#but like. it is stupid. it is painfully stupid.

[revelboo]

Hi! Would you think of adding Chromedome and Rewind together to the "human gets blipped onto the Lost Light" stories?

Yep, they’re on my request list!

Circles

Chromedome x Reader x Rewind

• “But you don’t feel just a bit bad about it?” Rewind asks, setting down another energon cube on the tray a bit more forcefully than necessary. But Domey’s ‘not our problem’ has rubbed him the wrong way. Can’t help but feel bad for the little humans getting yanked painfully onto the ship. And can’t help but imagine how terrified and confused he’d be. Sure, they had nothing to do with Brainstorm’s stupidity, but as more and more of them show up in the weirdest places, he feels like somebody should have been keeping a closer watch on what Brainstorm was doing. “Domey?” Ignoring him now? Turning, he nearly drops the tray.

• What the ever loving frag? One minute he’s listening to Rewind worrying over the little organics and the next there’s one just popping into existence between them like Rewind summoned it, staggering around and dazed. “You see it, too, right?” He asks Rewind as you lifts your head, grimacing. And just stare at him. Leaning forward, arms draped across his knees, he waits for the reaction. Because these things all react the very same way to Cybertronians.

• Clapping a hand over your mouth, your eyes go wide. Staring up at a giant, mecha. A real, giant mecha robot. Right there and yeah, the pain of getting ripped wherever here is was excruciating. Still aching sickly, but it’s not as important as real, giant robots. Squealing, you do a little excited bounce. Forget Narnia, this so much better! “What are you? What’s your name? I bet it something super cool like Apocalypse Bringer!”

• What? Staring from Domey to the excited human babbling away, Rewind tries to walk past you with the tray and you round on him, grinning. “There’s two of you?!” And oh. Little hands touch his arm, just jabbering away about how warm he is. That they’re both so cool and he has no idea what to make of you. The other humans are mostly skittish and timid, not so grabby. Helplessly looking up at Domey for rescue when you try to touch his face and he fumbles with the tray.

• Reaching to snag you around the middle, because as funny as Rewind’s floundering is, you have no sense of personal space. And your attention is fully on him again. Excitedly yapping as he leans forward holding you just barely off the floor to keep you from pawing Rewind. Except now you’re pawing him, little soft fingers tracing the joints of his servos to make him shiver. “See what you did?” Chromedome grumbles as Rewind just stares at the wiggling organic in mute horror. “Jinxed us.”

[amortxt]

⠀ㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⓘ⠀ㅤ⠀n. kento. ⠀ㅤ⠀ ⠀mild angst &. fluff.

nanami kento loved his wife. he cherished her with his whole being, and soul. he would think of her all day, everyday. his brain memorized every inch and detail of her, and he never failed to remind her how much he loved each and every one of them.

or so he thought.

he was thoroughly disappointed to one day find her lips wobbling. eyes squinted at their best attempt not to let out tears. he could feel her heart, painfully thumping in her chest like a festering ache, a s if it were his own.

he had finished pampering himself in fine colognes merely minutes ago, ready for the date night they had been planning for weeks, and you had been enthusiastic for it considering how busy you both had been.

but now as the night had come, he found your shared closet near raided, the dress you had originally picked (and been very excited about) nowhere in sight. but the image of you, standing in the mirror, staring at your body in distaste he couldn't find comprehensible.

"darling, what's wrong?"

hearing your lover voiced in such worry and care made your attempt at hiding your frustration much too difficult to hold in, and quickly, tears began to spill out.

your bum plopped onto your bed like gravity had just shoved you down, you felt absolutely defeated and more so now that your husband had to watch you ugly sob over something as stupid as this.

"never. say that again."

oh.. had you said that aloud..? there was a sudden shift in his voice from worried and caring to equally concerned and heartache.

"i feel awful. i look awful, kento. nothing fits, nothings working."

your eyes burnt holes into your stomach as you gripped your belly rolls. his thumb softly caressed your face and wiped the tears from your eyes away, his other arm draping around you and pulling your back to his chest, close. you could hear his own heartbeat sound like it were ready to burst.

"sweetheart, i have no clue what or who it was that made you think this but they are absolutely lying. you are the most gorgeous woman i have ever seen and nothing will ever change that."

your cries came to a soft sniffle. he could feel your breathing steady a little, but he knew you were still hesitant, he watched you fiddle your fingers.

"how about this, go try it on. i'll give you my absolute honest opinion."

you wiped the remainder of your tears and nodded, heading off into your bathroom to go and try on the original black dress you had chosen for the date night. and you when you came out, kento swore he was in heaven.

you looked ethereal, satin tight around your curves but still flowing at the bottom of your legs. kento's gaze, filled with romantic lust was almost entirely enough to fill you brimmed with confidence, at least for the night.

"you had nothing to doubt my love. this is the body of beauty."

kento held you from behind in front of the mirror. his hands curled around your hips firmly. his eyes grazing over your body in adoration that you knew no other man would ever be able to offer. you looked at the mirror, and for the first time that night, your eyes didn't immediately divert to your belly.

⠀ㅤ⠀⠀©⠀all work written by ﹫amortxt. tdo not repost. ⠀ㅤ⠀⠀tagging @ummmitsnotken.

[l0relaii]

Hear me out rough jealous sex with CHRIS.

He is 100% the jealous type. but it would be slow teasing and painfully dragged on sex until youre wimpering and telling him how sorry you are </3

oh yeah he gets jealous so easily. he just doesn't really show it

like if you're talking with some guy who's flirting with you he wouldn't come and drag you away

he'd just stare at you two shooting the mf some nasty looks

he'd be a bit upset maybe giving you the silent treatment when you got home

"hey chris d'you wanna order some food?"

"..."

"chris?"

still nothing

you'd place yourself on his lap with your hands around his neck

and he'd still act like you're not there getting the tv remote trying to watch the movie on the tv behind you

but you're having none of that

"what's wrong?? why are you acting like this??"

"oh you know why"

".. i don't actually"

"oh so you don't remember how you were flirting with that guy earlier?"

"what guy?"

"don't act stupid"

"that sleazy dude that was totally drunk?"

".. yes?"

"you can't be serious chris- you got jealous over that??"

he's back to ignoring you switching through the channels

"oh come ooonnn chris don't be like that, you know i'm yours"

i'm yours

fuck that does something to him

he's pushing you off of him so now you're on all fours on the couch

"a-ahh chris, what are you doing??"

you hear his belt buckle and zipper behind you then his jeans hitting the floor while he places one knee on the couch

you feel his hands lifting your skirt up and dragging your panties to the side while entering you in one fast move

you hiss at the sudden feeling of having him inside

you expected something more.. rough.. harsh...

ohh nonono he's taking his time thrusting slowly in and out, pulling out at times and toying with his tip at your entrance making you squirm

"fuck chris.. stop teasing me.."

"say you're sorry"

his length drags through your slick folds hitting your neglected clit

"what? no i'm not doing that-"

he steps back completely with a smirk on his face making your head turn around

"wait no- please chris.. i'm sorry- i'm so sorry please continue pleasepleaseplea-"

he's right back inside you pushing you further into the couch leaning down to bite on your shoulder blades while pressing your face into the couch

"that's it.. good girl.. such a good girl f'me.."

[antioceas]

The guard was furious and of course, Luna couldn't blame him at all. Hadn't she crossed multiple lines just today. Even as he snapped at her to stand up straight, Luna struggled to her feet briefly. Why did she have to everything wrong.

" I understand, sir. "

He stomped around the chambers, looking for something to do that would ease the tension in the air. Meanwhile, Luna stood painfully still. Waiting for the next outburst, waiting for a fist to fly or worse. Whatever she deserved.

" I really am sorry, sir. I have read a lot of books on manners and decorum but... I have never had to do it myself... But, I will do better. I promise. " Cautiously, Luna glanced up to meet the guard's eyes. Silvery grey eyes, like two coins, blinked back tears. Maybe, if they met each other's gaze, he would believe her. Maybe, the guard would know then how serious Luna was about her promise.

" ... I don't do this just to annoy people or show disrespect. I'm just... stupid. But I will learn. "

"Yes, of course I was. Why else would I scold you? For fun?" Jeremy scoffed and started to move around the room. Keeping his body busy to let out some of the frustration. He had already scolded the child, there would be no use doing it again. She seemed to have understood.

The guard stops in his tracks, looking at her down on the floor. So now she bows. Why couldn't she show the king the same respect. Rolling his eyes he waved his hand at her. "Get back up. I have told you not to do it again. His Highness did not comment on it so if I were you I would start hoping all of this ends here with this conversation. Understand?

Annoyed, frustrated, he begins walking around again. Moving between the bed, the seating area, some shelves, a table. Doing something at every stop, none of it necessary. "You need to learn how to be proper. I believe the king thought you would know seeing how you come from a family that should know this. But clearly, you don't know anything. Someone will have to teach you."

[king-finnigan]

Leave the Door Ajar ch. 3

Fandom: Arcane Ship: Jayvik Previously:

Jayce has a good day at the market. Less so when he finally gets to talk to the healer who lives across from his shop and accidentally insults him. Viktor is understandably mad.

Also on AO3!

Chapter 2

It’s been a few days since his argument with Viktor, but it’s been replaying in his mind ever since, keeping him up at night and distracting him from working on new toys for the Freeday market. 

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an effort to chase away the headache that’s been forming since he woke up after another fitful night and which has refused to leave ever since. He’d thought a walk might help, but in the foul air of the outskirts of Zaun, so close to the fissures and factories, he chastises himself for his stupidity.

He drags his feet, rucksack hanging heavy between his shoulder blades. Here, closer to the mines, the grinding of the machines is louder, ceaselessly drumming daggers into his skull and draining him of what little energy he had before he left. 

Staring up at an abandoned factory, he can see why Benzo told Ekko not to come here. But Jayce, naive and looking for a lucky break, had overheard them talking about these buildings and had figured that, if people do stay away from this place, maybe there’s still some old machines or scrap metal yet to be looted. He shakes his head. Stupid. He should’ve known all the valuables would be long gone, leaving only the truly desperate and the truly idiotic looking through the piles of garbage.

Jayce briefly wonders which category he falls into: the desperate or the idiotic?

Probably both.

He ducks into a shadow as an unsavory figure shambles through the street, clothes in tatters, knife in his belt. 

He’s not the first person Jayce has seen walking these abandoned streets tonight, and somewhere in his mind alarm bells go off - there shouldn’t be this many people still here. Something must be going on. Right?

He shakes the thought away and moves on. He’s just being paranoid. It’s probably the shadows in these streets that play tricks on his mind, and he briefly wishes he had brought a lamp before completely dismissing the idea. It would’ve only drawn attention - something he desperately does not want as a lone stranger in the least savory parts of town.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, a bright, blue light illuminates him from behind, casting his long, startled shadow ahead of him on the cracked street.

He feels his blood running cold, heart skipping a beat. Shit. Maybe he can talk his way out of this. Or run.

As he turns his head to look who’s behind him, though, something hard and heavy hits his back, sending him sprawling across the pavement and scraping up his hands and knees, hitting his shoulder painfully.

“Shit,” he hisses between teeth. 

A deafening sound rolls over him and he clasps his stinging hands over his ear, clenching his jaw. What is happening?

But then he looks up and behind him.

A blue mushroom cloud billows from one of the nearby factories, lightning shooting between it and the night sky, particles floating through the air, forming vague shapes that remind him of-

“Runes,” he breathes. For a moment he’s transported back to that fateful day just a few weeks ago, when a similar cloud had emanated from his apartment.

He’s up and on his feet in less than a second, sprinting down the street, his backpack forgotten on the pavement behind him.

It can’t be- it can’t. And yet, he can’t think of any other thing that could’ve caused an explosion this massive, floating particles this distinctive besides his hex crystals. How? Surely they’ve all been destroyed?

He doesn’t have time to think- his feet are pounding on the street, breath straining in his lungs and arms pumping as he runs towards the factory. The mushroom cloud is slowly dissipating into the foul chemical air, but he knows he’s not the only one who’s seen it, likely not the only one who’s running towards it at this very moment. 

He expects to hear people coming out of the neighbouring alleyways any second- whether to help anyone who’s survived the explosion or to finish them off, he doesn’t know. But there’s no one else.

Instead, he hears a high, piercing shriek.

His heart freezes in his chest. A little girl.

He starts running again, trying to find the source of the scream, though it’s hard to pinpoint as the sound bounces off the tall, empty factories. As he rounds a corner, he can see the faint, orange glow of a fire and again, that shriek- though this time, he can discern the words.

“Vi, please!”

He picks up his pace again, shoes scrabbling for steady ground as they slip in a puddle, drops of rain starting to hit his face, thunder rumbling above his head.

There she is.

She’s so small, a little thing curled up on the wet pavement, the fire raging behind her and leaving afterimages on his retinas. She’s sobbing violently, hands clutched in her choppy blue hair, tiny body heaving with every ragged breath.

And behind her- God. What is that?

It’s vaguely human-shaped, but that’s where the similarities end. There are purple veins criss-crossing its barrel chest, claws splayed out and dangerously sharp, its wolf-like face slack, purple liquid dripping from its open, empty eyes.

His steps falter as he trips over his own feet, his mind reeling from the sight before him. But another cry of anguish breaks him out of his momentary stupor and he stumbles forward, dropping to his knees beside the girl. He recognises her from the market, and he scrambles for a name as he puts his hand on her convulsing back, her sobs heartbreakingly loud.

“Hey,” he says softly, too softly. She doesn’t look up. He shakes her a bit. “Hey!” a bit louder. “Are you okay, it’s- it’s Powder, right? Are you hurt?” He looks up at the factory, the hole blasted in the sturdy wall as the last wisps of the blue mushroom cloud fade into the night sky. “What happened?” 

She looks up at him, snot and tears running down her face, red-rimmed eyes looking at him frantically, almost maniacally. 

Then, she lurches forward and he nearly falls back, steadying himself with one hand and a quiet oomf. Her thin arms wrap around his waist, squeezing tightly, almost painfully. 

“What happened?” he asks again, trembling slightly as the possibilities flash through his mind. The hex crystals? 

“They’re dead!” she shouts, voice frantic. “They’re all dead!”

Something coils in his stomach. Oh, God. He vaguely remembers her being Vander’s kid, running around the Last Drop with her siblings. “Who is?”

“Vander!” She sobs again, his ribs protesting weakly as she tightens her grip. “Mylo, Claggor, they’re all gone.”

He strains his mind, pictures another girl with pink hair. “Your sister?”

She stills and he can feel her muscles tense. The sudden change almost eerie. “She’s not my sister anymore.” Her voice is quiet, a hateful tone underlining her words. 

“O- okay.” The rain has started falling out of the sky in buckets now, and he can hear the echoes of other voices coming towards them bouncing off the high buildings. He looks at the factory, worry and curiosity mingling in his stomach. He needs to find out what happened here, if it really was one of the hex crystals that caused the explosion, and so, who got a hold of them and how. 

How many more of them are out there? How much more damage can they cause?

But there are people coming and he knows well enough by now not to trust anyone who would wander around this part of town. He doesn’t have the time to look into this, not now, and there’s still a sobbing girl in his arms. 

If anyone attacks them, he won’t be able to protect her.

“We need to get out of here.” Maybe he can bring her to Benzo and come back later during the daytime when these people have left.

He glances at the man-beast, shivers running down his spine. He wants to look away, but he can’t. It’s a monster, a veritable terror. How many more of those are still around somewhere, he wonders.

And yet, its face is familiar. Was it a man, once?

“Are you hurt? Can you walk?” he asks. Powder doesn’t respond, even as the voices get closer. He hesitates for a second, then lifts her up. “Let’s go.” 

She’s terrifyingly light in his arms as he hurries around the corner and for a second he wonders how old she is- surely she’s too thin for her age? 

But this is Zaun. All children are too thin for their age.

She sniffles and buries her face in his neck, arms clasped around his neck and legs around his waist. He hurries back towards the more lived-in parts of the Undercity, leaving the strangers behind them. It takes him a while to recognise where they are, but he picks random streets that lead towards the market until he does, then sets course for the pawn shop.

Benzo will know what to do. He’ll be able to take care of Powder.

The rain is beating down on them in sheets now, soaking their clothes and plastering their hair on their heads. Jayce sputters, wiping his face in an effort to get the water out of his eyes as he looks around, red flags rising in the back of his mind.

Something’s wrong.

He strains his mind as he hurries along, trying to figure out if it’s just his worry for the girl and the hex crystal explosion that are making him feel uneasy or if it’s something else.

And then it hits him.

He’s in the busiest part of Zaun, the streets where nightlife is always at its peak, where music is constantly playing, people are perpetually drunk and doors are forever open.

Except now.

There’s no one in sight. The clubs and bars are shut tightly, the lights turned off and the people hiding. He can see a pale face behind a window here and there, curtains fluttering when he walks past, hands clutching at the edges and eyes glittering in the darkness. 

“What’s happening?” he whispers, more to himself than at the girl, yet she responds and he starts, having forgotten her for a second.

“There’s scary people,” she whispers back.

His feet start going faster of their own accord, splashing through puddles, his steps drowned out by the roar of the rain falling on tin roofs and against the pavement. 

“Really?” he asks, out of breath. “Well, we’re nearly at Benzo’s, we’ll be safe there.” And then I can figure out what on earth happened at the cannery.

“We shouldn’t go to Benzo’s,” Powder says softly, face burying itself back in his neck after having glanced around warily for a moment.

“Uhuh,” he adjusts her in his arms absentmindedly, rounding the corner to the familiar street the pawn shop sits in. “And why’s that?”

Ice runs down his spine, feet freezing to the ground as he feels the numbness of shock, before something heavy crushes his chest, heart beating against his ribcage like a prisoner in a cell.

On the pavement in front of his shop, sheets of rain battering his broken and bruised body, draining his blood into the gutter, is Benzo.

“Vi said he’s dead.”

He stands there for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s his friend - his small, round glasses are broken but still sit on his face, his sideburns caked with dried blood. His eyes, once so kind and inviting, stare at the downpour that soaks his ripped clothes, his face slack, his familiar smile gone.

Dead. Ripped apart and left in the street like garbage to rot.

Powder lets out a yelp as Jayce drops her to the wet pavement, stumbling to the gutter on unsteady feet before he empties his stomach against the side of a building. One hand clutches his stomach while the other supports himself against the wall. Rain beats down on his back, soaking his near-saturated clothes and sending rivulets down his spine and ribs. 

He trembles, his breath comes in ragged spurts. For a moment he wants to sink to his knees right there in the street, lie down and never get back up. Tears sting his eyes, denial and grief battling in his head for dominance. 

His friend, his only friend, the only person who’s been kind to him the past few weeks, the man who showed him he could have a bright future in Zaun, who welcomed him with open arms despite everything. Dead. Gone.

Murdered.

And then another thought hits him, like lightning through his mind and down his back.

He rips his head back up. “Ekko,” he whispers. Then nearly trips over his feet as he breaks into a run down the street. “Ekko!”

God, let him be okay, let him be fine. Let him be alive.

The door to the pawn shop is open and he almost slips in puddles of rain water and mud when he skids to a halt in front of it, hands clutching the door frame for support. 

“Ekko!” The shop is quiet and surprisingly neat and very, very empty. Another door at the back reveals a staircase to the basement and he hits his shoulder against it in his hurry to get downstairs, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Ekko!” he shouts again into the damp and cold room. Light filters from a window high in the wall, the blood that’s been splattered against it slowly washing away in the relentless downpour.

He rakes a hand through his hand. Did someone take the kid? Did they hurt him? Kill him?

“Vi said he’s fine.” The soft voice startles him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks back to see Powder standing at the top of the stairs, face grave and gaze downcast. “She told him to hide somewhere.”

Her lower lip trembles, blue eyes brimming with fresh tears. “It’s my fault,” she whines. “It’s all my fault! I’m a jinx!” Her hands come up to clutch at her hair, pulling at it and beating herself over the head. 

Jayce quickly runs up the stairs, gripping her wrists. “No, please don’t do that, stop please-” he’s always sucked with kids and he knows he’s not the right person to help this girl right now. He doesn’t even know if she got hurt in the factory explosion, for God’s sake.

His efforts are futile and she screams in frustration. 

“No! No, shush, please-” He hears voices outside in the street, muffled by the heavy rain. Concerned citizens or Benzo’s murderer, coming back to gloat in his kill? “ Fuck, fuckfuckfuck- please, Powder, stop it. It’s not your fault- we need to go.”

He gives up on his attempts to extract her white-knuckled grip from her hair and lifts her up again, clutching her against his chest as he rushes outside.

He’s panicking as he looks around, trying to figure out where the voices are coming from while balancing the writhing girl in his arms as she sobs into his ear. Where can he go? What can he do? He can’t keep her with him but he can’t just hand her off to a perfect stranger- and then there’s the matter of the explosion. He still needs to go back, figure out what happened and if it could happen again.

His eyes land on the body in front of him on the street, ripped apart and broken. Bile rises in his throat, a wave of grief hitting him like a brick wall as his arms tighten involuntarily around Powder.

He can’t let her get hurt. It’s too late to save Benzo, but he can help her .

He grits his teeth to push back the tears that threaten to blur his vision, mind struggling against his pain to figure something out. He doesn’t have time. The voices are getting closer.

Who else can he trust? Who else does he know? Who else will know how to take care of this little girl?

The image of a purple door surfaces in his mind. 

“ Viktor,” he breathes.

He can see shadows cast by the lamps at one end of the street, voices coming ever closer, overlapping and angry, arguing about something. 

Jayce takes a second to kneel by his friend’s side. To close those empty, staring eyes before he lays a hand on the barrel-chest, unmoving forever more. “I’ll come back,” he promises, his other hand clutching the quietly sobbing girl against him. “I’ll come back for you, Benzo. I swear.”

There’s a gaping hole in his chest as he rises again, pulling at the edges of his mind and sanity and threatening to swallow him whole.

“We’ll figure this out,” he whispers against Powder's hair, running a soothing hand up and down her drenched back. “I know someone, you’ll be safe with him.”

—

The purple door rattles in its frame as Jayce pounds his fist against it. The rain hasn’t let up and thunder rolls overhead, quickly following flashes tinged green by the chemical clouds that hang around the Undercity.

He waits a second, adjusting a now quiet Powder in his arms before knocking frantically again, the side of his fist stinging with the force of it. “Viktor!” he shouts, taking a step back to look through the windows. There’s no light inside as far as he can see, and any shapes he would be able to make out in the glow of the street lamps are hidden by heavy drapery, obscuring his view of the shop.

He raises his hand to knock again, desperation and slight panic clawing at him. “Viktor! Please, please, open th-”

He nearly hits the healer in the head when the door suddenly opens. A very tired, slightly disheveled Viktor stands there, anger brewing in his golden eyes, mouth already open to spit venom for disturbing him in the middle of the night. 

The words seem to die on the healer’s tongue, though, as he takes in Jayce’s soaked clothes and the girl in his arm, who has turned her head to peek at him out of the corners of her eyes. 

“Jayce?” he asks softly, concern tinging his words, the last traces of sleep thickening his accent. “ Powder?” 

A wave of relief overwhelms him and he feels lightheaded for a moment, one hand coming up to steady himself on the doorframe. “Viktor. Please, can we come in?”

He doesn’t have to finish his sentence before Viktor steps aside and opens the door further, ushering them inside. “What’s happened? Is she okay? To the back,” he answers Jayce’s unasked question, closing the door behind them and gesturing to the other end of the dark shop, where a small gas lantern illuminates the backroom. 

“I- I don’t know.” He tries to push away the simultaneous relief and anxiety that threatens to cripple him. “There was an explosion and Benzo is dead and I don’t know what happened and Ekko is gone and-”

“What?” The sharp word stops Jayce’s rambling as he sets Powder down on a wooden treatment table. He looks around at Viktor, who is standing in the doorway, mouth slightly open in shock, eyes wide. He seems unguarded in a way Jayce hasn’t seen him before, mask slipped away for once.

Viktor recovers himself quickly enough though, and in two uneven steps he’s by a shelf on the other side of the room, picking up two towels and giving one to Jayce before going to stand by Powder. She looks between the two of them with wide, blue eyes.

“Powder,” Viktor says softly, putting the towel around her small frame. “Are you okay? What happened?”

The tears return with full force and she crumples in on herself, shielding her face with her hands. “It’s my fault,” she sobs, voice muffled behind her fingers. “It’s all my fault!”

Viktor tuts and pulls her to his chest, letting her bury her face into his soft night robe. “It’s alright, Powder, it’s not your fault,” he shushes her, whispering soothing words into her wet hair. Golden eyes focus on Jayce questioningly, tinged with concern.

Jayce sighs, using the towel to wring out his hair. “I- I don’t know,” he says softly and for a second it feels like the reality of the situation hasn’t fully set in yet. “There was an explosion at the abandoned cannery down south-” He swallows thickly, images of the blue clouds and the rune-like sparks in the air flashing in his mind. “I-” A lump forms in his throat. “I think it’s my fault, actually.”

Shock and confusion flash across Viktor’s face. “What?”

“It’s a long story,” Jayce rushes to add. “And I didn’t really do it myself but…” He leans against the table, eyes trained on the tiled floor. “... It’s a long story,” he finishes lamely.

The healer is quiet for a second and Jayce can feel golden eyes digging holes into the side of his head but he ignores it, though he’s unable to stop the blush creeping up his neck.

“And Benzo?” Viktor asks.

He clenches his jaw, knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the table. “Dead. I don’t know-” Anger flashes through his veins, turning his blood to fire- it’s an emotion he doesn’t enjoy, but right now it’s familiar, something he’s at least acquainted with. 

It’s better than the grief.

“Look, I don’t know, okay?” He snaps, meeting Viktor’s eyes. “I don’t know. Anything! I don’t know what happened at the cannery or at the pawn shop or with that man-beast-thing! I don’t know how someone managed to get a hex crystal or why they made it explode or how many people died or if there’s more to come. I don’t know!” 

His breath comes out in ragged gasps and he finds both Powder and Viktor staring at him, slightly scared but mostly concerned. He huffs out a laugh, feeling himself teeter on the edge of hysteria.

But the fight leaves him as quickly as it came. “And I really don’t know what to do now,” he admits, voice breaking and helpless tears brimming his eyes. “ Please, ” he begs. “I need your help.”

Viktor looks at him for a second before seemingly steeling himself, shoulders squaring and back straightening. He gives Jayce a curt nod. “I’ll do what I can.” He looks at Powder, smiling softly at her, trying to put her at ease. “After all, I am a healer. Helping people is what I do.”

—

Later, when Powder has changed out of her wet clothes and into an old shirt one of Viktor’s patients had left at his shop, and she’s upstairs in his bed knocked out cold, the rain finally stops.

Jayce sits at the table in the kitchen next to the treatment room, a single gas lantern casting shadows on the walls, the scent of dried herbs filling the air. He doesn’t look up as he hears Viktor’s uneven steps coming down the stairs and into the room. 

“She is asleep,” the healer says, moving to the countertop and putting a full kettle on the stove. “I gave her something to keep the nightmares at bay. Tea?”

Jayce doesn’t reply- he doesn’t know what to say. For the first time in his life, words elude him, the space they used to occupy in his head filled with memories of tonight. He simply listens to the sounds of Viktor rummaging through his cupboards, the clinking of mugs and the whizzing of the gas stove as it slowly brings the water to a boil.

“What happened, Jayce?” His voice is soft, fatigue lacing through his tone. 

Jayce rubs the bridge of his nose. The headache is back in full force and he feels too tired to think. But he knows he owes Viktor at least some explanation.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he sighs. “I was trying to find scraps at the old factories near the docks and suddenly-” he splays his fingers. “Boom. And there she was.” He shrugs as Viktor pours water into the mugs. “I tried to find Benzo but he was dead and Ekko is God knows where, so I came here.” He looks up as the other man puts his tea in front of him, sitting down on the chair on the other side of the table. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he admits.

Viktor hums thoughtfully for a second, golden eyes watching steam rise from his tea. “You said it was your fault, earlier.” He looks up at Jayce. “What did you mean by that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Indulge me.”

Jayce leans back in his chair, hands around the scalding mug. He doesn’t mind the sting of the heat, welcomes it even. Anything to distract him from his chaotic thoughts. 

“Well,” he starts, trying to find his words. “My apartment blew up a few weeks ago,” he admits. Viktor opens his eyes a fraction wider but remains quiet. “I was doing a�� science project. Not exactly above board, and somehow a few kids broke in and blew up the place.” He leans forwards on his elbows, raking his hand through his hair. “The Council found out what I was doing and banished me from Piltover.”

Viktor tilts his head, eyebrows coming together half an inch. “Hmm,” he hums before taking a sip of his tea. “Continue.”

“When the cannery exploded, it made the exact same cloud as the explosion at my lab did.” He jabs a finger into the table, worry coiling in his chest like a snake about to strike. “I don’t know how, but I’m sure that someone got hold of some… components of my project and used it to blow up the factory. Viktor, I need to find out who did it and how much there’s still left. You have no idea how much damage th-”

“These… components. They are blue crystals, no?”

Jayce freezes, finger still on the table, his other hand curled around his rapidly cooling tea. “I- I…” he stammers. “How do you know that?”

“Powder told me what happened.” Viktor’s eyes seem to emit their own strange glow in the half-dark as he looks at Jayce. “She had one of those crystals, stole them from some Piltie’s apartment, she said. Things went wrong that day and it blew up, sending the Enforcers and half the Undercity after her. She said she’d kept one of the crystals and tried to save Vander and her siblings using it.” He huffs out a breath. “Clearly, things did not go according to plan.”

Jayce can do nothing but stare at him. “So Powder…” He groans, burying his head in his hands. “So it was my fault.” A pang of guilt shoots through him and he has to do everything not to pull his hair out with the ache of it. “If I’d been more careful, if I’d locked those hex crystals away better-” His head shoots up. “She doesn’t have any more-”

“No, Jayce.” Viktor is quick to soothe his fears. “She only had one.” 

He sighs in relief, resting his chin on his folded arms. Still… “People are dead because of me,” he whispers.

“Eh, and because of Powder.” 

Jayce frowns at him. “She’s just a kid-”

“And Ekko,” Viktor says matter-of-factly. “For telling them where your apartment was.”

“That’s not fair,” Jayce protests. “They didn’t know this was going to happen, they didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“But you did?” Viktor raises his eyebrows.

“No…” he admits. He deflates a bit. “Still, I can’t help but feel guilty.”

And he does. He does feel tremendously guilty. It’s clawing at the edges of his mind, whispering into his thoughts. Your fault, your fault, it says as it scrapes its talons into him. You killed those people. 

He lowers his head into his hands, fingertips pushing against his scalp, trying to get that little voice out of his mind. Trying to stop feeling like it’s right, it is his fault. Vander and Mylo and Claggor are dead because of his hex crystals. Benzo is dead because of him. 

“It was an accident.” Viktor’s voice is soft, though it cuts through his spiraling thoughts like a hot knife. The healer has leaned forward, hand on the table a few inches from Jayce, reaching out but not touching. “It’s not your fault.”

He lets out a humourless chuckle, shaking his head. “I wish I could believe that.” 

There’s an urge to lay his hand on Viktor’s, feel the warmth and the smooth skin. He’s always needed touch when he’s distressed and he can’t deny the magnetic pull he feels toward the healer. It’d be so easy just to reach out, to wrap his fingers around those slender ones and take comfort in the contact.

And sully his hands with the blood that’s on yours? The little voice whispers to him again, words curling around his mind and sinking its teeth into it. He deserves better than a murderer. 

He leans back, gaze averting to stare at the wall, arms crossing in front of his chest, trying to will away the itch in his fingers, the need to touch.

Viktor seems to feel the shift, the sudden tension exuding from Jayce, because he sits back too, his voice no longer soft and warm. “You should get some sleep.”

Jayce sighs, wiping a hand over his face, his eyelids sagging shut for a second. “What are we going to do with her?”

“I will figure something out.” I, not we. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. “Go back home.”

A memory surfaces to the forefront of his mind: his mother's smile so wide it squeezes her eyes shut on the day they found out he got into the Academy, tears of joy slipping down her face as she kisses Jayce’s cheeks over and over. She’d been so proud of her mijo.

“I wish I could,” he mutters as he rises out of his chair. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

There’s silence for a beat as he makes his way out of the kitchen. He’s not sure if he really does hear Viktor whispering a goodnight back or if it’s a trick his overtired mind is playing on him. The latter, he decides. 

It’s best if he doesn’t get too attached anyways.

Viktor deserves better than him, after all.

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER SIX

baby, i'm talkin' crazy, i need you right in my space"

pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist

tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers

warnings — sexual tension, toxic relationships, mature themes (minors dni)

word count — 8k

summary — y/n, a rising r&b star, is stuck in toxic situationships, with tabloids constantly overshadowing her music. to fix her image, her team pushes her into a fake relationship with liverpool’s trent alexander-arnold. both reluctant, they soon realize keeping things strictly business isn't so simple. will pretending to be in love stay a game, or turn into something real?

an — to the anons, thank you for waiting! let me know your thoughts

masterlist

y/n sat in the studio, her gaze fixed on the notepad in front of her. the pages were filled with half-written lyrics, scribbled thoughts, and abandoned ideas. her pen hovered over the paper, but nothing came. her mind was a foggy mess, swirling with emotions she didn’t know how to articulate. she felt like a stranger in her own skin, carrying a weight too heavy to bear.

the familiar hum of the studio equipment was a small comfort, but it didn’t stop the ache in her chest or the lump in her throat. she hadn’t spoken to anyone—not zaia, not anyone. the thought of sharing what had happened felt unbearable. she didn’t even know how to put it into words.

even cassius had tried to reach out a few times, sending her encouraging texts and asking if she wanted to go out with him and zaia despite his busy schedule and desire to spend alone time with his fiancée, but she ignored him. and trent... just thinking about him made her stomach twist painfully.

he’s nothing but a reminder of what i let happen. how could i have been so stupid?

y/n scribbled a line on the paper, then crossed it out angrily. the frustration bubbled up, but it wasn’t just about the music. it was everything. the loneliness. the silence. the echo of her own thoughts.

she was so lost in it all that she didn’t even hear the door open.

“y/n?”

she startled, looking up to see ayesha standing in the doorway, her brows furrowed in concern. “hey,” y/n said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

ayesha stepped inside, closing the door behind her. she set her bag down on the couch and folded her arms, her sharp gaze fixed on y/n. “what’s going on with you?”

“what do you mean?” y/n asked, avoiding her eyes.

“don’t play dumb,” ayesha said, her tone firm but not unkind. “you’ve been completely out of it. you and trent were doing so well. you had plans—events, appearances, everything. now he’s not even speaking to me, and his brother won’t stop calling me, bombarding me with questions about what’s going on.”

y/n’s stomach sank, and she looked down at the notepad in front of her, unable to meet ayesha’s gaze. “i’m just... going through a lot right now.”

“yeah, no kidding,” ayesha said, taking a seat across from her. “so, what is it? what happened?”

y/n hesitated, her mind racing for an answer—any answer that wasn’t the truth. she couldn’t tell ayesha about the night with trent, about how everything had unraveled since then. she couldn’t even bring herself to say his name.

“i... i’ve been struggling,” she said finally, her voice shaky. “mentally, i mean. i’ve been missing my family a lot. i feel... alone.”

ayesha’s expression softened slightly, but there was still a hint of skepticism in her eyes. “have you been seeing your therapist?”

y/n shook her head. “not recently.”

“then maybe it’s time to start again,” ayesha said. “you need to talk to someone, y/n. this isn’t like you. and i get it—being away from family is hard. feeling alone is hard. but you signed a contract. you have to hold up your end of the deal.”

y/n nodded slowly, her chest tightening. she wanted to tell ayesha that it wasn’t just about her family, that the loneliness she felt was so much deeper than that. but she couldn’t.

ayesha sighed, running a hand through her hair. “i’ll give you the weekend. take some time, figure out whatever you need to figure out. but after that, you and trent need to meet. it’s been too long, and people are starting to notice.”

y/n’s heart sank even further at the thought. seeing him again felt like the last thing she could handle, but she nodded anyway, knowing she didn’t have a choice.

“okay,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible.

ayesha gave her a long look, then stood up. “you’ve got this, y/n. just... don’t shut yourself off from everyone, okay? talk to someone. even if it’s not me.”

y/n nodded again, forcing a weak smile as ayesha grabbed her bag and left the studio.

the moment the door closed, y/n let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping. she stared down at the notepad in front of her, the empty lines taunting her.

she picked up her pen, but her hand trembled, and she set it back down. she couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. all she could do was sit there, the silence of the studio pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t escape.

the stadium was buzzing with energy, the crowd electric as the match progressed. y/n slipped into her seat quietly, pulling the hood of her jacket further over her head to shield herself from any wandering eyes. it wasn’t her usual scene anymore. not since everything between her and trent had unraveled in ways she still couldn’t fully process.

she hadn’t planned to be there. honestly, she didn’t even know why she came. but sitting at home, drowning in her thoughts and the heavy weight of loneliness, had pushed her to move. the match seemed like a safe enough distraction, even if it wasn’t entirely safe for her heart.

trent was on the pitch, commanding attention with every touch of the ball. he looked good—he always looked good—but it was more than that. there was an ease to the way he moved, a confidence that came naturally to him.

when halftime came, she stayed in her seat, watching as the players disappeared down the tunnel. her chest tightened at the sight of him walking off with his teammates, his jersey clinging to his back. she wondered if he’d seen her. if he’d even care.

the second half kicked off, and it wasn’t long before trent’s sharp eyes caught hers. it was brief—a flicker, a moment—but she felt it. the way his gaze lingered, his lips twitching into a small, almost imperceptible smile.

the final whistle blew, the crowd erupting in cheers, and y/n stood, debating whether to slip away unnoticed or stay. but as she turned to leave, a staff member approached her, holding a note.

“trent asked me to give this to you,” they said, handing her the small slip of paper.

her heart raced as she unfolded it.

wait for me in the family tunnel. i want to see you. please. - t

she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the note. part of her wanted to ignore it, to leave and avoid the inevitable conversation. but another part—a quieter, more vulnerable part—wanted to see him just as much.

she made her way to the family tunnel, her steps slow and uncertain. the space was quieter, the echoes of the crowd still faint in the background. leaning against the wall, she tried to steady her breathing, unsure of what she’d say or how she’d even begin to explain why she was there.

when trent finally appeared, freshly showered and still in his team gear, his face lit up at the sight of her.

“you came,” he said, his voice softer than she expected.

“yeah,” she replied, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket.

he stepped closer, his smile widening. “you don’t know how good it is to see you here.”

she swallowed, her throat dry. “i didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

his brows furrowed. “why would you think that? i’ve been waiting for you to show up. i’ve been—” he stopped himself, shaking his head. “i’ve missed you, y/n.”

her chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear.

“come over after,” he said suddenly, his tone carrying an urgency that made her look up at him.

“trent…”

“i mean it,” he cut her off, his eyes pleading. “just… come over. we can talk or not talk, whatever you want. but i need to see you properly. just us.”

she hesitated, the weight of her emotions threatening to crush her. but as she looked at him—really looked at him—she saw the same longing she felt reflected in his eyes.

“okay,” she said quietly, the word barely audible.

his shoulders relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “thank you,” he murmured, his voice full of something she couldn’t quite place.

as he stepped closer, his hand brushed against hers briefly, the touch sending a jolt through her. “wait for me here,” he said softly. “i’ll be quick.”

she nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as he walked away. and for the first time in weeks, she felt something other than the crushing weight of loneliness. something that scared her just as much as it comforted her. hope.

trent’s car pulled up to his house, the low hum of the engine fading as he put it in park. y/n felt the familiar tightness in her chest, the pressure of everything still hanging over her, but somehow, being in his presence helped her forget. just for a moment. she hadn’t planned on being here, not like this, but there she was, her hand already reaching for the door before he could even offer it.

he followed her as they walked to the front door, the cool evening air filling her lungs with a brief clarity. trent opened the door for her, stepping aside as she entered first. the inside of his house was cozy but had a sophistication to it—furniture placed in soft, deliberate arrangements that made everything feel welcoming, and the warm light of lamps illuminated the space in a quiet, intimate way.

"make yourself at home," trent said, taking his jacket off and tossing it onto the chair. his movements were easy, casual, but there was an edge to him tonight, a subtle tension that y/n could feel in the air. it was as if he knew something had changed between them, but neither of them spoke of it.

y/n settled herself on the couch, letting her hands rest on the cushions as she tried to focus on anything other than the pull she could feel between them. he didn’t sit right away, instead making his way into the kitchen, where the smell of something delicious filled the room.

“dinner’s almost ready,” trent called out from the kitchen, his voice light but warm. “you hungry?”

she nodded, too tired to form a full sentence. “yeah, sounds good.”

when the food came out, it was simple but comforting—pasta, fresh herbs, and a garlic bread that made her stomach growl despite herself. they ate in relative silence, save for a few exchanges about the match he had played earlier. she answered him in short sentences, trying to push the heaviness in her chest down, but it only seemed to grow.

after dinner, they moved to the living room, and it was as if everything started to slow down. they sat on opposite ends of the couch at first, both of them not quite knowing where to start, but the air was thick with something unspoken. something she couldn’t quite place.

finally, trent broke the silence. “how’s the album coming along?”

“good,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual. “almost done. just some fine-tuning left.”

the reminder of the time they had left together, the time they had spent apart, made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t ignore. she hadn’t realized how much she was holding on to, how much she was letting slip through her fingers. but she wasn’t ready to talk about it. not yet.

trent seemed to sense her shift, his posture loosening as he leaned back in his seat. he studied her for a moment, like he was trying to understand what was going on behind her guarded expression. and then, with the softest of sighs, he asked, “what happened in monaco, y/n? you’ve been distant... i’ve been racking my brain for weeks about it.”

she stiffened, the question hitting her in a way she didn’t expect. it wasn’t anger in his voice, no—it was concern. the kind of concern that made her want to shrink away, to pretend it didn’t matter, that she didn’t matter.

“nothing,” she said quickly, her voice coming out a little too sharp. “i’ve just been going through some stuff.”

trent raised an eyebrow, the concern still evident on his face. “it’s more than that. i can tell. is it me? did i do something wrong?”

y/n didn’t know how to answer. the truth was, she had been feeling lost. too many things piled up, too many things unsaid. but what would saying it to him change? what was the point?

“no,” she said, her voice faltering just a bit. “it’s nothing to do with you. i’ve just been feeling... down. it comes in waves.”

he looked at her, his gaze softening, as if he were trying to understand her even more deeply. “you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

y/n forced a small smile. “i know.”

there was a pause, and she could feel the weight of it hanging between them. but then, in the quiet of the room, trent moved closer. just a little, but enough for her to notice. enough to make her breath catch.

“you’re not alone in this, y/n. if you ever need someone…” he trailed off, his voice low, soft.

she didn’t want to acknowledge the tightness in her chest, the way her pulse quickened at the warmth in his voice. instead, she simply nodded, feeling the words sit in the air like a fragile promise.

the conversation shifted, and they started talking about lighter things—his game, her music, the plans they had been working on together. things that felt safe.

the couch seemed smaller than usual with how close they were sitting. y/n was tucked into the corner, legs folded beneath her, while trent was sprawled out, his arm draped lazily along the backrest. the distance between them felt charged, as though the air carried a hum of unspoken words and lingering glances.

“you’re quiet tonight,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face.

she shrugged, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the seam of a cushion. “just tired.”

but the way her gaze flickered to him, lingering on his lips before darting away, told a different story.

“tired of me already?” he teased, his voice low, carrying just the right amount of warmth to draw her out.

her lips quirked into a small smile. “hardly. you’re like a stray cat that keeps showing up.”

he chuckled, leaning closer. “you keep letting me in, though.”

she glanced at him, her expression softening as her gaze locked with his. there was something in his tone that made her heart skip, and she hated how easily he could get to her, how effortlessly he could unravel her defenses.

“maybe i like the company,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

his brows lifted, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “just the company? nothing else?”

she rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, her cheeks warming under his stare. “don’t push your luck.”

he shifted slightly, his arm brushing hers as he moved closer. the small touch sent a shiver through her, and she hated how much she liked it.

“am i pushing it now?” he murmured, his face mere inches from hers.

her breath hitched, and she felt like the room had shrunk around them. her gaze darted to his lips, and when she looked back at his eyes, she found them dark and focused, as if waiting for her to make the first move.

“trent…” her voice wavered, her resolve slipping with each passing second.

he tilted his head, his hand brushing against hers where it rested between them. “say the word, y/n. just tell me to stop.”

but she didn’t. instead, she leaned in, closing the gap, her lips brushing his in a tentative kiss that quickly deepened. his hand found her waist, pulling her closer, and before she knew it, she was straddling his lap, her fingers tangling in his curls.

the kiss grew heated, their breaths mingling as his hands gripped her hips, anchoring her to him. but then, just as quickly as it began, trent pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his chest heaving.

“wait,” he said, his voice strained, his hands tightening on her waist to stop her from moving.

her brow furrowed, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “what? what’s wrong?”

he closed his eyes for a moment, his grip on her firm yet gentle. “we need to talk.”

her heart sank, and she searched his face, her voice barely above a whisper. “do you not want this?”

his eyes snapped open, the raw intensity in them making her breath catch. “of course i do. do you know how much i’ve fantasized about you? for months, y/n. months. but—”

“but what?” she interrupted, her voice edged with desperation.

“is this what you really want?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. “i don’t want to take advantage of you. and i—”

“it’s what i want,” she said firmly, her hands framing his face. her voice softened, but the words carried an edge that made his heart ache. “just this.”

the word “just” felt like a blow, but before he could respond, she leaned in again, cutting off whatever he was about to say. her lips captured his, and this time, there was no hesitation.

“i don’t want to talk,” she murmured against his lips, her fingers threading through his hair as she deepened the kiss.

trent’s mind raced, torn between what he wanted and what he knew he should do. but the feel of her in his arms, the warmth of her body against his, made it impossible to think clearly. he gave in, letting himself be consumed by the moment, even as the weight of her words lingered in the back of his mind.

as the days turned into weeks, y/n and trent fell into a quiet rhythm that neither of them openly acknowledged. it wasn’t anything official, of course—just moments stolen away from the world, tucked into the spaces where no one else could see. he’d show up to her studio sessions unannounced, waiting patiently until everyone had cleared out. she’d find him leaning against the wall outside, his hands in his pockets, that signature smirk tugging at his lips.

“waiting for someone?” she’d tease, her voice light even though her heart always skipped a beat when she saw him there.

“just happened to be in the area,” he’d reply casually, but the way he looked at her made it clear that it wasn’t chance.

those late nights became their thing. sometimes he’d stay long enough to hear snippets of her songs, his quiet praise warming her in ways she didn’t want to admit. other times, they barely made it past the doorway before his lips were on hers, the studio lights dim as they lost themselves in each other.

it was dangerous, she knew that. every kiss, every lingering touch, every whispered joke felt like they were toeing a line she shouldn’t cross. and yet, y/n couldn’t help but indulge. it was almost as if, for those fleeting moments, she could pretend they were something more. pretend that this wasn’t just an arrangement, that trent wasn’t the man she’d promised herself she’d keep at arm’s length.

but then reality would creep in. she couldn’t let herself fall into fantasies, no matter how tempting. this was as good as it was going to get for her.

one evening, y/n found herself at zaia’s place, the familiar warmth of her friend’s apartment a welcome distraction. they were lounging on the couch, a bottle of wine open between them, when zaia gave her a long, calculating look.

“you’re glowing,” zaia said, tilting her head slightly as she studied y/n.

y/n blinked, caught off guard. “what are you talking about?”

“don’t ‘what’ me.” zaia grinned, sitting up straighter. “there’s no way. you’ve got that... i’m-being-well-taken-care-of glow.”

y/n’s cheeks flushed instantly. “you’re imagining things,” she muttered, taking a sip of her wine to avoid meeting zaia’s eyes.

“don’t lie to me, y/n,” zaia said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

y/n nearly choked on her drink, her reaction only confirming zaia’s suspicions. “what? no. that’s... that’s ridiculous.”

zaia leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing look. “you forget how well I know you. you never lit up like this for jadon.”

“that’s different,” y/n said quickly, her voice defensive as she set her glass down.

“is it, though?” zaia asked, her teasing tone softening as concern crept into her expression. “y/n, I know how you get. you’re not the type to keep things casual, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise.”

“zaia,” y/n started, but her friend cut her off.

“i’m serious. you’ve been through too much to put yourself in a situation where you’re going to get hurt. are you sure you can handle this?”

y/n hesitated, the words sticking in her throat. deep down, she knew zaia was right. it was different. with trent, it wasn’t just physical—it was everything else. the quiet moments, the way he looked at her like she mattered, even if it was just for a little while. and that terrified her.

“it’s fine,” she said finally, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears. “i know what i’m doing.”

zaia didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, reaching for her glass again. “just... be careful, okay? i don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“i’ll be fine,” y/n said, forcing a small smile. but as she sat there, listening to zaia’s voice fade into the background, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was lying to herself. because no matter how hard she tried to keep her heart out of it, trent had already found a way in.

trent had barely made it through the last stretch of away games without feeling like something was missing. every goal, every post-match celebration, every night in a sterile hotel room felt hollow. now, finally back in liverpool, he couldn’t shake the anticipation buzzing under his skin. his mind was already fixed on seeing y/n, her presence something he’d grown far too accustomed to.

but when he texted her, he didn’t get the response he’d hoped for.

y/n: movie night with zaia and cassius tonight.

his heart sank a little. he leaned against his kitchen counter, tapping out a reply.

trent: was really hoping to see you

it took a minute before she responded, and he was halfway through wondering if she was about to shoot him down completely when his phone buzzed again.

y/n: i wanted to see you too, but it’ll have to wait.

his lips parted, ready to type something back, when another message followed.

y/n: or maybe you could come over?

trent didn’t even hesitate. he barely registered y/n asking zaia and cassius for permission before she sent him the address. it wasn’t the setting he’d imagined for their reunion, but he wasn’t about to complain.

when he arrived at zaia and cassius’s place, it was a cozy scene. fairy lights glowed softly along the walls, the smell of popcorn lingering in the air. zaia greeted him with a polite but distant nod, barely saying anything beyond a brief introduction. cassius, on the other hand, was a bit warmer, offering him a handshake and a seat on the couch.

y/n, sitting cross-legged with a blanket draped over her lap, smiled up at him. “thanks for coming.”

“thanks for letting me crash your movie night,” he said, settling in beside her, his body relaxing for the first time in days.

everything was going smoothly until y/n’s phone buzzed, and she frowned at the screen. “it’s my parents,” she said, getting up. “they’re facetiming from back home. i’ll just be a minute.”

as soon as y/n disappeared down the hallway to take her parents’ early morning facetime call, the energy in the living room shifted. trent leaned back on the couch, feeling the weight of zaia’s unyielding gaze on him. she sat crossed-legged on the opposite couch, her arms folded across her chest in a stance that screamed “interrogation.” beside her, cassius shifted in his seat, looking somewhere between amused and resigned, the kind of man clearly dragged into a situation but far too in love to argue about it.

trent cleared his throat, his brows knitting together. “uh, everything okay?”

“perfect,” zaia replied sweetly, her smile a little too sharp. she leaned forward, her elbow resting on her knee, and cocked her head. “cass, you want to start?”

cassius groaned, running a hand over his face. “do i have to?” he grumbled, though his tone lacked any real annoyance.

“yes,” zaia snapped, her eyes not leaving trent. “because we agreed. you said you’d handle it.”

trent glanced between them, his unease growing. “handle what, exactly?”

cassius sighed dramatically, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “look, mate. zaia’s made it clear we need to have this... talk.”

“talk?” trent repeated, sitting up straighter.

zaia rolled her eyes. “yes, talk. trent, you’ve been spending a lot of time with our y/n, and as her best friend—practically her sister—it’s my job to make sure she’s okay. and honestly, it’s not just me. we’re all concerned.”

cassius nodded along, though he seemed less intense about it. “it’s not personal, man. but you know how it is. y/n is family, and we’ve seen what happens when relationships... don’t work out for her.”

trent’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone measured. “i get that. but i don’t know why you’re acting like i’m here to hurt her.”

zaia raised a brow, her sharp eyes pinning him in place. “because that’s what happens when people aren’t clear about what they want. you might think you’re being careful or taking your time, but if you’re not upfront, it can still cause damage. and y/n doesn’t need that. not from you, not from anyone.”

trent exhaled through his nose, keeping his voice calm despite the tension. “look, i’m not leading her on. i’m following her lead. whatever’s happening between us, it’s because she wants it too. and if she wants to take things slow or keep it casual, that’s her choice. i’m not going to push her into anything she’s not ready for.”

zaia squinted at him, as if trying to read his mind. “you say that, but have you told her how you feel? have you made it clear what you want, or are you just going along with this because it’s easy?”

trent hesitated for a fraction of a second, and zaia pounced. “exactly,” she said, sitting back with a triumphant look.

cassius winced. “baby, you don’t always have to go for the jugular.”

zaia shot him a look. “he can handle it. he’s a big boy, aren’t you, trent?”

trent’s lips twitched in a faint, humorless smile. “yeah, i can handle it. but like i said, i’m taking my cues from y/n. she’s been through enough without me piling on my own feelings. if she wants to keep things the way they are, that’s fine. i’m not here to make things harder for her.”

cassius nodded slowly, his tone more even than zaia’s. “fair enough. but you have to understand where we’re coming from. y/n’s not just some random girl we’re protective over. she’s been through hell in the past, and we’ve seen what it’s done to her. the last thing we want is for her to end up in another situation where she’s hurt or confused or... whatever.”

zaia crossed her arms again, her gaze softening slightly but still firm. “she doesn’t talk about her feelings, trent. not really. and if she’s letting you in, that means something. so, if you care about her, you need to figure out what that means for you. because if you’re not serious, then you need to end it before it gets worse.”

trent sighed, running a hand over his face. “i hear you, okay? but like i said, i’m not messing around. i care about her. i’m just trying to do right by her.”

cassius leaned back with a small smile. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

zaia glared at him. “don’t act like you weren’t just as concerned as me five minutes ago.”

cassius grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders and kissing her neck suggestively, “yeah, but you’re way scarier about it. i’m the good cop, remember?”

zaia shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “is this seriously turning you on, cash. i’m working.”

trent couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension easing slightly. “so, are we good now? or do i need to sign some sort of contract promising not to hurt her?”

zaia raised a brow. “don’t tempt me. but for now, we’re good.”

cassius nodded, his tone light again. “just know, if you mess up, you’ll have zaia to answer to. and trust me, she’s terrifying when she’s angry.”

“you’re not exactly a pushover yourself,” trent pointed out, earning a laugh from cassius.

“true. but i prefer to let zaia do the heavy lifting. she’s much better at it.”

“damn right, i am,” zaia said, leaning back with a satisfied smile.

just then, y/n returned to the room, her phone still in hand and a curious look on her face. “what did i miss?”

“nothing important,” zaia said quickly, sitting up straighter. she shot trent one last look before reaching for the remote, her expression neutral. “everything okay with your parents?”

“yeah,” y/n said, though she didn’t seem convinced. she sat back down beside trent, her hand brushing his arm briefly. “everything’s fine.”

cassius nodded, his grin giving him away. “yeah, just talking about the movie.”

y/n narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical, but she let it go. she settled back onto the couch beside trent, her attention shifting back to the screen.

as the movie resumed, trent couldn’t help but glance at zaia, who gave him a small, knowing nod. her words echoed in his mind, pushing him to confront the truth he’d been avoiding. if he wanted y/n in his life, he needed to be honest—with her and with himself. and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what that might mean.

trent felt the weight of y/n’s body resting comfortably against his chest as the credits rolled on the movie. her steady breathing was soft, almost lulling him to sleep too, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he glanced at her peaceful expression. she looked so serene, her face relaxed in a way he rarely saw during the day.

on the couch opposite him, zaia was in a similar state, her head tilted against cassius’s shoulder, her limbs tangled with his. cassius was gazing down at her with an expression so full of love that it made trent’s chest ache. it wasn’t jealousy, exactly—it was more a pang of longing, a flicker of the kind of connection he hadn’t realized he wanted until recently. his hand absentmindedly smoothed over y/n’s back, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to look at her like that, openly and without hesitation.

cassius caught the look on trent’s face and smirked knowingly, shifting slightly without waking zaia. “she’s something, isn’t she?” he asked quietly, his voice low so as not to disturb either woman.

trent cleared his throat, his hand stilling on y/n’s back. “yeah, she is,” he admitted, his voice just as soft.

cassius chuckled, leaning his head back against the couch. “look, man, i’m not going to give you a hard time again. zaia’s already taken care of that. but... you should know, if you’re serious about her—”

“i am,” trent interrupted, his voice firmer this time.

cassius raised a brow, his smirk widening. “good. because the way you look at her right now? that’s the kind of thing you don’t come across often. don’t mess it up. for both of your sakes”

trent didn’t respond, his throat tightening as he glanced down at y/n again. she shifted slightly in her sleep, her nose brushing against his collarbone, and he couldn’t help but tighten his hold on her.

cassius exhaled and gently shifted zaia in his arms. “all right, i’m gonna put my wife to bed.”

“you mean your fiancée,” trent corrected, unable to resist.

cassius grinned. “nah, she’s already my wife in every way that matters. the paperwork’s just a formality at this point.”

trent couldn’t argue with that. he watched as cassius carefully scooped zaia up and carried her down the hall, her head resting against his shoulder. the sight only deepened the ache in trent’s chest, but he pushed the feeling aside.

once they disappeared, he shifted slightly to wake y/n. “hey, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle.

she let out a soft whine, her face burrowing further into his chest. “don’t wanna,” she mumbled sleepily.

he chuckled, pressing his lips to her temple. “come on, baby. let’s get you home.”

she let out another sleepy protest, her arms wrapping loosely around his torso, but he persisted, gently shaking her awake. after a few more moments, her eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused.

“trent?” she murmured, her voice soft and full of trust.

“yeah, it’s me,” he said, smiling down at her. “let’s get you up, yeah?”

the drive to his house was quiet, the hum of the car engine lulling y/n back into a semi-drowsy state. she leaned against the window, her eyes half-closed, but when they pulled into his driveway, she stirred, blinking herself awake.

“you didn’t have to drive,” she said sleepily, her voice tinged with guilt.

“i wanted to,” he replied simply, stepping out of the car and walking over to her side. before she could protest, he scooped her up in his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“trent,” she whined, though there was no real protest in her tone.

“you’re half asleep,” he said, carrying her inside. “let me take care of you.”

her head rested against his neck, and she murmured, “how was it? with cass and zaia?”

he smirked. “it was good.”

her head shot up slightly, her eyes still bleary but full of curiosity. “they grilled you?”

“yep,” he said, chuckling. “how’d you know?”

“they’re protective. usually harmless.” y/n murmurs. fatigue still coating her words.

“yeah they they grill all your other fake boyfriends,” he teased, her voice still soft with sleep.

she raises her head and glances a him before shaking her head, no. he froze for a moment, raising a brow as he looked down at her. “just me?”

her head dropped back against his neck, and she shook her head. “no one else ever got close enough to meet them. my dating life and family have always been separate.”

trent paused after her words, his brow furrowing as he processed the quiet confession. her head rested against his shoulder again, but this time, she wasn’t slipping into sleep—she was hiding.

“you’ve never let anyone meet them because... your family’s not around?” he asked carefully, piecing it together.

she nodded against his neck, her voice softer now. “yeah. my family’s away—always has been. did you know i’m the oldest of seven siblings?”

trent leaned back slightly, tilting his head to get a better look at her face. “seven?” he repeated, his surprise evident.

a faint smile touched her lips, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “yeah, seven. it’s a lot, i know.”

he shook his head, his hands steadying her on the counter. “i mean... i had no idea. you don’t talk about them much.”

“because it’s hard,” she admitted. “i’ve never had older siblings to rely on and get life advice. i was always the one looking out for everyone else, being the one they leaned on. but in some ways, zaia and cassius became that for me. first zaia, and then cassius. they’ve always been there for me, but even more now—especially now that my life is like this.”

trent studied her closely, his chest tightening at the vulnerability in her voice. “what do you mean, now that your life is like this? you’re successful, y/n. you’ve done things most people our age couldn’t even dream of. anyone would die to be in your position.”

her laugh was soft, but it held no humor. “sure, i’m successful. but they have things i don’t—love, stability, security. i’ll never have that. not really.”

the honesty of her words hit him harder than he expected. he didn’t know what to say, his throat tightening at the weight of her admission. her family, her career, her relationships—it all felt so far removed from the life she craved, the life she deserved.

“y/n...” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

but she shook her head, cutting him off gently. “it’s fine, trent. really. i’ve accepted it. this is my life now, and i’m grateful for everything i’ve achieved. i just... sometimes, i wonder what it would be like to have the other stuff too.”

trent stayed silent for a moment, his hands still resting on her waist. he didn’t know how to fix it, how to ease the ache he could feel radiating from her. but as her gaze flickered to his, he found himself saying, “you deserve all of it, y/n. the love, the stability, the security—you deserve every single bit of it. and if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying.”

her lips parted slightly, surprise flashing across her face, but she didn’t respond. instead, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. the gesture was simple, but it spoke volumes, her silent gratitude filling the space between them.

trent didn’t press her for more. he simply held her, grounding her in the quiet comfort of the moment, letting her know without words that she wasn’t as alone as she felt.

trent didn’t say anything, but the weight of her words settled over him. he carried her upstairs, gently setting her on the bathroom counter. she blinked up at him as he pulled out her usual oil cleanser, the familiarity of the act warming her chest.

“you bought all my stuff?” she asked, her voice soft.

he shrugged, wetting a cotton pad. “course. figured you’d need it.”

her eyes welled up slightly, and before she could stop herself, she leaned forward, her lips pressing against his. he froze for a moment before responding, his hands finding her waist as he stepped between her legs.

the kiss deepened, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. moments like this made her forget the lines between them, the unspoken truths that kept her heart guarded. but for now, with his hands steadying her and his lips against hers, she let herself fall into the fantasy, even if only for a little while.

trent leaned against the kitchen counter, shirtless, sipping a glass of water as he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone. y/n had stepped out to pick something up, leaving him to his own devices in her cozy flat. the sound of keys jingling at the front door barely registered at first—he figured it was y/n, back quicker than he’d expected.

but when the door swung open, trent looked up, his easygoing demeanor freezing in place. standing in the doorway were two people he’d never seen before, both with bags in hand, the resemblance to y/n unmistakable. the man, tall and stern-looking despite his slightly squinting eyes, zeroed in on him immediately.

“you’ve got to be joking,” the man muttered, his voice laced with disbelief and anger.

trent blinked, completely thrown off. “uh… hi?” he managed, his voice unsure, as he set the glass down on the counter.

“don’t ‘hi’ me!” the man barked, stepping further into the foyer and dropping his bags. “this is him, isn’t it? the one playing my daughter? jason?”

“jadon,” the woman beside him corrected softly, though her tone was no less disapproving.

“whatever!” y/n’s dad snapped, his eyes narrowing at trent. “you’ve got some nerve being here like this!”

trent’s hands went up defensively, his mind racing. this just his luck being mistakened for jadon, while being half naked.

before he could respond, hurried footsteps echoed on the stairs, and y/n appeared, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in the scene.

“oh my god,” she breathed, her gaze darting between her father and trent. “dad, stop!”

her dad turned to her, incredulous. “stop? you’re defending him?” he gestured wildly at trent. “this is who you’ve been letting disrespect you? this is—”

“dad, what are you talking about?” she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation.

her father gestured wildly at trent. “this! him! the one playing you like a fool! isn’t this the guy?”

“he’s not jadon!” y/n interrupted, rushing down the last few steps. she placed herself between trent and her dad, her hands up as if trying to create a barrier. “dad, just stop. you don’t even have your glasses on, do you?”

her mom let out a quiet sigh, her arms crossed as she gave her husband a pointed look. “i told you to wear them,” she murmured.

“i don’t need glasses to recognize trouble when i see it,” he retorted, though his confidence was starting to waver.

“dad,” y/n said firmly, her tone a mix of exasperation and exhaustion. “this is trent, not jadon.”

trent, still shirtless and very much out of place, offered an awkward wave. “uh… hi again.”

y/n’s dad squinted at him, stepping closer as if to inspect him. after a long moment, he muttered under his breath, “maybe i do need my glasses.”

y/n let out a frustrated sigh, shooting a pleading look at her mom, who simply shrugged, clearly used to her husband’s antics. “he’s harmless,” her mom said, her tone more amused now.

“harmless?” her dad scoffed, his glare returning. “then why is he half-naked in my daughter’s house?”

trent barely had time to process what was happening. the air was thick with tension as y/n's father glared at him like a man on a mission, demanding answers to questions trent didn’t even understand. shirtless and utterly unprepared, he stood frozen in the foyer, caught in a storm he didn’t see coming.

“what do you mean this isn’t jadon?” her dad spat, his tone sharp as his eyes darted accusingly between trent and the still-open door.

trent opened his mouth to say something—anything—but before he could get a word out, y/n came rushing down the stairs, her hair in disarray, eyes wide with confusion.

y/n stared at him, baffled, before her gaze shifted to trent. the absurdity of the moment dawned on her, and despite the tension, she almost laughed. “dad, what? no. this isn’t jadon—this is trent.” she hesitated for a beat, then added, “my boyfriend.”

the words hung in the air like a bomb, dropping with enough force to silence everyone in the room.

trent’s eyes snapped to y/n, his brows shooting up in surprise. boyfriend? sure, they’d agreed to keep up appearances in public, but hearing her say it out loud—introducing him to her parents that way—was a different story. something about the way she said it, so casual yet firm, sent a strange warmth coursing through him. it felt real.

“your what?” her dad barked, his voice rising with disbelief.

“boyfriend,” y/n repeated, her tone firm as she crossed her arms over her chest.

trent felt his heart thump harder in his chest. he stood there, shirtless and vulnerable, feeling both out of place and oddly… special. sure, he’d been around her often, even meeting his own family with her by his side, but this? this was something else entirely.

“y/n, are you serious?” her mom finally spoke, her tone less accusatory but still laced with surprise.

y/n nodded, glancing at trent for a split second before turning back to her parents. “yes, i’m serious. trent’s my boyfriend. he’s been around for a while now.”

“and you didn’t think to tell us?” her dad asked, his voice filled with a mixture of hurt and frustration.

“you didn’t call to say you were coming,” y/n countered, her tone sharper now. “you show up unannounced and start making wild assumptions. what was i supposed to do?”

her dad narrowed his eyes at trent again. “why would i have to call to see my first born? and why are you half-naked in my daughter’s house?”

trent scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment even more. “sir, i, uh—”

“he was helping me earlier,” y/n interjected, cutting him off before he could fumble further. “dad, just… stop, okay? you’re overreacting.”

her mom sighed, stepping forward to place a calming hand on her husband’s arm. “maybe we should all sit down and talk this through,” she suggested, her tone softer now.

her dad muttered something under his breath but reluctantly followed her lead, moving to the living room. y/n and trent exchanged a quick glance, her expression a mix of apology and something else���something he couldn’t quite read.

as they settled on the couch, trent found himself next to y/n, finally clothed, her parents across from them. her dad still looked skeptical, while her mom studied him with a more neutral expression.

“so,” her dad began, leaning forward slightly. “how long has this been going on?”

y/n hesitated, and trent decided to step in. “a few months,” he said, his voice steady despite the situation. “we’ve been taking things slow.”

her dad’s eyes narrowed. “slow, huh?”

“dad,” y/n said sharply, shooting him a warning look.

“look,” trent continued, deciding to lean into the role she’d unknowingly assigned him, “i care about y/n. a lot. i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.”

her mom’s lips twitched, as if she were fighting back a smile. her dad, however, didn’t look convinced.

“you care about her." her dad repeated, his tone skeptical. “and what exactly do you do, trent?”

trent straightened up slightly. “i play football. for liverpool.”

her dad’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly masked his surprise. “another footballer,” he muttered, glancing at his wife. “great.”

“he’s not like that,” y/n said quickly, her voice defensive. “trent’s not jadon, okay? he’s—” she paused, her cheeks flushing slightly. “he’s different.”

as soon as the words fell from her lips, it felt like a lie. it didn’t just feel like she was trying to convince them but herself, too. because when she thought about it—truly thought about it—how different was this really? trent didn’t make promises any more than jadon had. the arrangement wasn’t built on anything solid, just fleeting moments and unspoken rules. yet, she felt it in her soul—a shift she couldn’t quite explain.

trent wasn’t like jadon, not entirely. he didn’t use words to manipulate or push her boundaries. he didn’t weaponize her vulnerability or make her feel small. but at the same time, there was no certainty with him. no reassurance that what they had wasn’t as fragile as glass.

still, when he looked at her, when he touched her, it didn’t feel hollow. it felt like something she could get lost in, even if only temporarily. and that scared her. because what if this was just another version of the same story? what if she was setting herself up for heartbreak all over again?

but her heart betrayed her mind. because despite the questions, despite the doubt, she wanted to believe in the shift. wanted to believe that maybe this time would be different.

trent glanced at her, his heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in her voice. for a moment, he forgot they were supposed to be pretending.

her mom finally spoke again, her tone lighter this time. “well, you certainly didn’t tell us you were seeing someone, y/n. it’s a bit of a surprise.”

y/n shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “you haven’t visited me in forever, so…”

her dad bristled at that. “we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“unannounced,” y/n shot back, her tone sharp.

trent, sensing the tension rising again, reached over and placed a hand on her knee. it was a small gesture, but it was enough to ground her. she glanced at him, her expression softening slightly.

the rest of the conversation was tense but civil, her dad asking question after question while her mom tried to keep the peace. trent answered as best as he could, doing his best to reassure them that he wasn’t some fleeting figure in y/n’s life.

but even as the conversation continued, he couldn’t shake the warmth that had settled in his chest. hearing y/n call him her boyfriend—whether it was real or not—felt like a step forward. it felt like something he wanted to hold onto.

y/n stormed into her room, her shoulders tense, her hands immediately reaching for anything to straighten or adjust. she pulled at the edges of her comforter, smoothed the books on her desk, and rearranged a framed photo of her siblings she hadn’t updated in years. her breaths came quick, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she paced back and forth.

trent followed her in silently, leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a worried frown. “y/n,” he called gently, his voice calm but firm.

she didn’t respond, her hands busy fixing the pillows on her bed for the third time.

“y/n,” he tried again, stepping further into the room.

“what?” she snapped, her voice sharp, her movements frantic as she moved to straighten the curtains. “what do you want, trent?”

he stayed quiet for a moment, observing her. “i want you to stop,” he said softly, his tone steady. “just… stop.”

she froze for a moment, her hands hovering over the fabric of the curtain before she dropped them to her sides. then she turned to face him, her eyes blazing with frustration and something deeper—hurt.

“stop what?” she asked, her voice shaking. “stop being angry? stop feeling like I don’t exist to them? stop pretending I’m fine when I’m not?”

trent took a cautious step closer. “stop pacing. stop carrying it all on your own.”

she let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “what else am i supposed to do, trent? who else is going to do it?”

he stayed silent, letting her continue.

“they forgot about me,” she said, her voice rising as she gestured toward the door, where her parents had disappeared downstairs. “they’ve moved on, started over, had more kids. and me? i’m just supposed to work. to send money. to be fine on my own. i don’t even know my siblings anymore, trent. i missed their first steps, their first words. i don’t even know their favorite colors or what makes them laugh.”

her voice cracked, and she turned away, her hands gripping the edge of her desk.

trent moved closer, his hand brushing her arm lightly. “y/n…”

“i’ve been alone,” she continued, her voice trembling. “ever since i got here. no one visited, no one checked in. they’re supposed to be my family, but i’ve had to be everything for myself. and now they just show up, unannounced, like none of that matters.”

trent reached out, his hands resting gently on her shoulders to still her. “you’re not alone anymore,” he said firmly.

she shrugged off his touch, spinning to face him. “don’t,” she said sharply. “don’t say that. you don’t understand.”

“then make me understand,” he said, his voice calm but insistent.

she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “just go, trent. please.”

he didn’t move. instead, he stepped closer, his gaze steady. “no,” he said simply.

her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “what do you mean, no?”

“i mean i’m not leaving,” he said, his voice unwavering. “you don’t get to shut me out, y/n. not like this.”

her lip quivered, and she turned away, her hands gripping the edge of the desk again. “why do you even care?”

he stepped closer, his hands gently turning her to face him. “because i care about you,” he said softly. “and i’m not going anywhere. not now." not ever,

her tears spilled over, and she tried to look away, but he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “you’re not alone,” he said again, his voice steady. “you’ve got me. i’m here.”

for a moment, she just looked at him, her defenses crumbling as she let his words sink in. and then, finally, she let herself fall into his arms, her tears soaking into his shirt as he held her tightly, his hand smoothing over her back.

he didn’t say anything else—he didn’t need to. he just held her, grounding her in the moment, reminding her that, for once, she didn’t have to face it all alone.

trent held her in silence, letting her cry into his chest, her emotions unraveling in his arms. he could feel the weight of her pain, the years of feeling abandoned, of being the one left to carry everything on her own. and as much as he wanted to stay in this moment, to be her rock, a thought lingered in his mind—but for how long?

© PDRIESTA 2025

[fandombandomfics]

Nightmare (Dae-ho x female!reader)

Background: Pre-squid games, a year before the 2024 Squid Games. Established relationship with the reader

Summary: Dae-ho has a nightmare and the reader comforts him

Warnings: angst, reader comforting Dae-ho, hurt-comfort.

Dae-ho’s POV 

I arrive at our shared apartment, spotting Y/N sitting on the couch glancing at a book. I smile and take off my shoes, putting my indoor ones on. She looks up at me and gives me a smile. 

“Hey love, how was your day?” I ask, slipping off my jacket and join her on the couch. 

“Good, work wasn’t that bad today, how was yours?” She asks. I sigh and wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to me. 

“Tiring, I just want to sleep and cuddle my love for the rest of the night,” I say, sighing dramatically. She giggles as I pull her onto my lap, the scent of her perfume hitting my nose. I sigh contently this time and nuzzle my face in her neck. 

“You know we still have to eat dinner,” She says. I groan and nod, removing my face from her neck. 

“Can we just order take out?” I ask, hoping she will say yes. She nods, knowing that she doesn’t want to cook either.

“Ok love we’ll do that, you’re paying,” She says and I smile, chuckling at her. 

“You got it love,” I say 

Y/N’s POV 

As I lay down in bed, I already see Dae-ho fast asleep. I smile and kiss his cheek before reading my book. I get halfway through the second chapter when I hear faint whimpering. I close my book and look over at Dae-ho, making sure he’s ok. He settled back to sleep and I think nothing of it. After doing some more reading, I close my book and turn off the light. Settling in bed, my mind drifts off to sleep. But suddenly, I hear a scream. I open my eyes quickly and turn on the light. My eyes adjust to the sudden light and I notice Dae-ho thrashing around in his sleep. 

“Dae-ho wake up,” I say, shaking his shoulder. His hand grips onto my arm painfully I wince. I see sweat start to form on his forehead and his face twitches in distress, he’s having another nightmare.

“Dae-ho!” I yell, knowing me yelling his name worked the last time. His grip tightens more, causing more discomfort and pain to shoot through my arm. 

“Dae-ho wake up it's a dream!” I yell, more desperately this time. Tears form in my eyes, hating seeing him like this. If his stupid dad didn’t force him to join the marines he wouldn’t have ptsd. Dae-ho jolts awake, breathing heavy as sweat drips down his face. 

“Love it was just a dream���you’re ok,” I say, softly. He looks at my frantic and notices his grip on my arm. He quickly moves his hand away and looks at the red marks.

“I d-d-did tha–” 

“Shhh it's ok I know you didn’t mean to,” I say, cupping his face in my hands. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch, breathing shaky still. 

“It brought me back to that pla–” 

“Shhh just let me hold you,” I say, soothing his anxiety. He whimpers as tears start to fall down his face. He hugs my waist, resting his body in my lap. I rub his back and wipe the sweat off of his face with a towel. 

Dae-ho’s POV 

I feel my body shake still, even laying in her lap. I close my eyes and use her being near me as a way to ground myself. She’s too good to me…I laid my hand on her.. 

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” I say softly, talking for the first time in a while. She hums and runs her hand through my hair. 

“It’s ok love…I know you didn’t mean it,” She says but that doesn’t ease my guilt. 

“When I get like that…step away from me ok? So I don’t hurt you again,” I say, looking up at her. 

“It’s not going to hap–” 

“Promise me,” I say, cutting her off, knowing she will argue this. She nods and looks into my eyes. 

“I promise,” she says, helping me feel better about the situation. That’s when I vowed to never do that again…for as long as I live.

[yomica12345]

Logan closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

This was it.

He was finally taking his dreamer’s license test—a chance to prove, once and for all, that his methods were superior to Roman’s reckless improvisation. That precision, not flair, was the key to success. He just hoped the scenario wouldn’t be as ridiculous as Roman’s had been. Watching Roman fumble through a naked-at-work dream had been entertaining, if not mildly mortifying on his behalf. Logan, however, had no desire to experience something so absurd.

No, he could handle anything else. Anything at all. Or so he thought.

The moment he fell asleep, his surroundings swirled into something entirely different. Gone was the brightly colored pod he had entered moments ago. In its place was a carefully constructed garden scene. But this wasn’t just any garden. It was familiar. Painfully familiar.

Logan’s stomach dropped.

Of all dreams, why did it have to be this one? A dream so vivid, so personal, because it was one he had dreamt before.

Logan cursed, squeezing his eyes shut. He willed himself to wake up, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come on. Anything else, please.” The words fell on deaf ears. This couldn’t be happening—not now, not with Roman undoubtedly watching the scene unfold from a monitor in reality.

“Logan?”

His breath hitched at the voice.

A gentle hand cupped his cheek, pulling him back into the dream. “Are you alright?”

Logan’s heart thundered as the sounds of skittering parasites edged closer, like shadows hungry for chaos. But all his focus narrowed to the warmth of Roman’s touch.

“I—I’m fine,” Logan stammered, flinching at the way his voice betrayed him. His mind screamed at him to regain composure, to think. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes.

Roman sat beside him on a white bench, his usual training uniform replaced with princely attire—white and red, embroidered in a way only Roman’s dream-self could imagine. His expression softened with quiet concern as he studied Logan.

“Are you sure?”

Logan cleared his throat, his face heating as he pushed himself up to his feet. “Yes. I am perfectly fine. I—”

Roman caught his hand before he could turn away. The unexpected contact caused Logan to pause.

“Logan,” Roman said, his voice gentler now, “there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

“Now is not the time,” Logan blurted, but his words faltered as Roman squeezed his hand.

Roman stood, stepping closer. His brown eyes held Logan’s, brimming with something unspoken. “I know we have our differences—many differences, in fact—but…” He chuckled, raising a hand to his neck. “You’re brilliant. Clever. Infuriatingly so, sometimes. But you’ve always been there for me. You’ve kept me grounded, kept me from doing anything stupid.” His lips quirked into a softer smile. “So… thank you.”

Logan’s heart raced, his thoughts a jumbled mess. “Of course,” he managed, bowing his head awkwardly. “I… appreciate your gratitude.”

Roman reached up to fix a strand of Logan’s hair, his fingers lingering for a moment. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Logan, I…” He hesitated, his eyes flicking down to Logan’s lips before leaning closer, his cheeks dusted with pink.

Logan’s breath hitched as Roman’s face hovered inches from his own. His pulse pounded in his ears. Why did this dream feel so real?

Roman’s lips were almost brushing Logan’s when he spoke again, his words catching Logan entirely off guard. “I want you to be my dream guard partner.”

Logan blinked, his thoughts screeching to a halt. “Your… dream guard partner?”

Roman stepped back, releasing Logan’s hand with a smirk. “Is that not what you expected, Teach?”

Logan’s face flushed a deep red, the color creeping all the way to his ears. “You… You got in my pod... You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Pretty much.” Roman shrugged, summoning a sword as a parasite screeched toward them. With one smooth motion, he sliced it into a puff of smoke.

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, his frustration bubbling over. “But this is my test. You’re sabotaging my test.”

“They’re testing us as a duo now,” Roman said, shrugging again as he dispatched another parasite. “You gonna help me with these pests, or what?”

Logan conjured traps around them, his glare sharp enough to cut. “With you actually here, how are we supposed to keep this dream uninterrupted?”

Roman smirked, stepping closer. “That’s simple. Obviously, they’re part of the dream. We just have to play our parts in it.”

“Our parts?” Logan snapped another trap shut on a beetle-like parasite, his annoyance mounting.

Roman grabbed Logan by the waist, pulling him closer as he destroyed a few more parasites with a snap of his fingers. “Just tell me how this dream ends.”

Logan summoned a blaster, firing small, chemical-laden projectiles at the remaining enemies. “I… I believe you already know how.”

Roman’s grin widened, his tone playful. “Do I? I’m not so sure I do.”

The last parasite screeched and dissolved in the distance, leaving the garden eerily quiet. Logan lowered his blaster with a huff.

“Roman, if you’re not going to—” Logan started, but the words died on his lips as Roman kissed him.

The garden dissolved into a cascade of bright light, signaling the end of the dream.

Logan opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light of the pod. The soft hum of the machines was the first thing he registered, a quiet reminder that this had all been a test. Roman, curled beside him, stirred slightly, his arms still draped over Logan’s. As Logan moved to pull away and open the pod, Roman’s hand tightened on his shirt, drawing him back.

Without a word, Roman pulled him into another kiss—this one deeper, more earnest. More real.

Logan held the kiss, letting the sensation of it wash over him until the soft hiss of the pod opening snapped him back to reality. He swiftly pulled away, smoothing out his uniform with a flustered breath, his heart still pounding in his chest.

From the side, Remus giggled, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Took you two long enough."

Janus rolled his eyes from his place behind Remus. “We thought you’d never get together.”

Logan sat up. Despite the chaotic nature the test had taken on he found himself relieved things had gone the way they did. Relieved Roman now knew about his feelings—that he felt the same way. He smiled softly. 

Relieved that it hadn’t all just been a dream.

[cringefaecompilation]

not to sound too much like people that say "all the steven universe characters hate people who read killing/stalking" or "sonic the hedgehog supports decriminalizing sex work" or "twilight sparkle would be ashamed of you for being racist" but it is certainly something that orym's character revolves so much around the women in his life and how they affected him and how much he loves them and how deeply he respects his female friends, but half of his fans are so hostile and misogynist towards imogen, laudna and/or fearne to the point where his detractors are convinced he's a chauvinist bully and think he actively hates all of them.

[sneakyboymerlin]

One more time… Merlin didn’t owe anyone his secrets. No one was entitled to them, not even Gwaine. It’s like, actually bizarre that you will all call magic a gay metaphor and then die on the hill that he’s sadistic if he doesn’t tell anyone, as if it’s “harmful” to others if he keeps it a secret when he actively lives in a place where he will be killed for it. You are all embarrassingly susceptible to right winger anti-lgbtq logic and only surface level pro-gay. Except it’s ultimately a metaphor for religious persecution so uhh anyways… bite a brick

[blackcurrant-juice]

old stuff

[epiphainie]

i think one of the reasons why i'm so giddy about how buck's infatuation with tommy has been played by the show is because i want buck to be stupid in love with someone again. like i'm not gonna pretend buck being bi and with a man now is not an allure in and of itself, this fandom has always been dominated by mlm shipping so idk why that's thrown people's way like an accusation, but personally i, the number one fan of how buck looks when he affectionately kisses someone and how he watches them when they're talking and how he strokes their hair just casually and how he goes out of his way to just adore them, want to see him be insanely in love again. it's been soooo long since abby and like i didn't even care about that relationship that much but i literally tear up thinking about how much he loved abby sometimes, man, like just the way he loves, you know? and i wanna see that again, fuck, because while it's controversially if bucktaylor doesn't have any fans i'm dead yadda yadda here on my part, we haven't seen buck be sooo infatuated and adoring with her like he was with abby and he couldn't have that with ali, natalia, or lucy either and goddamn i just want to see buck be in love again

[therainbowwillow]

I love Epic The Musical very dearly but I do wish just a little bit that we’d gotten to watch Telemachus’s antics in Pylos. His gay awakening(?) over Pesistratus? Athena disguised as an old man?? Nestor and Menelaus?! HELEN! He really has a bewildering time away from Ithaca lol

[p1zzaparty]

a very small, tiny, itty bitty detail i love to see in other peoples drawings of the Losers, especially as adults or young adults even, is what kind of fashion is given to them

like its almost a given that everyones Richie has some weird collection of shitty t-shirts with some nerd thing attached to it. Or brightly colored button ups with polka dots and stripes.

Eddie seems to stump everyone because i've seen him from everything to sweaters, to expensive formal wear, to neon rainbow tank tops. Personally i always saw that guy, with his bright pink and blue polo shirts and simple plain tees, as just a mixed bag of beans. He still dresses like mommy picked out clothes that she thinks would look super handsome on him, with his little stiff gelled combed hair to match. But he rarely, probably has anything that has actual words or icons on his shirts. Maybe a national park sweater here and there, that guy probably loooves gift shops. I think now with his big boy money he'll stray away from his usual get up, splurge a little, buy something branded, something new and expensive. Also something stupid, like shoes that are way too expensive. He's a fake sneakerhead, only really investing in brands he THINKS are cool or trendy. Not that he cares too much about being trendy and cool, like Richie probably does. Just...gets an ear worm sometimes, whispering to him about how they aren't that bad looking, and that he's buying it for himself, not because some jackass on tv wore them. Maybe a shiny new watch too, and maybe even a band shirt for pj-only purposes. Otherwise he's pretty strict on his expenses and just buys what fits and works as a shirt, pants, etc. Comfort over design, squarish in appearance, boxy and casually professional. I don't see him wearing a suit outside of work or waltzing into his nearest cheap café with a confident blazer and matching ironed pants. I doubt that guy even owns an iron, probably forgot to even buy one after mummy-kins passed. Even after she screeched and raved about it too, and he just ignored her tangents, assuming it wasn't even that important, all while his shirts became crinklier and sadder much like him. Sometimes i see people make him almost tooooo strict and formal and buttoned up, to y'know match Richies more casual and stoner-dork like style that's sometimes assigned to him. But Eddie, to me, is always a business casual kinda guy. Like, paid business trip to a golf course casual. Throwing on what's comfortable, giving a healthy amount of thought to what people might think of you. You will NOT find this man dressed to the nines at home, but he does, in fact, have a little pocket protector on his stupid shirt. With a pen or pencil thrown in just to make use of it, an old candy wrapper he forgot about and WILL get washed with it, or a few crumbs from his earlier microwaved breakfast burrito he had to scarf down before Myra had something to say about its ""toxic"" ingredients.

His clothes probably vary in size by a very small margin. Knowing a ball park guess of his pants and shirt sizes, always forgetting to add in it going through the washer, or how a size 30 is a size 31 in Canada or whatever. Probably because he was so used to mummy buying everything for him, even into his early 20s in college. Now he's free from her suffocating grasp, he still copies her sense of fashion and rarely does anything outlandish or fashionable. I think later down the line, in the cannon he survives and goes off to live a happily ever after with Richie, that he'd begin to explore a bit more. Getting that sugar baby money helps, and he'd have to try and buck up with Richie, trying to copy him slightly in terms of fashion.

He's a bland man Sarah, a BLAND man!

[leafatlaw]

I know I’ve said this on previous liveblogs, but rolan is so fucking angry at Rand, to such a higher degree than Rand is. Like, Rand pokes at Rolan alot, but most of it is in a less serious way, while Rolan everytime he takes a Jab at Rand he wants it to hurt. He wants to hurt Rand sooo badly all the time, especially during the first episode.

For example, when Rand is upset that Rolan didn’t distract his mom from Kian, he says, “You were always really reliable, weren’t you,” very rude and clearly a dig at Rolan leaving him. Problem is, that Rolan essentially responds with, “Getting away from you was the best decision I ever made.” Which is, a fucking crazy thing to say, and is so much more than Rands passive aggressive comment. Rand wants to hurt Rolan, the way he hurt him, he wants to get back at him for leaving, but all his insults just revel how much he missed Rolan, and his own hurt. But Rolan is sooo possed at being back here, he shifts all of that anger onto Rand (of course he also missed Rand, but he’s been able to move on in a way Rand hasn’t even dreamed of)

[idontknowmyownmind]

You know that one hsr video where Acheron and Black Swan dancing?

Yeah, make it og!Cale with [WS/Adin/Clopeh/Reddika]