the guys.

"And you better not forget it," Jude chimed in with a wink and it made the whole van erupt into another fit of guffaws.

"I hate all of you," Lila muttered, but she was smiling.

The lodge appeared through the snow – a massive wooden structure with huge windows and multiple balconies.

"Proper winter wonderland," Jules commented as they unloaded their bags.

Even knowing Jude and Lila could only stay until Christmas Eve – family obligations in Bergen calling – the mood was festive. The couples claimed their rooms, unpacked, then reconvened in the main living area where a fire already blazed.

"To friends," Aurélien raised his glass of wine. "And to being together."

"To being together," they echoed.

______________________________________________

Senait stood on the lodge‘s porch, wrapped in one of Jules' sweaters (stolen, of course), watching snowflakes dust the fairy-light draped chalets of Megève as she thought about last therapy session before the trip, which had been particularly enlightening.

"You're not running anymore," Dr. Obazi had observed. "You're moving forward. There's a difference."

The difference was currently in the kitchen with Jude, both of them playfully judging Lila's hot chocolate methodology. Jules caught Senait's eye through the window, throwing her a wink that still made her stomach flip, even after all these months.

"Senait," Zuri's voice broke through her thoughts, appearing beside her with two steaming mugs. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That soft smile you get when you look at Jules." Zuri handed her a mug. "You know, the one you swore you'd never have?"

Senait accepted the cocoa, breathing in the sweet aroma. "Therapy's helping," she admitted. "Making me see things differently."

"Like?"

"Like maybe being scared of something good is worse than risking getting hurt." She took a sip, the warmth spreading through her chest. "And maybe Jules is worth the risk."

Zuri's smile was knowing. "Finally figured that out, huh?"

Inside, laughter erupted from the kitchen. Jude had lifted Lila away from the stove, declaring her marshmallow-to-cocoa ratio "criminally sweet." Jules was recording the whole thing, Lila protesting in between giggles, and Aurélien continuing to instigate the entire ordeal.

"They're good people," Senait said softly. "Your friends."

"Our friends now," Zuri corrected. "That's what happens when you stop fighting the good things, Sen."

Later, on the slopes, Senait felt that truth in her bones. She and Jules moved in sync on their snowboards, their bodies finding that natural rhythm they'd always had. But now it felt different – less like running away from intimacy and more like running toward it.

"Show off," she called as Jules executed a perfect jump.

His grin was wicked. "Want me to teach you?"

"Want me to end up in the emergency room?"

"I'd catch you."

The simple certainty in his voice made her heart stutter. Because he would – had been catching her, in fact, since that first night at Zuri's engagement party. She'd just been too scared to let herself fall.

_______________________________________________

The next evening, after saying their goodbyes to Jude and Lila, Senait curled up by the lodge's fireplace and watched her friends. Zuri and Aurélien shared a blanket and whispered jokes as they played a card game. Jules sat beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not so close as to pressure. Always giving her space to choose.

"I have another therapy session scheduled for when we get back," she said quietly.

"Good." His hand found hers under the blanket they shared. "Proud of you."

"Jules?"

"Mm?"

"I think… I think I'm ready. To make this official."

He turned to look at her fully, his expression serious. "You sure?"

Senait thought about Dr. Obazi's words about moving forward versus running. About how Jules had become home without her even noticing. About how being scared of happiness was worse than being scared of pain.

"Yeah," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sure."

His smile was slow, beautiful. "About time, chérie."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

So she did, kissing him right there in front of their friends. Zuri's whoop of celebration made her laugh against Jules' lips.

"Finally!" Aurélien called out, abandoning their card game. "Does this mean we can stop pretending like we don't know you practically live together?"

Senait felt her cheeks heat, but Jules just pulled her closer. "Means whatever she wants it to mean," he said simply.

And that was it, really. The beauty of them – how Jules let her set the pace while making sure she knew he wasn't going anywhere. How he'd waited while she worked through her fears in therapy, supported her growing business, given her space to choose him properly.

The Alpine night wrapped around them like a blanket, fairy lights twinkling against fresh snow. Senait curled into Jules' side, feeling the solid warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart, and was finally at peace with everything in her life.

This was what choosing happiness felt like. What moving forward felt like.

THE END......

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING MY FOOTBALL BAES SERIES AND HERE'S A LITTLE SOMETHING FOR SENAIT & JULES......

June 2030

Senait couldn’t help but marvel at how far life had taken her, from bustling streets of New York to the enchanting city of Barcelona. When she left New York officially in 2025 to be with Jules, she had no idea how seamlessly her life would transform alongside his. Those first three beautiful years together were filled with long, sun-kissed vacations to bucket list destinations, late-night drives along the Mediterranean coast, and spontaneous adventures as a couple. Jules had showered her with love in every corner of the world, and she’d fallen for him over and over again. Then, one balmy summer evening, he’d gotten down on one knee and proposed, making the life they’d built together official.

In those years, Senait’s career blossomed into something she was truly proud of. Her lifestyle brand had taken off, focusing on manifestation journals, productivity planners, and sleek, minimalistic calendars designed to keep life inspiring and organized. It wasn’t a multimillion-dollar empire—at least, not yet—but her profits had been steadily growing, and her work was loved by an ever-expanding community of motivated women. Venturing further into her passion for design, she had opened a small floral shop in Barcelona. Designing arrangements brought her a unique kind of peace, a creative outlet that felt like love in bloom.

Jules had been thriving, too. His football career soared to new heights: winning two Champions League with FC Barcelona and even lifting both a Euros win and World Cup with the French national team. The two of them had created a life bursting with love and dreams realized, and now they were eagerly awaiting the newest chapter—becoming parents.

Today, though, they were in Tuscany, celebrating Jude and Lila's wedding. But first, they had a mission in Florence.

"Chérie, we've been to six different shops," Jules said patiently, watching his pregnant wife peer into yet another chocolate boutique window.

"It has to be the right one," Senait insisted. "The one with the gold wrapper and the hazelnut filling. Remember? We found it that time we came for your Champions League match."

Jules wrapped an arm around her expanding waist. "That was two years ago, love."

"But it was perfect." Her voice wavered dangerously. "And the baby wants it."

"The baby, huh?"

"Don't tease me when I'm emotional."

Three more shops yielded nothing but frustration. By the time they reached the wedding venue, Senait was fighting back tears.

"Hey, Jules and Senait are here," she heard Aurélien call out.

Zuri appeared immediately, taking in Senait's flushed face and teary eyes. "What happened?"

Senait sniffled, one hand resting on her five-month bump. "I wanted a chocolate bar from that shop we loved in Florence, but they're out. And it's not available anywhere else in Italy!"

"Oh honey," Zuri pulled her into a hug, careful of her bump. "Pregnancy cravings are the worst."

"It's not just cravings," Senait hiccupped. "I wanted to share it with the baby. Tell them about our first trip to Florence, how their papa scored the winning goal that night."

Zuri bit back a laugh, exchanging a knowing look with Aurélien. Pregnancy hormones were no joke. "Hey, they've got some amazing snacks in Lila's room," she said, wrapping her arm around Senait. "Go on, I promise it'll make you feel better."

Senait nodded, allowing herself to be comforted, and made her way to Lila's room, leaving Jules and Aurélien to talk. The men shared a chuckle, with Jules shaking his head in disbelief. "Pregnancy, man. Never a dull moment."

As Senait walked down the hallways, she couldn't help but remember her own wedding. Now here she was, five months pregnant, crying over chocolate.

"There's my favorite pregnant lady!" Lila appeared in a silk robe, her hair in rollers.

Senait laughed. "You're beautiful!"

"So are you. Even with those tears. What happened?"

"I don't want to go there," Senait sighed dramatically, but she was smiling now. The baby fluttered – their newest trick. She placed a hand on her bump, still amazed by how natural this felt. How right.

"Come here, you emotional mess," Lila pulled Senait onto the sofa, where an impressive spread of snacks covered the coffee table. "I had them bring up everything – sweet, salty, spicy."

"You're an angel," Senait grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry. Not the same as her Florence chocolate, but it would do. "This baby needed some chocolate."

"Speaking of babies," Lila said as she was helped into her gown, "have you two started thinking about names yet?"

Senait smiled, remembering Jules' late-night conversations with her bump. "Jules likes Feven for a girl. It means 'bright' in Tigrinya."

"And for a boy?"

"Théo. After his grandfather."

Lila nodded approvingly while the bridal stylist buttoned the back of the dress. "That's great. Some men have awful taste in names."

Just then, Zuri made her way into the room and smiled brightly at both of her friends. The baby moved again, more pronounced this time. Senait had noticed they were most active during these moments of laughter and joy, as if already wanting to be part of the fun.

"Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life," she admitted softly from the couch. "Barcelona, Jules, the baby... if you'd told me six years ago this is where I'd end up..."

"You'd have run screaming in the opposite direction?" Lila supplied.

"Probably."

"And now look at you," Zuri squeezed her hand. "Living your dream life with your dream man, growing your dream baby."

The tears threatened again. "Stop, I just fixed my makeup."

"Blame the hormones," Lila suggested cheerfully.

A knock at the door interrupted their laughter. Jules poked his head in, his expression softening when he saw Senait surrounded by snacks and friends.

"Better?" he asked.

Senait nodded, holding out her hand. He crossed the room to take it, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Guess what?" he murmured against her hair. "Aurélien made some calls. That chocolate shop? They're sending a box directly to Barcelona. Should be there when we get home."

Fresh tears spilled. "I love you."

"Je t'aime aussi, mon coeur." His hand found her bump. "Both of you."

"And on that disgustingly sweet note," Lila announced, "I need to finish getting ready. I have a wedding to star in."

The bridal stylist jumped in at that moment and helped Lila with her veil.

When she was done, Senait watched as Zuri placed a gentle hand on Lila's shoulder. "You look so perfect," she whispered.

Lila smiled, her eyes glistening. "Thanks, Zu. I just can't believe this is finally happening."

Zuri smiled, her hand resting protectively over her own bump. "Believe it, girl. This is your moment."

_______________________________________________

The reception was nothing short of magical: fairy lights draped over ancient olive trees, long tables adorned with white roses and silk drapery, and soft music that danced on the breeze. Senait felt warm and content, holding little Eti, who had been passed to her while Zuri and Aurélien took on their wedding party duties.

Later, Senait swayed gently with Jules as they danced under the canopy of stars, surrounded by laughter and clinking glasses. The DJ shifted the song, and suddenly Hey There Delilah started playing. Jules grinned, his eyes bright with mischief, and the two of them began singing along jokingly with the rest of the guests, trying to outdo each other with exaggerated gestures.

After dancing until her feet hurt, Senait noticed a young man she recognized as Jude’s brother, Jobe, standing off to the side, deep in conversation with a stunning young woman somewhat familiar. She nudged Zuri, who had just returned from mingling. "Who’s that?" she asked, nodding toward the pair.

Zuri followed her gaze and let out a little laugh. "That’s Justine, you remember, Jobe’s ex from Birmingham. Lila invited her, of course."

"That's her?" Senait said, eyes alight with curiosity. "Spill the tea."

Zuri smirked. "Well, you know they broke up a few years ago, and Justine moved to the States to go to grad school and teach for a while?" Senait nodded her head vehemently and her friend continued. "So now she’s back in the UK, and Lila is playing matchmaker, hoping they rekindle things."

Senait's smile grew. "I kind of like that idea."

Before she could comment further, Jules came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his lips brushing against her ear. He whispered something filthy, making her cheeks flush furiously. Senait swatted his arm, laughing. "You have to wait. We’re not doing that here."

Jules sucked his teeth in mock disappointment, then turned to Zuri with a grin. "Sorry, I’m stealing my wife now."

Zuri rolled her eyes with a chuckle, "Go on, then. Just don’t keep her too long."

Jules didn’t hesitate, pulling Senait away from the lively crowd to a quieter corner of the reception. He pressed her gently against the wall, cupping her face and kissing her deeply, passion igniting between them once again. When they finally broke apart, Senait laughed, breathless.

"Ugh, I hate you," she said jokingly, her voice husky.

Jules brushed a lock of hair from her face, his gaze softening. "I love you too," he replied simply, and then he kissed her again, both of them lost in the moment, savoring every heartbeat and memory shared between them.

____________________________________________

four months later…

The Barcelona hospital room was filled with anticipation and the soft beeping of monitors. After twelve hours of labor, Senait was finally ready to push. Jules hadn't left her side once, letting her squeeze his hand through each contraction, whispering encouragement in French and English.

"You're doing amazing, chérie," he murmured, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Her mother, Askalu, stood on her other side, while her father, John, paced the waiting room. Sophie, Jules' mother, had been in and out, her limited English made up for by her expressive face and comforting presence.

When Feven Sidonie Koundé finally entered the world at 3:47 AM, her powerful cry filled the room. Jules' eyes welled up as the doctors placed their daughter on Senait's chest.

"Elle est parfaite," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Perfect like her mama."

The next few hours passed in a blur of skin-to-skin contact, first measurements, and proud grandparents meeting their granddaughter. Askalu and John couldn't stop crying as they held Feven, marveling at her tiny features.

"She looks just like you did," Askalu told Senait, gently touching Feven's full head of curly hair.

Sophie was equally emotional, her broken English mixed with rapid French as she cooed over her granddaughter. "Ma belle petite-fille," she kept saying, tears streaming down her face.

The nurse brought in Senait's first 'push present' – a large tray of sushi she'd been craving throughout her pregnancy. Her mother shook her head as Senait did an excited wiggle in the hospital bed.

"You have more presents at home," Jules said, amused by her reaction to raw fish.

"Nothing better than this," Senait declared, already reaching for a piece of salmon nigiri.

Her phone lit up with a FaceTime call from Zuri. On screen, her friend appeared with baby Zulaika in her arms, two-month-old and perfect, while little Eti peeked into frame.

"She's here!" Zuri squealed. "Show me my niece!"

Jules carefully tilted the phone so Zuri could see Feven, now sleeping peacefully in her bassinet.

"Oh my god, she's gorgeous," Zuri gushed. "Our girls are going to be best friends."

"Unless it's El Clásico time," Aurélien's voice came from off-screen. "Then they're enemies."

Jules chuckled, but the sound was cut short by Feven's hungry cry. "Speaking of enemies, time for another feeding."

"Go be a mommy and daddy," Zuri smiled. "Love you all!"

Jules carefully lifted Feven, still amazed by how tiny she was, and brought her to Senait. He helped position the baby, remembering all the steps from their parenting classes.

"Support her head like that," Senait murmured. "There we go."

Watching his wife feed their daughter, Jules felt his heart might burst. He couldn't stop staring at them – his whole world in one hospital bed.

"Can we have another?" he asked suddenly, eyes locked on Senait's.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. "Give me six months and I'll think about it."

His grin widened as he leaned in to kiss her. "Je t'aime, chérie."

"I love you too," she whispered back. "All of this. Even if your daughter already has your appetite."

Jules laughed softly, careful not to disturb Feven's feeding. Their families would be staying to help – Sophie for two whole months – but right now, in this moment, it was just them. Their little family of three.

Complete. Perfect. Everything they never knew they needed until they found each other.

[shaunamilfman]

the ghost you dressed up as [8]

pairing: Jackie Taylor x Shauna Shipman x r summary: Continues off where seven ends. Just smut really. note: last chapter, and the smut you've been waitinggg for masterlist

“This is sick, even for you,” You comment idly, tone far too casual for the accusation. Still, you don’t bother to move your hand from where it cups the side of her face, enjoying the feeling of her warm skin against your hand.

It shouldn’t surprise you how quickly she switches between predator and lover. Really, if you think about it you wonder if there is even a difference for her. Isn’t the violence just foreplay?

Shauna gives you that infuriating grin, utterly unashamed as she leans back against the car door. Her messy hair and swollen lips paint a clear picture of what has her breathing hard, both of which have nothing to do with the murders you’ve just committed. There’s blood smeared across her cheek, but you’ve come to expect it at this point.

You’ve had to bat her hands away more than once, refusing to let those still-bloody fingers find their way to your skin. Her eyes are focused on yours, something dark and amused present as she just watches. It makes something in your stomach twist in a way you wish it wouldn’t. There’s such a thrill in it, and you can’t find it in yourself to deny it.

She revels in the bloodshed she causes, even more so in the way you're still standing by her side afterward like you might just kiss her again. You can still picture the way Jeff had looked as he bled out beneath you, those dumb, trusting eyes wide with a mix of fear and betrayal. He hasn't even had time to scream–just a few gasping breaths as he went down. He’d hit the ground so hard you almost feared he’d somehow fall through the floor, but Shauna was quickly there to urge you on.

The body was still warm when you left; Jeff barely finished bleeding out. But that’s not what unsettles you. It’s her. Always her.

“You liked it,” Shauna says, sounding excited at the very thought of it. 

Her head turns just slightly to the side, studying you with a look far too intimate for the situation. It’s like she can see everything, all the way down to the bone. Dissecting you with just her eyes. You shift uncomfortably, feeling stripped of all of your pretenses.

It’s that knowing edge to her smile that makes you want to wrap your hands around her throat, if only to keep her from speaking. It wouldn't be hard. You know how much pressure you'd need to apply and how long you'd need to squeeze until she just stopped being a problem. Stop being a thing that threatens to unravel you. 

You hate when she hints at things you don’t want to admit.

Shauna smiles again, like she can tell what you're thinking. Some part of her would welcome it at first, you know. She'd love the fight, the raw intensity of it. The way she'd gasp for air as your fingers tightened, and tightened. She wouldn't give in immediately, not Shauna. She'd claw at your hands, punch at anything she could reach. Until you didn't let go. Until you just keep holding on and the panic sets in. Even then, some part of her would still want it–would crave the moment she couldn't fight back anymore. 

Don't you just want to give it to her? 

Your fingers twitch with the urge, hands up to her shoulders before you even realize what you're doing. You press her back into the car, pulling her head back with a handful of her hair. She gasps as her head arches back, eyes wide with delight. 

“You like this, too,” She whispers, glancing down at your lips. Not a taunt, just the truth. “Don't you hide from me.”

Her head tilts back, neck exposed, showing off the mark you'd sucked into her skin last night. 

“Did you like it, Shauna?” You say finally, a thumb on Shauna's chin as you turn her head to the other side. Leaning down to mouth at the empty side of her neck, you add, “Knowing I killed Jeff?”

Shauna's breath catches in her throat, her fingers tightening around the shoulders of your shirt. She pulls you closer, like the mere mention of the memory excites her again. The answer is obvious: in the way her body arches, in the sounds she makes, the gleam in her eyes showing everything but remorse. She wants it. She loves it. 

Just like you. 

You wrinkle your nose in distaste as Shauna grabs at the side of your face, leaving bloody smears across your skin. It's warm, sticky, a constant reminder of what the three of you had done tonight. But the look in her eyes–wild, dark, the lingering thirst for violence–makes all of it worth it. Her grip is firm as she lowers you down to your knees, unrelenting in her desire to have you. 

“You showed up to a murder wearing a dress?” You ask, the corners of your lips twitching into something of a smile as you work her panties down her legs. 

Shauna rolls her eyes, propping her knee over your shoulder as she grabs a handful of your hair. “Jackie likes it,” She says simply, like that explains everything. It does, in a way. Jackie likes it, so Shauna wore it. You know what it's like to bend to Jackie's whims, happily doing things you'd never normally do just for a glimpse of that pleased smile. Shauna's no different: both of you marching to the beat of Jackie Taylor's drum. 

You laugh under your breath as you follow Shauna's insistent tugging up her thighs, leaving as many marks on her skin as her impatience allows. Her breath hitches, her body reacting to your advances even as she's still urging you higher. 

Shauna's leg tenses around your shoulder, her thigh rubbing against the remnants of blood on your face and smearing across the inside of her thigh. As she digs the heel of her shoe into your back, you finally close the distance as you bury your face between her thighs. She lets out a quiet noise as your tongue makes first contact with her wetness, bucking into your face until your hands firmly pin her hips back against the cold metal of the car door. 

The hem of her dress bunches around your shoulders, brushing teasingly against the back of your neck as you mouth at her cunt. 

“Hate that you're so good at that,” Shauna grumbles as your tongue flicks at her clit, as much of an encouragement as it was a reproach. The way her thighs tremble gives her away regardless, nails digging into your scalp as she loses herself in her pleasure.

Shauna's hand pries the fingers from one hand away from her thigh, bending your pinky back until you yelp and let go before she leads it pointedly up to the hem of her dress. You wish you could see the way she's looking at you, knowing how intense her eyes must look. 

“How many?” You ask breathily, pulling away just long enough to speak, lips brushing against her skin. 

“Three.” 

“Three?”

“Three,” She insists impatiently, tugging at your hair in reproach. You're nothing if not obedient in this, and only this, brushing three fingers against her skin before pressing into her. 

Shauna cries out, the sound mixing together with the lewd sound of her wetness. It cuts off into a whimper as she bites at her hand, regrettably cutting off those wonderful noises as her teeth sink into her knuckles. 

You take her back into your mouth, the taste of her drawing you right back in as you relentlessly circle her clit. You gave it to her hard, furiously, almost punishing–just the way she likes, as she still revels in the violence she's caused. There's something so terribly hot when she gets like this, desperate to hurt and be hurt. 

She responds just as violently, hips bucking as you struggle to keep her up. You can feel her slick heat against your chin with every roll of her hips; you can hear the car window rattling behind her. Shauna gasps loudly, the sound traveling even from around her knuckles as she teeters on the edge. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Shauna whimpers, trying to draw you closer with her leg as she squeezes it around your shoulder. You're supporting almost all of her weight by this point. If you weren't here to hold her up, you're sure she'd be a puddle on the floor. 

Shauna slams her hand against the car door as she comes, over and over, as the door rattles beneath the force of it. She's dented it at this point, there's no doubt in your mind, but poor Kevin Car-nold has seen more than its fair share of dents at this point. She gets so violent when she comes like this, like the sheer force of it is too much for her to handle. If she can't sink her teeth into your shoulder, then whatever’s close enough to her fist is going to take the brunt of her release. 

She just can't stop herself. 

Her thighs are trembling, almost sitting on your shoulders as she leans heavily back against the door. You can hear her ragged breaths even from your knees, wondering what she must look like as you're still hidden beneath her dress. 

You jerk away at the sound of crunching leaves, nearly taking Shauna down to the ground as she stumbles forward with her leg still over your shoulder. 

“You guys started without me?” Jackie asks, sounding utterly betrayed, cellphone and mask still in hand. You groan against Shauna's thigh, who pats your head sympathetically. 

… 

You laugh breathlessly against Jackie's jaw, the sound muffled against her skin as she lets out a frustrated whine into Shauna's mouth. She squirms in your lap, straining against your arm around her hips as she tries to chase after Shauna as she pulls away. The way Jackie shudders when she’s denied what she wants yet again is enough to make you smile, enjoying her little sounds of discontent more than you thought you would.

You soothe the ache Shauna’s retreat causes as you nip at a patch of skin just under her jaw, teeth running across already bruised skin. Jackie turns on you almost immediately to tear your mouth away from her skin, tightening the grip she’s already had on your hair as she tugs you toward her. Her lips crash into yours, messy and frantic, as she tries to pull you impossibly closer. She’s almost shaking as she presses into you, all gasps and sighs and bitten lips.

Jackie was growing desperate as you and Shauna passed her back and forth–playing with her–each kiss ending just as she got into it before the other would pull her away. She always complains, but you both know how much she loves being treated as a prize. Every time she reached for one of you, the other would respond, leaving her practically trembling as she grabbed at you. Her nails dig into your scalp, taking everything you’re offering and still finding more.

Shauna brushes her fingers across Jackie’s back as she finally has to pull away for breath, sweeping her hair over one shoulder before pressing a kiss against it. 

“Look at you,” Shauna murmurs against her skin, a slow, deliberate phrase that makes Jackie shiver.

“Shauna,” Jackie whines breathily, turning to capture her lips only to be evaded again. Shauna laughs at Jackie’s expression, sharing a quick look with you as she jerks her head. 

You maintain eye contact just long enough for Shauna’s eyes to start to narrow, a warning, before you answer her unspoken demand, sitting up and shifting Jackie off your lap to lower her onto the bed. Jackie’s sheer delight at the position–clearly hoping she’s finally getting the attention she’s been angling for all night–is quickly squashed as Shauna leans over her to kiss you instead.

Jackie’s gasp of surprise is swallowed up by the press of Shauna’s lips against yours. Her hands come up to cup the sides of your face with an uncharacteristic gentleness that’s almost entirely for Jackie’s benefit. Jackie’s hands fist in the sheets as she stares up with wide, impatient eyes, her chest heaving with each breath that leaves her.

“Mean,” Jackie mutters, an ever-familiar note of petulance entering her voice. She rolls her eyes as she props herself up to start working at the buttons of her jeans. You pull away from Shauna to watch, your forehead resting against hers as your eyes watch Jackie’s nimble fingers make short work of the button and zipper.

Shauna’s quick to help, reaching for her ankle and nearly pulling Jackie off the bed in her eagerness to deprive her of her jeans. You grab at Jackie’s shoulders to keep her from ending up as a puddle on the ground, a delighted giggle leaving her mouth as she nearly becomes airborne. 

“Careful,” You chide gently with a laugh of your own, glancing at an unrepentant Shauna over your shoulder.

Jackie’s peal of laughter turns into a sigh as your lips press against her collarbone, trailing down her skin as you take full advantage of the way her shirt’s twisted around in the chaos. You reach for the first button of her shirt, lowering your head to her chest as you follow each one with a kiss against her skin.

Each one’s rewarded with a sigh from Jackie as you move down her chest, her body responding eagerly to the attention. She grabs at your shoulder as you pause to give the sliver of her breast that peeks out of her bra attention, an impatient noise leaving her mouth even as her back arches up against your mouth.

“Greedy,” Shauna comments idly, settling up at Jackie’s hip to get a better view. “You already rushed us through killing–”

“Never mention a boy when–” Jackie starts, only to gasp as you mouth at her chest through the thin fabric of her bra, the words getting stuck in her throat. “When I’m half-dressed ever again. Actually, just don’t in general.”

You can’t help but laugh against the curve of her breast, grinning with delight as Jackie pointedly digs her nails into your shoulder in reproach. She squeals as your cold hands slip beneath the side of her shirt, trailing across her back as you tug at the clasp of her bra. She’s squirming too much from the brush of your fingers for the move to be as smooth as you imagined when you started, but her bra gives way nonetheless, freeing her chest for your attention.

Jackie’s hands find their way back into your hair as she gives herself over to your attention. She’s firmer this time, more insistent, tugging you along as she leads you where she wants you. There’s no need for words to be spoken. The way her nails scrape against your scalp as she moves you lower still says more than words ever could. 

Her breathing gets heavier as you finish off the last few buttons of her shirt, looking down at you with blown pupils as you rest your chin against the tops of her thighs. You grin up at her, making sure she’s looking before you hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties. She lifts her hips off the bed, just as eager to get them off as you are to take them. You pull away just long enough to toss them in the direction of her jeans, but it was long enough for Shauna to strike: her hand already slipping into the place you’ve just vacated, palming Jackie with deliberate pressure.

Jackie gasps, hips jerking into her hand as she braces a foot against the mattress. Her head falls back against the sheets, lips parted as her eyes slip shut. You watch with a mixture of amusement–leave it to Shauna to let you do all the work and sweep in to take the credit–and arousal as Shauna’s fingers work their magic. There’s something undeniably hot about watching her when she’s like this. 

She’s slow, almost teasing as she drags out reactions from Jackie.

You can tell the moment she’s finally slipped her fingers inside, watching as Jackie grabs at Shauna’s arm with a noise that’s just on the verge of being pained. Shauna seems to love giving Jackie just a little too much too quickly, watching with something achingly familiar to the look she gives her victims as Jackie writhes in response. Jackie never complains, clearly just as content to take it.

Rising to your feet, you slowly climb up next to her. Jackie’s almost flailing in her effort to reach your hand, tangling your fingers together as she turns her head for a kiss you’re more than happy to give. You relished the sounds she made, even as muffled as they were–the little whimpers as she pleaded with Shauna to continue, the whines torn from her throat when Shauna angled her fingers just right.

Jackie responds immediately, hips lifting to meet the rhythm only to be pinned back down against the bed by two left hands. She writhes in complaint, almost aching to buck into Shauna’s hand as she pushes at your shoulder. You let her push you away, eyes trailing down to watch as Shauna’s fingers move. “Does it feel good, Jackie?”

“Yes, please, yes.” Jackie clings to your shoulders, caught between her pleasure and her constant desire for more. She sounds so pretty when she begs, her voice barely more than a needy whisper. Her hips move as much as they can beneath your hold, yet another plea she doesn’t even bother to voice. You brush a hand lightly through her hair, scratching your nails against her scalp as she trembles beneath you.

“Always so eager, isn’t she?” You ask almost conversationally as you look at Shauna. Shauna smirks, glancing down at the desperate look on Jackie’s face. She leans down to whisper something in Jackie’s ear, low and teasing, something meant only for her, but the way Jackie’s body jerks tells you it was filthy.

“She just can’t help herself,” Shauna agrees, earning another moan from Jackie as she lazily grinds her palm down against Jackie’s clit.

“You’re just so pretty like this, aren’t you?” You ask softly, watching as Jackie shudders at your words. She nods jerkily, too lost in Shauna to even form words. Jackie lets out a breathless whine as Shauna does something with her hands, legs trembling and toes curling into the sheets but still stubbornly hanging on. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused but clearly so needy.

Jackie likes to hold on when she gets like this, forcing herself to revel in your attention for as long as she can keep it. She got some perverse thrill out of it, in being able to withhold her pleasure till she couldn't stand it anymore. You've never quite understood her reasoning behind it–as if either of you wouldn't come running if she spread her legs. 

“She’s close,” Shauna murmurs, eyes glinting as she watches Jackie closely. She enjoys this almost as Jackie does, enjoying the way Jackie’s body betrays her as she teeters right on the edge.

You lean in, your lips brushing against Jackie’s forehead as you ask, “Please?”

For a moment she resists, body tensing as if to fight against it, but then Shauna’s fingers press just right, and Jackie cries out. Her entire body jerks, hips bucking wildly as the two of you work to keep her pressed against the bed as she falls apart.

She goes slack beneath you, breath coming out in ragged gasps as the aftershocks tear through her. Jackie slaps away Shauna’s hand as it lingers just long enough to make her twitch, a weak glare on her face at the dark look of amusement Shauna gives her as she retreats. You trail your hand across her flushed skin, fingers ghosting across her hips and down her thighs, enjoying the way her muscles twitch beneath your light touch.

“You never make it easy on yourself,” Shauna comments, her voice low and affectionate as she wipes her wet fingers across Jackie’s stomach. Jackie groans grumpily at the action, eyes flickering down to catch the glistening marks across her skin Shauna’s left in her wake before quickly looking away. She’s just the right amount of embarrassed, her pretty face flushing as she squirms, but still undeniably pleased with herself.

“Come on, Jackie,” You complain teasingly, squeezing her thigh meaningfully. “You’re not done yet, are you? I haven’t even had a turn.”

Her head lolls to the side to look at the two of you, still breathless as she bites at her lip thoughtfully. Finally, she nods, letting you spread her legs again as you take your place between them.

If this is what a few murders gets you, who are you to complain?

[teatimeatwinterpalace]

Empress Charlotte of Mexico

[shield-and-saber]

yeah, so i just finished cataclysm