#but still to love and be loved in and outside of the game

[luveline]

hey jade!!! do u think we can get a little something with bombshell and spencer 🙏🙏 missing them

—you and spencer get serious. 1.3k

“So,” you say, holding two hands behind your back, shoulders tight in a vague attempt at flirting, “come here often?” 

“To Austin?” Spencer nods. “This is the tenth time we’ve been in the last five years.”

“Big city. Thirteenth most populous city in the entire country, right? That’s a lot of crime.”

Spencer smiles approvingly. “Right.” 

“At least this one was easy.” 

You’re standing in the sunshine outside of a bar near the hangar, waiting for the jet to finish loading, the rest of the team inside drinking a round of well-earned drinks. Spencer was in good spirits but didn’t seem to love the ruckus, so you’d made some excuse about feeling light-headed and promised you’d be alright as long as Spencer came outside with you. 

You don’t not feel dizzy. You’ve been under the weather all week. Spencer’s concern has had moments of obviousness. He’s roped it in for now, only evidence of his worry the lack of space between you. 

You’re enjoying the game you’re playing for now. You lovingly ignore him. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” 

“Uh, trying to get home, honestly.” 

“Yeah?” 

“See, I know this girl,” he says, his voice a soft pattern of itself, “and she’s– she’s great. She really is. She’s smart, and she’s beautiful, and she’s stubborn as a mule when she wants to be. She won’t let me take care of her out here. I’m hoping when we get back, she’ll let me take her home. So I can look after her.” He has no intention of playing the ignoring game with you. 

“Stubborn as a mule,” you murmur, leaning back against the bar’s brick exterior, lulled into security by his voice, and the sweet breeze that passes over you, the right side of cold as the sun begins to set behind the buildings across the street and beyond. 

“You like that one?” 

“No. Not my favourite comparison.” 

Spencer holds his hand out across the way, palm up but low, his fingers still. “Stubborn,” he says as you slip your hand into his, “but in a good way.” 

“…I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say softly. 

“But I want to.” 

You don’t know why you’ve been struggling with Spencer lately. It certainly isn’t something he’s done wrong, and it’s not the first time he’s wanted to look after you. But things between you are looking serious. Just a few weeks ago you took the ‘next step’, long overdue, and you told him you loved him. You do. 

“If I did something–”

You wince and he stops. You knew he’d bring it up eventually, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. What a mess you’re making. “You didn’t do anything,” you say. 

“Are you sure?” 

“No, Spencer, it’s not you, really, it’s not, it’s me–”

The face he makes is of unbridled horror. You’re worried he’ll snatch his hand back. He squeezes tighter. “What are you saying?” he asks, his frown a pout that turns your heart. 

“I’m not breaking up with you. I’m sorry, that was a fright wasn’t it?” you ask, squeezing him too, pulling at him as you slip against his side. Your faces are close enough to kiss. “Not breaking up. I can’t describe how much I don’t want that.” 

“But?” he asks. 

“But… there’s been some chafing, lately, on my end.” 

“‘Cos of me?” 

“Aw, Spencer,” you murmur, turning your front into his side as you hold your free hand over his heart, “no, baby. No… No, it’s not because of you, or– it’s not your fault. I was alone for a while before you, and I guess being sick just reminded me that things are different.” 

“And you don’t like it?” 

“Spencer, please,” you plead gently, rubbing your thumb against his chest. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I love you–”

“I love you.” 

“–and I’m not asking for anything here, not space, not for you to change, I just want to tell you how I’ve been feeling so you can stop confusing it for something you might’ve done wrong.” 

Some days being with Spencer feels like you’re the same soul in two different bodies. It’s moments like this that remind you of how human he is, the depth of his feelings, and how much he cares about you —how much you can affect his life. He’s frowning like he’s not far from tears and you regret ever bringing it up in the first place, but you have to finish now. 

“It’s scary, for me, sometimes, to be with you,” you say eventually. 

“For me, too.” 

“I worry I’ll get used to you and one day I won’t have you.” 

“I promise you will,” he says. 

“But you don’t know that.” 

“For however long you’ll let me have you, you can have me,” he says simply. 

You tease a line into his chest with your two fingertips. “I love how you look after me. There’s nothing like it. I fall asleep sick and I wake up knowing you’re there to make me a cup of tea, and to help me shower when my head’s hurting, you don’t let me down. You know that?” 

“So why can’t I look after you tonight?” he asks, eyes dark as pine tar. 

“You can. You think I’m not going home with you?” 

“I wasn’t sure.” 

“Please let me come home with you.” 

Spencer lets his forehead drop gently against yours. The breeze runs a loop around your legs and cools your too-warm shoulders, pulling your blouse from clammy skin. For a while, you wait for him to speak, but when he doesn’t you figure you’ve overwhelmed him with your confession, maybe you’ve upset him. 

He rubs the tips of your noses together slightly. 

“Are you still dizzy?” 

“No.” Your voice is a croak. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, being scared of the future? It’s okay.” 

“I think it sounded like it was your fault.” 

“I won’t take it that way if you don’t mean it like that,” he promises. “I just want to look after you, angel. I want to be with you. I’m scared all the time that one day I won’t have you, but then you smile at me or you–” He laughs. “You tug on my hair trying to make me kiss you and I don’t feel that way for a while. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

“The only thing that worries me is life.” 

“Not much you can do about that,” he says.

“I know. I didn’t mean for it to get to you, too.”

He makes a nice humming sound, says, “I want you to feel better, and come home with me, and I don’t really care if I have to beg. You know I will.” 

“You should know you don’t have to beg for anything. Not from me.” 

Spencer’s hand comes up to your neck. He holds it carefully, pressing the soft of his cheek against your temple, the other hand working its way behind your back. “And you’re worried I might leave you?” he asks, laughing bashfully as he presses two kisses to whatever bit of skin he can fin, the side of your nose and the soft well under your eye. “When you’re saying stuff like that to me? In public?” 

“It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve said to you in public.” 

Spencer pulls away to meet your eyes. He's smiling. Worry and love line his gaze. “Do you wanna go find something to eat before we leave?”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying hard not to smile ear to ear. “Let’s go eat.” 

[ineedpaigebuckets]

ONE SHOT AZZI TOP I BEG

PTPOM 2.0

an: i don't know who the fuck allowed me to write this

disregard this thanks

warnings: filth 🥲🤞

--------------------------------------------------------------

azzi pov

the sound of sza seeping in through my ears, my headphones blocking out the sound of the music blasting through the bus. i can hear a little bit not enough to disturb my peace of just looking out the window. the light fall of the snow and the silence of the trees outside.

my peace is very quickly disturbed when i hear PTPOM 2.0 being blasted through the speaker and big fucking surprise my girlfriends screaming at the top of her lungs. she's one seat diagonal of me since i insisted on having my own seat, she can be a bit much at night.

"put that pussy on me." i hear her scream and my eyes whip to her before they're caught on amaris live, she tilted the camera towards me and i give her a guilty expression. paige sings a few more lyrics before she gives me a wicked smile and i groan looking back out the window.

i hear amari mumble something along the lines of "you're so gay." and that must have motivated paige to come annoy me.

i feel someone plop down in my seat next to me but i don't even bother, knowing it's paige.

"hi." she grins pulling the headphone off my ear to get my full attention. i slip them off and hang them around my neck leaning against the back of the seat.

"hi baby." i whispered brushing back her flyaways and holding my hands on her cheeks for a few seconds, silently asking her to please calm down. she still gives me her little giddy grin, and i can't help but smile back.

"you played good tonight." i soften my voice letting hands drop down to her lap holding onto her hands. my thumbs running over her skin.

"so, you gonna put that pussy on me or what?" i can see the look in her eyes, she's not kidding. i mean if i had a game like the one she just had i'd understand.

"i'm not the one who dropped 30 today, imma show you how proud i am." the amount of joy that goes through her face at my words is actually insane.

the second paige and i make our way into our hotel room, hand in hand giggling, we cuddle up in bed and turn on the tv. about 30 minutes later i look down to see paige spread across my chest just relaxing in the feeling of me. "thought you were gonna put that pussy on me." i whisper my lips tracing the outline of her ear. as much as paige liked having dominance over the situation, she fucking loved it when i got her right. i see paige pick her head up slowly as her tired hooded eyes meet my own, but there's a glint of something else in them.

"imma do whatever the fuck you want me to." her voice deep and raspy, i'd give anything to hear her voice all day everyday.

"good girl." i whisper my one hand tugging her chin up to me, causing our lips to meet. the first touch was soft, but it didn't take long for paige's mouth to slot open letting my tongue slide around, exploring every inch of her mouth i knew all to well. my other hand sliding up the back of her shirt leaving a tingling sensation wherever i touch. before i could move again paige had propped herself up practically pushing me down into the pillows as she pushed her mouth against mine in a kind of urgency neither of us had been prepared for.

everything else in the room quickly forgotten, all 5 of my senses quickly attuned towards paige.

"imma make it quick so we can get you to sleep okay superstar?" i mumble against her tired lips. her motions had gotten sloppy but not at all less motivated. my girl was grumpy when she didn't sleep. and we were not about to have a grumpy paige.

"how tired you feeling, you wanna lay back for me or you wanna sit up?" i whisper, a string of spit connecting our lips as we pull away, her breathing heavy.

"lay down." she whispers rolling off of me and laying flat on her back her chest rising and falling. i let a small smile cross my face as i push her shirt up and let it sit above her sports bra.

"you wanna take these off?" i whisper my lips ghosting her stomach, pressing soft kisses and licks across her toned abdomen as i position myself between her legs. she props herself up and i help her slip both items of clothing off, drawing my mouth back to her small perky breasts. my thumb runs gently across her neck in a soothing manner. she lets out soft sighs and i completely relax into the feeling of her.

"az." i hear her mumble and i move my mouth from her chest onto that spot behind her ear i know all too well.

"i gotchu baby, i gotchu." i knew i wasn't gonna tease her, or be a bitch tonight, tonight was about showing her just how proud of her i was. and she deserved just that. i slide my hands to her waistband and sit up as i slide both her pants and boxers off at the same time.

"you're so beautiful my love." i whisper pressing a soft kiss on her lower stomach. she shifted on the bed uncomfortably as i pushed her legs apart and settled in between them again. before she can even think i hook her feet above my shoulders and lick a long stripe up her heat. i feel her back arch off the bed as she sucks in a breath. her face contorting in pleasure. i could get off to just watching her. i feel her hands grip onto my hair pulling me into her before i can even get a breath out. i run my tongue gently across her clit, my movements soft but just the right amount for her, sucking gently at her skin.

"fuck, fuck baby, so good." paige starts to ramble off incoherent words and i continue my work, letting my tongue slip down into her entrance and brushing my nose to where my lips previously were. expertly knowing just what she needs. i feel her legs trembling over my shoulders and it gives me confidence. my hands pull her thighs impossibly closer, trying to get as far into her as i physically could.

the whole world is gone, the only thing going through my mind is the taste of the girl i love, the smell of her sweat, arousal, and cologne all mushed together, she feel of her legs around my head, the sight of her sweaty abs glistening in the light right in front of me, and the small sounds she was letting out at my movements. everything perfectly at ease. i feel her buck her hips against my tongue and i know it before she even says anything.

"az-" she tries to speak but is cut off by an even more beautiful moan slipping from her mouth as she pushes the back of her head into the pillow.

"look at me paige, look at me and let go." my voice deep and husky as i keep my mouth on her not letting up one bit. she's propped up on her elbows, my eyes soft as i watch her come undone. her hands tighten further in my hair as i feel her pool into my mouth, and i have no problem licking her clean. but when im done licking it up, i don't stop, keep going as i feel her clench around my tongue for the second time tonight. but then i feel her hands desperately pushing at my forehead.

"off, too much- can't." she breaths out and i do as she says moving only a centimeter away from her heat as i breathe into her.

"one more baby, i know you can." when i went down on her there was absolutely no stopping me and she knew it. she nodded her head with big eyes and threw her arm over her eyes as i got back to work. my tounge flicks a little rougher than last time as i realize just how close she is already. her legs tremble over my shoulders and all i can do is grab onto her thighs, my hands digging into her skin. i look up at her, eyes closed just taking in the moment and i slow my movements just a little, trying to remember exactly this moment, wanting to hold it with me forever. i see her back arch higher and i know she doesn't have much longer so i slip away from her and trail my hand up her chest and hold two fingers in front of her lips.

"open." i hum as she takes my fingers in her mouth swirling her tongue around and between them getting them all ready for her.

"good girl." i murmur as i slide my hand back down and circle my now wettened fingers over her clit. but i feel her twitch under me and replace my fingers with my lips, sucking hard. my fingers easily dip into her wetness and fall into a steady rhythm for only a few seconds before without a warning she's gushing all over my hand and my chin. i look up at her, she looks like she's screaming but there's no sound coming out. the hottest fucking scene i've ever looked at. she lets out a strangled moan as her body falls limp against the bed. i slip out of her and pull my lips away from her throbbing center.

"so good for me, you did so good baby. so proud." i smile coming up to flop down on the bed right beside her. she gives me a lazy smile before her eyes fall closed. after a few minutes when i know she's at least calmed down a little i turn to her my own breath finally evened out.

"you know, you still never put that pussy on me." i grin a wicked smile as my hand traced across her bare stomach and my eyes meet hers just as she opens them. she gives me a look almost pleading me to not continue. but knowing she has one more in her i give her my own look. a look of desperation.

"sit on my face p come on." hoping the dirtiness of the words would finally bring out the last bit of desire she had in her. and boy was i right because she sat up in no time. her eyes wide almost asking me if i was sure. it wasn't something we'd done before, i'd done it to her but not this way. and it was exactly what i wanted. i swing her leg over my head so she was hovering over me. i lick a stripe up her wetness gathering what i could on my tongue as i desperately try to pull her down onto me.

"az, careful baby, i don't wanna hurt you." her voice was raw and worn out, yes so sweet and gentile. everything about her made me smile.

"don't worry, i got you, just relax, sit down." i feel her slowly let all her weight fall onto me and i wasted absolutely no time, able to hit new spots with my tongue at this new angle.

"taste so fucking good." the vibrations of my voice caused her to tense up around my tongue and i felt her legs tremble already, only seconds in and she was overwhelmed.

"gonna- can't- azzi." she murmurs holding on to the headboard for the most part and i pull her hips to rock against me as she works herself through the third orgasm of the night. she turns around and flops back her cheeks flushed and her lips bright pink as i kiss them gently.

"no more, all done, sleep." she mumbles her eyes falling down already.

"did so good mama, all done, time for bed." i sit up and strip off every item of clothing i was wearing and wrap myself in her side, the skin to skin contact perfect.

"goodnight paige." i whisper against her neck, hearing the soft snores coming from her body.

[777bae]

THE MISSING PIECE WILL SMITH

Summary :: You and Will grew up together, sharing everything from street hockey games to late-night skates. But as the years passed, something shifted, and Will started looking for love in all the wrong places. It takes him years—and a few broken hearts—to realize that the one he’s been searching for was right there all along. (REQUESTED :: prompt 13)

Warnings :: angst with eventual comfort/fluff, unrequited love, childhood friends to lovers, two idiots in love

Word count :: 15.9k (i got very carried away lol)

The town you grew up in was small, the kind of place where nothing ever really changed. The streets were lined with old maple trees whose leaves turned the sidewalks gold in autumn, and whose branches stood bare and elegant against the sky in winter. The houses were familiar, most of them passed down through generations, and the people—even more so.

Everyone knew everyone. The local diner had the same waitresses taking the same orders year after year. The corner store was run by a man who still remembered what kind of candy you liked when you were seven. Summers smelled like fresh-cut grass and barbecue smoke, the air thick with the sound of cicadas and the occasional crack of a baseball bat from the little league field down the road. Autumns came with crisp air and the crunch of fallen leaves beneath your boots, the excitement of Halloween lingering in the air even after the candy was gone.

And then there was winter.

Winter belonged to the ice.

It started in December, when the temperature dropped low enough that the ponds froze solid and the snowbanks grew taller than you. The town came alive in a different way then—driveways filled with kids playing street hockey, backyard rinks lit up under the glow of porch lights, the sharp sound of skates carving across ice. It was cold, sometimes too cold, but it didn’t matter. Not when there was hockey. Not when there was him.

Will had lived next door to you since the day you were born. His house sat close enough that if you stood on your tiptoes at your bedroom window, you could just barely see into his. Between your houses was a stretch of grass that might as well have been neutral territory—claimed by both families, but really, it belonged to you and Will. It was where you played tag in the summers, lying in the grass afterward, staring up at the clouds and making up stories about the shapes they formed. It was where you built snow forts in the winter, perfecting your defense strategies for the inevitable snowball fights that followed.

Your mothers loved to tell the story of how, at three years old, you and Will had wandered into each other’s yards like you had already decided you belonged together. There was no awkward introduction, no hesitation—just a mutual understanding that from that day forward, you would be a pair.

It had been that way ever since.

If one of you was outside, the other one would be too. If Will was climbing a tree, you were right there beside him, scraping your knees and daring him to go higher. If you were building a snow fort, Will was already planning the perfect snowball attack, laughing as he ducked behind his defenses and waited for the perfect moment to strike.

When the two of you started school, it became obvious to everyone else what you had always known—you and Will were a package deal.

You sat next to each other in class, passing notes when the teacher wasn’t looking. You shared your lunch when Will forgot his, and he stole bites of your food even when he didn’t forget. You rode your bikes home together in the afternoons, tires skidding over the cracked pavement as you raced down the street, the wind tangling in your hair.

Everywhere you went, it was just expected that the other would be close behind.

And then, of course—there was hockey.

Hockey wasn’t something you played on a team. It wasn’t about winning, about rules or coaches or referees blowing whistles. Hockey was what you and Will did when the world outside your little town didn’t matter. It was the thing that belonged to just you two, carved into the hours spent on frozen ponds and backyard rinks.

The first time you put on a pair of skates, you were four.

Your parents had taken you and Will to the pond behind his house, where the ice stretched wide and smooth under the pale winter sun. You had been bundled up in layers so thick you could barely move, your mittens too big for your hands, your skates laced up loosely because your mom didn’t know how to tie them tight enough yet.

You still remembered the way your tiny fingers fumbled with the laces, how the cold nipped at your cheeks as you stood up, wobbling on unsteady legs.

“I don’t think I like this,” you said, your skates sliding against the ice. Your knees wobbled, and for a second, it felt like the ground wasn’t beneath you at all—just a slick, unforgiving surface that wanted to see you fall.

Will, standing just as shakily beside you, had turned his head, his missing front teeth making his grin even more lopsided than usual.

“We’ll get better,” he had said confidently, as if there were no other possibility.

And somehow, that was enough to keep you from giving up.

At first, skating meant clinging to the wooden fence in Will’s backyard rink, your tiny hands grasping the frozen wood as tightly as possible while you tried to move without slipping. It meant falling—a lot—until bruises formed on your knees and elbows, until your gloves were damp from the snow. But you never quit, and neither did Will.

And then, one day, you didn’t need to hold onto the fence anymore.

One day, you let go, and when you wobbled, Will reached out and grabbed your hand, steadying you.

“See?” he said, his face bright with excitement. “Told you we’d get better!”

It became a ritual after that. Every winter, the moment the temperature dropped low enough for the ice to freeze solid, you and Will would be out there, bundled up in too many layers, your skates laced up tight. You never played a real game—there were no teams, no rules, no official scores. It was just the two of you, racing each other across the ice, passing a puck back and forth, seeing who could do the best spin without falling over.

By the time you were six, the ice wasn’t something to be afraid of anymore—it was yours. It was familiar, a second home, a place where you and Will spent hours, long after your parents had called you in for dinner, until your fingers were too numb to lace up your skates properly.

And now that you weren’t afraid of falling, now that you had learned to move without stumbling, there was only one thing left to do—go faster.

The pond behind Will’s house was perfect for it. The ice stretched wide and smooth, framed by a ring of bare trees whose branches looked almost black against the winter sky. It was quiet, except for the occasional caw of a crow in the distance or the way the ice creaked beneath your blades.

Most of the time, you and Will would pass a puck back and forth, or you’d make up imaginary teams, calling out plays like the two of you were starring in the Stanley Cup Finals. But some days, like today, it was all about speed.

“I bet I can go faster than you,” Will said, his breath curling in the cold air, the tip of his nose red from the wind.

You scoffed, adjusting your mittens. “No way.”

Will grinned, flashing the gap where his front tooth had fallen out. “You’re scared.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing. “Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Fine!” you huffed. “Race me!”

His grin widened, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

The two of you skated to the edge of the pond, right where the ice met the frozen, snow-covered grass. It was an unspoken rule—this was the starting line.

“To the other side and back,” Will declared. “First one to touch the tree wins!”

You nodded, determination settling in your chest. The tree he was talking about stood at the far edge of the pond, a tall, leafless thing with thick, twisting branches. It had always been your marker—whether you were racing or pretending it was the goalpost in a make-believe game of hockey.

“Ready?” Will asked, crouching slightly, like he had seen real hockey players do.

You bent your knees, copying his stance. “Ready.”

“One… two… three—GO!”

The two of you took off, the ice hissing under your blades.

The cold air bit at your cheeks as you pushed forward, your legs pumping, each stride growing stronger. Will was just ahead of you, his dark coat billowing slightly as he leaned forward, using his arms for momentum.

But you were close.

You dug in, pushing harder, your skates cutting across the ice in smooth, precise strokes. The wind howled past your ears, the world around you blurring until it was just you and him and the race.

Will reached the tree a second before you did, his glove smacking the bark triumphantly before he turned sharply, already speeding back toward the starting point.

But you weren’t going to lose that easily.

Determination burned in your chest as you mirrored his turn, pressing your weight into your skates just like he did. You felt the ice shift beneath you, the sharp edge of your blade slicing cleanly through the surface. For a moment, you thought you might fall—your balance wobbled, the world tilting—but then you steadied, and suddenly you were flying.

Will glanced over his shoulder, his eyes going wide when he saw you gaining on him.

“Hey!” he shouted, laughing. “No fair!”

“Just ‘cause I’m faster than you!” you called back, breathless.

He let out an exaggerated groan, pushing harder, trying to reclaim the lead.

The finish line was only a few feet away now—the spot where you had started, just beyond the pond’s edge. You were side by side, your skates practically in sync, your mittens brushing once, twice, as you both reached out toward the invisible finish line.

And then—

Will slipped.

It happened in an instant—his skate caught on an uneven patch of ice, and before either of you could react, he was falling.

His arms flailed, his body twisting as he tumbled sideways, his momentum sending him skidding across the ice—right into you.

You barely had time to yelp before you went down too, your skates flying out from under you as you crashed onto the frozen surface, your breath whooshing out in a sharp gasp.

For a second, everything was silent. The ice beneath you was solid and cold, your limbs tangled with Will’s as you both tried to process what had just happened.

And then—laughter.

It started with Will, a breathy little chuckle as he lifted his head, his beanie lopsided, his face scrunched up in amusement. And then you couldn’t help it either—you started giggling, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as you lay there, staring up at the gray winter sky.

“You totally knocked me over!” you accused between laughs.

Will gasped, pressing a mittened hand to his chest. “I did not! You ran into me!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“You just couldn’t handle losing,” you teased, sitting up.

Will groaned dramatically, flopping back down on the ice. “I almost won,” he muttered.

“But you didn’t.” You grinned, nudging his arm.

He turned his head toward you, his blue eyes still shining with laughter. “Rematch tomorrow?”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin. “Hmm… maybe. If you think you can keep up this time.”

Will gasped again, more dramatic than before, and before you could react, he scooped up a handful of snow from the ice, tossing it at you. It hit your coat in a puff of white, and you shrieked, scrambling to retaliate.

Within seconds, the race was forgotten, replaced by an all-out snow fight.

And maybe you would have a rematch tomorrow.

Or maybe you would just end up laughing and tumbling over each other again, limbs tangled, faces flushed from the cold.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Because you would always be out here, together.

By the time you were eight, hockey had become an undeniable part of your rhythm, just as much a part of you as the air you breathed. Will had his hockey stick in his hands more often than not, carrying it around like an extension of himself, a trusty companion as familiar as the jacket on his back. And wherever he went, you were sure to follow—skates laced, stick in hand, trying your best to keep up with his ever-growing skills.

One afternoon, you were out on the ice behind Will’s house, the backyard rink gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The frost hung thick in the air, and your breath came out in puffs of steam, drifting upward as if it too was eager to get in on the action. The rink was a wonder—built just the way Will’s dad always did it, smooth and perfect, a sheet of glass that stretched across the yard. The perimeter was lined with snowbanks you’d created together, little mountains of white that were as much a part of the rink as the ice itself.

“Okay, ready?” Will asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, the excitement in his voice a telltale sign that this was one of those important training sessions.

You nodded, tightening your grip on the stick, the leather worn in your hands from all the years of practice.

“Okay,” he said, his tone turning serious. “You have to bend your knees more.”

You nodded, watching him carefully as he demonstrated. His knees bent low, his body leaning into the motion as he glided across the ice like a real hockey player. The speed with which he moved amazed you—how effortlessly he zipped from one end of the rink to the other. Will always seemed to have a natural gift for it, a fluidity that made you wish you could keep up.

“Like this,” he repeated, showing you again, his brow furrowing with concentration.

You bent your knees, mimicking his movements, but the truth was, it felt strange at first—like you weren’t fully in control of your body on the ice. But you weren’t one to give up easily. You pushed forward, trying to master the stance, to get the feel of it, to match his speed.

But just as you started to get into the rhythm, there was a sudden whoosh, and you blinked in surprise.

A snowball.

Will had swung his stick, flicking a perfect snowball off the blade. It hit your jacket with a soft thud, breaking apart on impact, but the message was clear.

“Hey!” you shrieked, laughing. “What was that for?”

Will shot you a mischievous grin, his eyes alight with challenge. “You look too serious. I thought I’d make it more fun!”

Before you could protest, he took off, his skates slicing across the ice as he raced away from you. The snowball fight was on.

You grabbed a handful of snow from the edge of the rink, packing it into your mittens, and gave chase, laughing so hard your sides ached. You dodged and weaved, trying to catch him as he weaved back and forth on the ice, always just out of your reach. His laughter echoed in the air, high-pitched and free, as he taunted you with mock shouts.

“You gotta be quicker than that!” he called over his shoulder.

“No way!” you shouted back, your voice a little winded, but you were determined.

Your skates slid in a fast arc as you closed the gap, finally launching your own snowball at him, the icy mass hitting him squarely on the back. Will let out a dramatic gasp and spun around, mock offense written all over his face.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

You grinned, knowing that the rules of this game didn’t matter much to either of you anyway.

Hockey wasn’t something you played for the glory of scoring goals, or the thrill of victory. It was never about winning for you and Will—it was about the joy of being together, on this patch of ice that was yours and his alone.

The years had a way of blending together, and yet every winter felt like it was the first one all over again. Every time the backyard rink was built, every time the plastic sheets were rolled out and water was sprayed over them, it was like the world was starting fresh. The ice would form overnight, as if by magic, and the moment it was ready, you and Will were out there, eager to skate, to challenge each other, to share this simple joy.

“First to five wins!” Will called, his voice slicing through the quiet, his stick tapping rhythmically against the ice.

Your heart gave a little jolt. The thrill of the game was in the chase, in the way Will’s grin spread wider every time he won—but not too wide, because he always made sure to give you another shot, to make sure you were never left behind.

It was just a game, sure. But it was your game. Yours and Will’s.

You dug in your skates, pushing off from the snowbank, racing across the rink toward the makeshift goal. You dodged him with a quick flick of your wrist, making a break for the other side of the ice. You could hear Will’s laughter behind you, could see him chasing after you in your peripheral vision, his stick slapping against the ice.

“I’m gonna win this time!” you shouted.

“No chance,” he teased, the competitive glint in his eyes showing that he meant it.

But in the end, just like every other time, even if you lost—he’d always find a way to make it a tie.

He would pause, panting, hands on his hips, looking at you with that goofy grin of his that made everything feel okay.

“We’ll call it a draw this time,” he’d say. “Because I’m feeling generous.”

You’d roll your eyes, grinning back. “You’re so full of it.”

But there was never any argument. There didn’t need to be. You were happy just to be out there, skating under the fading light of the winter sky, your breath rising in visible clouds, your body buzzing from the cold and the joy of the game. And for you, at least, the outcome didn’t matter as much as the moment you shared with him.

You had never been part of a real team, but it didn’t matter. This was your team—the two of you. And it was all you needed.

It was a secret world, one only you and Will knew. The rink, the cold, the game—it was yours. No one else’s. Just the two of you, racing, laughing, and skating together forever.

At ten, you knew that the bond between you and Will wasn’t just something casual or fleeting. It was something different. Something unspoken, yet undeniably there. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that—because in every small moment, it showed.

It wasn’t unusual for you and Will to exchange gifts. Simple things. Things that didn’t need to be wrapped or adorned with bows, because the meaning was always there, inherent in the gesture. But one winter afternoon, as the two of you stood out on the frozen backyard rink, Will handed you something different.

It was a small, round hockey puck. The edges had been worn down with use, its black surface slightly scratched from countless games. But it wasn’t the puck itself that made it special—it was what Will had done with it.

“You’re always losing your stuff,” he teased, his breath visible in the frigid air, his dark hair tousled from the wind. “So, I figured you’d need this.”

He grinned as he held out the puck, and you stared at it, puzzled for a moment. Then you saw it—the black marker scrawl on the surface. Your initials, hastily written but clear enough for you to read.

You felt a warmth spread through you as you took the puck from his hand, your fingers brushing his as you accepted it.

“Don’t lose it,” he said, his tone playful but with an underlying sincerity. “That’s your puck. Only yours.”

You nodded, holding it close, feeling a strange sense of pride. “I won’t,” you promised, your voice quieter than usual.

From that moment on, that puck became one of your most prized possessions. It wasn’t just a piece of equipment—it was a token, a symbol of the way Will saw you, the way he treated you. It was his way of telling you that you mattered to him, in a way that words couldn’t fully explain. You kept it in your nightstand for years, tucked away under a pile of old journals and scraps of paper. And every time you opened that drawer, you’d run your fingers over the puck, remembering that day, that moment, and the unspoken promise that came with it: You are important. You belong here.

Two years later, when you were twelve, Will handed you something else.

It was a friendship bracelet, woven together with blue and white threads. It wasn’t just any bracelet, though—it was the colors of his favorite hockey team, the Toronto Maple Leafs. Even at twelve, he had big dreams. He swore, without hesitation, that one day he’d play for them, that one day the Leafs would be his team.

“I made it for you,” Will said, his voice gruff but with a playful edge as he shoved the bracelet into your hand.

You stared at it, taken aback. Will had never been the type to give out handmade things, much less something so personal. But the moment you saw the familiar blue-and-white pattern, it made perfect sense. This was his way of telling you that even if you never played on the same team, even if you never made it to the ice in the same uniform, you were still a part of his world. He wanted you to have this, something that tied the two of you together. Something that bound you to his dreams.

“You sure you want me wearing this?” you asked with a grin, trying to mask the knot forming in your chest. “You know, it’s kind of like a team thing. Maybe I’ll jinx you or something.”

Will snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Please. If anyone’s gonna jinx me, it’s not you. Besides, it’s not like you’re gonna get rid of it. You know you’ll wear it every day.”

He was right, of course. The bracelet became a part of you, a constant presence on your wrist as you went about your daily life. Even when it started to fray around the edges, when the blue and white threads began to look worn and faded from constant wear, you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It was more than just a piece of thread—it was a reminder. A reminder of Will’s promise, his belief in his own future, and the way he had always included you in his dreams.

But not everyone understood that. Not everyone saw what Will saw, what you saw.

One day at school, when you were walking together down the hallway, a kid—one of those kids who always seemed to have something to say—decided to make a comment. He snickered, tossing his backpack over his shoulder as he walked past, his eyes flicking between you and Will.

“Why don’t you play on a real team?” he sneered, his voice loud enough for others to hear. “You don’t even play. Just hanging out with him like it’s some game.”

For a moment, you froze, your gut twisting. You had never been the type to stand out, to let people make you feel small. But this—this stung in a way you hadn’t expected. The kid’s words felt like an attack, like a judgment on the way you and Will had always spent time together. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before. Sure, you didn’t play for a real team. But that didn’t matter. Hockey wasn’t just a sport to you. It was your thing. Yours and Will’s.

You tried to brush it off, pulling your shoulders back and pretending the words didn’t hit their mark. But Will didn’t let it slide.

You saw the way his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face the kid. There was a fire in his gaze that sent a small chill down your spine, but it wasn’t a bad kind of chill—it was the kind that made you feel like nothing could touch you when Will was around.

“She doesn’t have to play on a real team,” Will said, his voice low and steady. His tone was cold, but there was a warmth there too—a fierce, protective edge. “She’s still better than you. And she’s out here, playing with me, every day. So what does that make you?”

The kid blinked, taken aback, his sneer faltering as Will’s words sank in. He didn’t say anything else, just muttered something under his breath before walking off.

But you didn’t care about the kid anymore. You cared about Will.

You could feel your heart swell in your chest as you met his eyes. The loyalty in him was so strong, so unwavering, that it was impossible to ignore. And you couldn’t help the way it made you feel—like you belonged to him, and he to you.

Even when you argued, even when you drove each other crazy, there was never any doubt about it.

You were his. And he was yours.

It was more than just friendship. It was something deeper, something that didn’t need words to be understood. It was a connection that didn’t have a name, not really—but it didn’t need one. You had always been there for each other, and you always would be. No matter what.

Because that was just the way it had always been.

And, somehow, it always would be.

By the time you were fifteen, the changes in Will weren’t just noticeable—they were impossible to ignore. At first, you couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started. The shift in him was so gradual, so subtle, that you might have convinced yourself it was always there. But one day, it hit you—everything about Will was different.

You tried to hold onto the old version of him, the one who was still your best friend, the one who had grown up beside you. He was still the boy who biked to your house every morning, the one who never missed a birthday or a summer adventure. Will was still the same guy who had spent hours building snow forts with you, who had stayed up late telling ghost stories around a campfire, the boy who once stole the last slice of pizza only to end up stealing your heart in a way you never fully realized.

But that boy—your boy—was slipping away, bit by bit, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t.

Will was changing, and you couldn’t stop watching it happen.

The most obvious change, of course, was in the way he looked. You couldn’t deny that Will had grown taller over the summer. One minute, you were teasing him for being shorter than you, and the next, he was towering over you, with a frame that was leaner, more athletic, as though he had filled out with strength and purpose. You had always known he was athletic—had known that one day he might play for a real team—but seeing it all come together in a way that made him look more like a man than the boy you had always known was startling. The softness of his face had begun to harden, his cheeks no longer round but sharp, his jawline taking shape. There was something undeniably handsome about him now, but the thought of it made something in your chest tighten.

And then there were his eyes. Those gorgeous, familiar eyes—eyes that had always been the easiest to read, eyes that once reflected the way he felt about you without question. But now? Now they seemed to linger longer than they should, following you with an intensity that made you feel exposed, like he could see every unspoken thought in your head. There was a depth to them now, something in his gaze that made your stomach flip, something that made it impossible to pretend like everything between you was the same.

It wasn’t just his appearance that was changing. Will had become more aware of the way people—girls, especially—were starting to look at him. You couldn’t help but notice the way they noticed him. At first, it was subtle. Just a glance here and there when he walked through the hallways at school, a soft giggle when he said something funny in class. But it didn’t take long for it to grow more obvious. At lunch, girls would sneak glances at him from across the room. You’d catch them whispering, eyes darting away quickly when they realized you had seen.

It was almost like a domino effect. One girl would mention something, and before you knew it, the whole school was talking about him. “Did you see Will in gym today?” one girl would whisper. “I heard he’s totally into Sarah.” You’d hear the same thing in passing, when you tried to get to class, when you went to your locker—everywhere you went, you’d hear his name, spoken with a level of admiration that you couldn’t ignore. Will was becoming something more than just the guy who lived down the street, more than just the boy you spent your entire childhood with.

And then it happened—something so small, so subtle, that you almost missed it, but it cut deeper than anything you could have imagined.

You were standing in the hallway between classes, chatting with a few friends, when you saw him. Will was standing by his locker, leaning against it with his usual relaxed posture. His back was slightly turned, but you saw her. A girl you didn’t recognize—one of the newer students who had transferred that year—was standing a little too close to him. She was laughing, and Will, who usually didn’t entertain the girls who tried to flirt with him, was actually laughing back. And then, just like that, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, lingering a little longer than necessary, her fingers grazing the side of his cheek.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

Your stomach twisted, a tight knot of jealousy building in the pit of your stomach. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal—he was still your Will, your best friend. He was just being nice, just joking around, right? But the feeling that spiraled inside you told a different story. The way his smile was a little too soft, the way his gaze lingered on her just a little too long, made something inside you sting.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if girls liked him now. He was still your Will. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t true. Something was changing, and it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he acted, the way he seemed to be pulling away from you without even realizing it.

The girls weren’t the only thing that had changed, though. Will had started noticing them. You could tell by the way he carried himself now, more confident, more aware of his effect on people. He no longer had to sit on the edge of your bed after a fight with his mom, making you laugh to lift your mood. He no longer called you at midnight just to talk, just to pass the time, just to hear your voice. He was always busy with something else—another game, another practice, another girl. It wasn’t that he was pushing you away—it was just that you were starting to realize, slowly but surely, that he wasn’t just your best friend anymore.

You tried to hang onto the old versions of things, the versions where Will would drag you out to the rink on those cold winter nights, and the two of you would skate until the stars above the icy lake disappeared, and the sky was light with the first hints of dawn. You tried to hold on to the memories of the two of you sitting on the porch steps, swapping stories of your days, or sneaking into the kitchen to raid his fridge while pretending his mom wouldn’t catch you.

But Will was slipping through your fingers, and you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop him from becoming someone new, someone who didn’t need you in the same way anymore. The more he changed, the more you realized that you were the one who was holding on.

And the worst part? You had no idea what to do with that feeling.

One Friday night, after a huge game, the house was alive with energy. The party had spilled out onto the porch, with laughter and music vibrating through the walls, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and fast food. Red solo cups were scattered across every surface, along with half-empty bottles and a haze of smoke that hung in the corners. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the deafening music, the bass thumping in time with the pounding of your heart as you stepped through the door.

It was one of those nights—the kind that only came around once a season. The big end-of-year party, where everyone, no matter what their social status, came to celebrate the victory or drown their sorrows after a tough loss. It didn’t matter who you were or what clique you belonged to. This was the night where everyone came together, and no one really noticed if you didn’t belong anywhere at all.

You found yourself standing in the corner of the living room, a cup of something far too sweet and syrupy in your hand, surrounded by the noise and the chaos. Your friends were laughing nearby, chatting about whatever drama was going on at school, but your mind wasn’t really with them. It was lost somewhere in the sea of voices and flashing lights, and more than anything, it was focused on him.

Will.

Of course, he was everywhere. It was his night. The hockey team had just won their final game, and it was like the whole town was celebrating with them. He was surrounded by a group of guys, all laughing and joking, their voices loud and boisterous. Will’s laughter rose above the others, that familiar sound that you’d always associated with home—like the sound of snow crunching underfoot on a cold winter morning, or the taste of something warm when the world outside was frozen.

But tonight, something was different. You couldn’t explain it at first, couldn’t figure out why your stomach felt twisted in knots every time you saw him, but you couldn’t shake it.

And then, in a flash, you saw it.

You had been talking to a friend near the punch bowl, trying to ignore the heavy, suffocating weight of your own thoughts. You didn’t want to be one of those people who stood off to the side, avoiding the fun, but that was exactly how you felt. Every laugh, every joke, every passing glance seemed to make the weight in your chest grow heavier.

And then you saw him.

Will was standing in the middle of the room, talking to a girl. You didn’t know her name, but she was pretty, with hair that cascaded down her back in soft waves and a smile that seemed to light up the room. She was laughing at something he’d said, and before you could even process it, he leaned in, his hand brushing the side of her arm. In one smooth motion, they were kissing.

It wasn’t a long kiss. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t like something out of a movie. It was a brief, casual thing—just a quick, light peck on the lips after some teasing comment that had them both laughing. But in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped. The music, the chatter, the whole party—it all faded away.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your breath caught in your throat.

Everything inside you froze.

You didn’t even realize you were staring until you felt the heat rise to your neck, and then your face, like your whole body was suddenly on fire. You tried to turn away, tried to look anywhere else, but your eyes kept drifting back to them. Will, his lips still curved in that easy smile, his arm casually draped around her shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The girl’s hand was resting on his chest, and it looked so effortless, so right, that it made your stomach lurch.

You didn’t know why it felt like you’d been punched in the chest, but it did. Your fingers tightened around your cup, the cold plastic biting into your hand as you tried to ground yourself, to make yourself breathe. It wasn’t anything big. It wasn’t even a kiss that meant anything—at least, that’s what you told yourself. It was just Will, being Will, doing what he always did.

But it wasn’t just the kiss.

It was what it represented. The subtle, inevitable truth that had been hanging in the back of your mind for months, but that you had been too afraid to face.

Will wasn’t just your Will anymore. He wasn’t the boy you had spent every winter skating on backyard rinks with. He wasn’t the one you’d stayed up with late into the night, making up stories and sneaking out for midnight snacks. He wasn’t the same guy who used to laugh at your dumb jokes and crash on your couch after a long day. That part of him, the part that had always belonged to you and only you, was slipping away, slowly but surely.

And now, you were just… there. A shadow in the background, standing on the sidelines, as the boy you had always loved started looking elsewhere.

You swallowed hard, trying to push the bitter taste that had suddenly filled your mouth. But it didn’t go away. The jealousy you had felt in passing—when girls would whisper about him or throw flirtatious glances his way—had been nothing compared to this. Watching him kiss someone else, even so briefly, felt like a gut punch.

You weren’t ready for it. You weren’t ready for the truth that your place in his life was changing, that the way he saw you wasn’t the same anymore. That you might not be the one he would choose.

Still, you tried to act like it didn’t matter. After all, you and Will had been through so much together—years of memories that no girl could take away, no kiss could undo. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t change anything, that this was just one fleeting moment, something trivial.

But as the night stretched on, you couldn’t shake it. Will spent the rest of the evening surrounded by his friends, laughing louder, joking with the girls who fawned over him, bouncing from one corner of the house to another like he belonged in every space. It was like he was at the center of it all, while you stood off to the side, nursing your drink, trying to pretend you didn’t feel like your whole world was quietly unraveling around you.

The music blared on, the conversation never slowed, but you were alone in the crowd.

You didn’t know how to feel. You didn’t know what to do with all the emotions that had suddenly bubbled to the surface.

But you knew one thing.

You weren’t ready to let him go. Not yet.

But nothing had truly changed.

Will still came over after his games, sweaty and exhausted, his jersey clinging to his chest as he collapsed onto the couch. He still stole the remote from you and made you watch whatever ridiculous action movie he was obsessed with at the time, even if you hated it.

You still went on those late-night skates, just the two of you. You’d meet in the dead of night, when everyone else was asleep, and lace up your skates in the cold darkness. The world felt empty and small, the only light coming from the streetlamps casting long shadows across the frozen rink in his backyard. As you skated circles around each other, the air sharp against your skin, the sound of your blades cutting into the ice was the only thing that filled the silence. And in those moments, when it was just the two of you, it was easy to forget that anything had changed at all.

But you couldn’t ignore the quiet shift. The growing distance that had started to bloom between the two of you. Maybe it was in the way he’d look at his phone more often now, scrolling through texts from his teammates, or how the quiet nights you used to spend together were now filled with more people. Maybe it was the way his laugh seemed to carry a little further when he was around his friends—friends who didn’t know you the way he did. The way he’d sometimes get that far-off look in his eyes, like he was thinking about someone—or something—that wasn’t you.

And then there was the truck.

It was one of those quiet, rare moments when Will and you found yourself alone. You’d been driving around the small town after a game, just the two of you in his dad’s truck (one that you had snuck out into), the soft hum of the engine the only sound as the night stretched out before you. The trees lining the roads were bare, their limbs stretching toward the sky like skeletal hands, and the air smelled crisp, clean, piney—a scent you would always associate with him, even when you were older.

You’d reached the lake by the edge of town, the usual place where you’d stop to talk about whatever came to your minds. Will parked the truck at your favorite spot, where the water stretched out in front of you, calm and dark under the blanket of the stars.

He killed the engine, and the silence between you two felt heavier than usual. You didn’t know why, but for some reason, tonight, everything felt more like a question than an answer.

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” you asked, your voice quiet, almost swallowed by the night.

Will turned to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly, as though he hadn’t even considered it before. It wasn’t the usual playful grin he wore—it was something else. Something thoughtful. He paused for a moment, letting the question hang in the air like smoke, before finally nodding, his voice steady.

“Like what?”

“You know… us.”

It wasn’t a question you’d ever thought to ask before, not in those exact words. But now that it was out there, you couldn’t stop wondering. You couldn’t stop questioning whether this thing between you two—this unspoken, unsaid bond—would still exist in a few years. Would it always be us? Or would you end up like everyone else in town—watching from the sidelines, as Will moved on to something bigger, something different?

His gaze softened, and for the briefest moment, the world seemed to slow. He looked at you like he was weighing something, like he was searching for the right words, but then he just shook his head, as if the answer had been right there all along.

“Yeah,” he said with a half-smile, almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than you. “You and me, right?”

And for just a moment, just long enough for you to let your heart settle in your chest, you let yourself believe it. That it would always be you and Will, like it had always been. That no matter how much things changed around you, some things—some people—never would.

But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if the way you felt about him was changing too, and if maybe—just maybe—things would never be quite the same again.

At seventeen, everything had shifted again, and you could feel it in the way things no longer felt as simple or effortless as they once did. Will had a girlfriend now, and that fact alone made the air around you seem thicker, heavier. It was hard to ignore, impossible to pretend it didn’t matter, even though you told yourself a thousand times it shouldn’t bother you. But it did. It really, truly did.

Her name was Emma, and she was everything you weren’t. She was exactly the kind of girl who seemed to fit seamlessly into Will’s life, like the final puzzle piece clicking into place. She was the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in a hockey locker room as easily as she belonged at a school dance. Emma had that effortless charm, that natural grace that you could never quite pull off. She could wear one of Will’s hockey hoodies—too big for her frame—with such ease that it almost looked like it was made for her, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders in soft, tousled waves that framed her face like she belonged in some magazine spread. She wasn’t just in his world—she was the kind of girl who blended into it, who fit so well that it was like she had been handpicked for him. And, in a way, you started to wonder if that was true.

You had never been the girl in the hoodie. You’d never been the one waving at Will from the bleachers with your eyes glowing, cheering him on like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were the girl who stood in the background, the one who shared quiet moments with him in the shadows, away from the spotlight. And the more you saw Emma standing beside him, smiling at him with a kind of ease you could never replicate, the more you realized that she was everything you weren’t and, maybe, everything Will wanted.

At first, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. After all, you had always known Will liked girls—he had kissed a few at parties, flirted with others at school—but it wasn’t like it ever interfered with your bond. You were still you and Will, right? You were the ones who had spent hours on the rink together, the ones who had been inseparable for years. Nothing had ever been able to shake that, right?

But now, things were different. And as much as you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that it was just a phase, that Emma was just another girl in the long string of faces Will had been with, you couldn’t help but feel the growing distance between you.

Will started pulling away, bit by bit. It wasn’t obvious at first—just small things that were easy to ignore. It was the way his texts became less frequent, how the responses you used to get immediately now took longer. At first, you told yourself he was just busy—he was juggling games and school, his life becoming more complicated. You didn’t want to be the person who complained about something so trivial. But then there was the subtle shift when he didn’t come over as often, didn’t just drop by after practice to grab a drink or hang out on the couch like he always had. Those small moments—the ones you thought were unbreakable—started to fade, as if someone had quietly drawn a line between you, a line that you didn’t even notice until it had already split the space between you.

It wasn’t just the way he started showing up less, though. It was in the way he acted when he was there. He seemed distracted, less present, like a part of him was always somewhere else. He didn’t drag you out for late-night skates anymore, those quiet moments where it was just the two of you, skating until your legs felt like they’d give out, laughing at nothing and everything. You missed those times so much that the thought of it almost made your chest hurt. The easy conversations you used to have seemed to disappear with the last snowstorm, leaving nothing but awkward silences in their wake. When he came over, it was like you were strangers sharing the same space, both too scared to acknowledge how much things had changed.

But it wasn’t just Will pulling away. You were changing, too.

There were moments when you felt like you didn’t know how to be you around him anymore. You could see how effortlessly he blended into Emma’s world, how at ease they were together, and it made you question everything. You used to be his everything—the girl who knew every little thing about him, the one who understood his every gesture, every laugh. But now? Now, you felt like an outsider in your own friendship, as though you were watching someone else take your place. You didn’t know how to fix it, how to bridge the growing gap between the two of you, and you didn’t even know if it was possible to. There was a part of you that wondered if you should just walk away, stop pretending like things were the same, stop holding onto something that had already slipped through your fingers.

But you couldn’t let go—not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words you were too afraid to even whisper. You were scared of what that would mean. Would it mean losing him for good? Would it mean he would never be the Will you used to know?

You didn’t have the answers. All you had was the growing weight in your chest every time you saw him laugh with Emma, every time you saw them together, and the aching feeling that no matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, nothing would ever be the same again.

One cold evening after a game, you found yourself outside the rink, waiting for him like you had so many times before. The air was crisp, biting, the kind of cold that made your breath visible in the darkness. There was a sharpness to it, the smell of frozen earth and icy metal mixing with the faintest trace of sweat from the locker rooms still lingering in the air. The rink was quiet now, the roar of the crowd from the game fading into the background as you stood alone, arms crossed over your chest for warmth. The tip of your nose was red from the chill, your breath clouding in the air as you watched the other players pack up and head to their cars, the scrape of skate blades against concrete echoing in the distance.

Everything felt still and frozen in time, yet somehow, everything around you seemed to move in fast forward. You could hear the murmur of voices in the parking lot, the sound of keys clinking, the doors of cars slamming shut. But you were focused only on him—on Will.

There he was, standing by his truck, talking quietly with Emma. You didn’t have to look closely to see how comfortable they were together. She was standing close to him, laughing softly at something he’d said, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belonged there, as if she had always been there. Will was smiling at her in that way you hadn’t seen him smile at you in months, his eyes crinkling in a way that made you feel suddenly out of place. She was with him in a way you never could be—no awkwardness, no history, no years of friendship between you to complicate things. She fit in his world, while you felt more like a stranger trying to fit into something that no longer made sense.

Your stomach twisted painfully as you stood there watching them. It was like everything you had been denying for so long came rushing to the surface—the way Emma had slipped so easily into his life, the way he looked at her in a way he had stopped looking at you. You could feel a lump forming in your throat, a tightness in your chest, but you didn’t move. You just stood there, frozen, watching as they shared a quiet moment that seemed to last forever, the world moving faster around you, but you stood still in place.

Finally, Will turned his head and saw you standing there, still and quiet in the growing dark. He frowned, the familiar crease between his brows appearing like it always did when he sensed something was wrong. You hadn’t said anything yet. You hadn’t let the frustration, the confusion, the hurt that had been building inside you spill out. But you didn’t need to say anything. He already knew. He always did.

“You’re avoiding me,” you said, your voice sharper than you meant it to be, carrying in the quiet night air.

Will blinked, taken aback by your directness. He ran a hand through his damp hair, clearly caught off guard. “What? No, I’m not,” he said, his voice confused, like he couldn’t understand where this was coming from.

“You missed our skate this morning,” you pointed out, each word slipping from your mouth with more force than you intended. Your arms tightened around yourself in an effort to hold back the wave of frustration that threatened to crash over you. It wasn’t just about the skate. It was everything—the way things had changed so slowly that you barely noticed until it was already too late.

Will’s eyes flickered over to Emma, who was talking to someone else now, probably one of her friends from the team. Then his gaze shifted back to you. “I had plans,” he said, his tone distant, almost dismissive, like it was no big deal.

“Right,” you muttered, your voice bitter. The words tasted sour in your mouth as you forced them out. “Emma,” you added, making it clear, like it should explain everything.

You watched Will’s jaw tense at the mention of her name. His eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time in the conversation, you saw a flash of irritation cross his face. It wasn’t like the easy, carefree Will you had known all your life. No, this was someone different, someone who was starting to push back. His voice came out low, defensive, “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” You couldn’t hold it back anymore. The words escaped before you could stop them, slipping out of your mouth in an angry, almost disbelieving laugh. “You’ve changed, Will.”

His eyes widened, as if he hadn’t heard you right. He looked at you like you were speaking a language he didn’t understand, his gaze flickering from your face to the truck, then back to you, like he was trying to piece together what you meant. For a moment, his expression softened, the defensiveness replaced by something else—guilt, maybe, or confusion. But it didn’t last long. He let out a sharp breath, his hand running through his hair again, the familiar tension returning to his body.

“I didn’t change,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

There it was—the wall. You felt it hit you, the invisible barrier that had been slowly growing between you both for months. You wanted him to understand, wanted him to see what was happening, but it was clear that he didn’t get it. Or worse, maybe he didn’t want to. The idea that he didn’t even notice the distance between you, the way he had stopped being there for you the way he used to, made the knot in your chest tighten.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t hold his gaze as the words spilled out of you. “I’ve been here the whole time, Will. And you’re slipping away from me. You’re slipping away, and I can’t stop it.”

There was a long pause, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. Will didn’t say anything at first. His eyes dropped to the ground, like he was processing what you’d said. You wanted him to say something—anything. You wanted him to reach out, to tell you it wasn’t true, to fix everything with a few words, but instead, there was just silence. The cold air wrapped around you like a physical weight, and you could feel the finality of it—the way the space between you had stretched too far to ever go back.

He exhaled sharply, glancing away, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon like he was done with the conversation. Done with you.

You wanted to scream at him, to tell him everything that had been building inside of you for months—the way it hurt to see him with someone else, the way it felt like he was slipping through your fingers, the way your heart ached with every moment he wasn’t there for you. But you didn’t. You stood there in the cold, a lump in your throat, fighting back tears, fighting to keep your composure.

After what felt like an eternity, Will finally shrugged, his posture stiff as he gave you a tight, almost apologetic smile. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t enough.

“I’m not changing. You’re overthinking this,” he said, like the whole thing could be solved with a few words. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t just overthinking. It was the reality of everything that had been slipping through your fingers, and the sharp ache in your chest that made it impossible to ignore.

You swallowed, trying to force down the lump in your throat. He didn’t understand. Maybe he couldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to.

You nodded, your lips pressed tightly together, keeping everything you felt locked inside. There was nothing left to say.

And with that, you turned and walked away, the sound of your boots crunching in the snow the only thing you could hear, the emptiness in your chest growing with every step.

The months that followed were a blur of fleeting faces and empty promises. Emma, Sophie, Maddie—each name slipping into Will’s life like they had always belonged there, only to leave again, as if they had never truly mattered. It was a constant cycle of faces and names that you barely had time to learn before they were replaced by someone new. And yet, somehow, Will threw himself into each relationship like it was the answer to all the questions you had left unspoken between the two of you. He smiled, he laughed, and in those moments, he looked like he was truly happy. But you could see through it. You could always see through it. The cracks were there, if you looked closely enough. The way his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, the way his laugh sometimes sounded hollow, like he was trying to convince himself of something that wasn’t true. You could see that he was still searching for something, but it wasn’t in the girls who came and went.

He never let anyone in the way he had let you in. There was something between you—something deep, something real—that no one could replicate. It had been easy, once, to believe that no one could ever take your place. That your bond was unbreakable. But now, with each new girl, with each fleeting relationship, it was becoming clearer: You were being replaced, whether you liked it or not. And still, no matter how many times he started over with someone new, he never looked at you—not the way you wanted him to.

It was like living in a perpetual loop of half-answers and unasked questions. The same faces, the same routines, the same emptiness. It wore you down. At first, it had been a sharp sting, a pain that you couldn’t ignore. Every time you saw him holding someone else’s hand, every time he laughed with someone new, it felt like a part of you was being carved away. But eventually, that pain dulled, bit by bit. It became less sharp and more like a dull throb that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter. That you were fine, that you were okay with him moving on, with him finding someone else, because that was what you were supposed to do. You were supposed to be happy for him. After all, he was your best friend, and you were supposed to want him to be happy.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You weren’t just his best friend anymore. And as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, the truth was undeniable: you wanted more. You wanted him to look at you like he used to, to see you like he had when everything had been simple and uncomplicated. But he didn’t. Not anymore. And the worst part was that, deep down, you could see the way your place in his life was slipping further and further away. You were fading into the background, becoming something that he once cared about but no longer had time for. A footnote in a story that was no longer yours to tell. And you didn’t know how to rewrite it. You didn’t know how to fight for something that was already slipping through your fingers.

The late-night skates—the ones that used to feel like a tradition, like something just for the two of you—were now few and far between. The easy banter that used to flow so effortlessly between you both had been replaced by uncomfortable silences, the kind that lingered long after the conversation had ended. The secrets shared in the dark, whispered between the two of you in the quiet hours of the night, had turned into distant memories, fading with each passing season, each new girl who came and went. Those moments, once so vibrant and real, now felt like fragments of a dream—a dream that you couldn’t quite hold onto, no matter how hard you tried.

And still, somehow, there was something in the air between you and him that kept you tethered to him, even though you knew it was all slipping away. It was as if an invisible thread still connected you, pulling you back in every time you tried to move on. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was the faint, stubborn belief that everything could return to the way it had been. Or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of something that had always been yours, something that had been a constant in your life for so long. You tried. God, how you tried to let go. You tried to move on, to stop caring, to tell yourself that you could be happy without him in your life the way he had been. You forced yourself to let go of the idea that he would ever look at you the way you wanted him to. You buried the feelings deep, locked them away, and told yourself that you could live without them.

But it was like you were living in a dream—a dream where you weren’t supposed to have a happy ending. You were stuck in a story that didn’t make sense anymore, one where you could see the ending coming but didn’t know how to stop it, where you couldn’t bring yourself to wake up. And so you kept going through the motions, pretending that everything was fine, pretending that you were okay with the way things were, even though your heart was breaking with every girl he brought into his life. Even though you were silently watching yourself become a shadow in the background of his world.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to stop caring. You didn’t know how to stop waiting for him to see you, to realize that you had always been right there. That you could have been everything he was searching for. But he never did. And that was what hurt the most. It wasn’t that he had moved on, it wasn’t that he had found someone else—it was that you weren’t even in the running anymore. You were a part of his past, something that had been left behind, and you didn’t know how to be anything else.

And yet, the thread that tied you to him still pulled you in. Every time you saw him with someone else, every time you caught a glimpse of the way he smiled with another girl, it was like a dagger to your chest. But you couldn’t let go. Not yet. Even though you knew, deep down, that the longer you held on, the more it would hurt. The more you would fade into the background, lost in the shadow of a love he would never return.

The cycle continued, and you couldn’t find a way out.

Then, one night, after yet another one of his breakups, the weight of it all settled on you like a storm cloud you couldn’t outrun. You had grown so accustomed to this routine—the girls, the breakups, the emptiness—but tonight, it felt different. Tonight, you could feel the ache in your chest, the heaviness of it, the reality of everything you had been avoiding for so long. Will wasn’t just distant anymore. He was somewhere else entirely.

It was well past midnight when you found yourself sitting beside him again, just the two of you in his truck. The night was colder than usual, the chill seeping in through the cracked windows, sending a shiver down your spine. The world outside was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the distant flicker of a diner sign, casting an eerie glow over the empty streets. The hum of the truck’s engine was the only sound, a steady, rhythmic thrum that seemed to match the pulse of your own heart. Time slowed down in those moments, but everything around you remained still, frozen in a space that felt both too familiar and impossibly foreign.

You had sat in silence for what felt like hours, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on you. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had been holding back, but for once, you didn’t know how to begin. The easy silence that had once defined your time together was gone. Tonight, there was nothing easy about it. There was only the quiet hum of the truck and the thick, suffocating space between you.

It was you who broke the silence, your voice soft and hesitant in the cold, empty air. “You ever think maybe you’re looking in the wrong places?”

The words left your mouth before you had time to fully understand what you were saying. You hadn’t even planned on asking him that—maybe it was just the frustration of watching him chase something he could never find in anyone else. Or maybe it was just your heart, speaking the words you’d been keeping buried for so long. But even as the words left your lips, you knew they were about more than just his failed relationships. You were asking him about you, about the space that had grown between you, about all the things neither of you had dared to say.

Will didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the windshield, his fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel. He was somewhere far away, his mind tangled in something you couldn’t reach. You could feel the distance between you growing, an invisible barrier that neither of you seemed capable of crossing. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he murmured, “Maybe.”

The word hung in the air, brief and unconvincing. It wasn’t the answer you had hoped for, but you weren’t sure why you had expected anything different. Will had always been distant in his own way, closed off even when he didn’t mean to be. He had always kept a part of himself hidden, like a secret he was too afraid to share. But tonight, something felt different. Tonight, there was a tension in the air, something heavy that had been building for years and was now finally coming to a head.

You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. You had been avoiding the question for so long, but tonight, you couldn’t stop yourself anymore. “What are you looking for?” you asked, your voice small, almost trembling.

The silence stretched again, longer this time, as if Will was still searching for an answer he didn’t know how to give. He let out a sigh, glancing briefly at you before turning his attention back to the dark road ahead. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, the words almost swallowed by the hum of the engine. “Something that feels like… home.”

Home.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. It was simple, yet so layered with meaning. Home was everything you had once been together—the late-night skates, the shared secrets, the quiet companionship. It was a place of safety, of belonging. And now, hearing him say it, you knew he wasn’t talking about you. You weren’t his home anymore, not in the way you had been. He was searching for something he thought he could find elsewhere.

And yet, even as the weight of that realization settled in, a small part of you couldn’t let go. “Maybe you already found it,” you whispered, the words coming out softer than you intended, as if saying them out loud would make them too real. You didn’t even realize how much of yourself was wrapped up in those words—how much of you had always been his home. How much you had always wanted to be.

Will’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His gaze flickered to you, his expression unreadable, but then his eyes drifted back to the road. His lips pressed together in a tight line, as if he were holding back something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“Maybe I have,” he said finally, his voice low, almost reluctant. And in those three words, everything that had been left unsaid between the two of you hung heavy in the air. He knew. You knew. But neither of you were brave enough to say it.

It was there, in the silence that followed. The thing you had both been avoiding for so long—the thing that had stood between you, unspoken, for years. He had already found it. And it was you. But the moment slipped away, unacknowledged. The thread that had once tied you together remained, but the words were never spoken. The space between you remained, just as it had always been. And you weren’t brave enough to make him say it.

The silence in the truck grew thick, suffocating, as the unspoken things hovered around you like a heavy fog. You had both let too much go unsaid, let too many years slip by in the noise and distractions of everything else. You were both stuck, paralyzed by the fear of what saying it might mean, of what the truth would do to the fragile connection you still shared.

For a moment, it felt like you couldn’t breathe, like the words were caught in your chest, too big and too painful to release. You had spent so many years hoping, wishing for him to see you, to choose you, and now, in this moment, you realized something: you weren’t the one he was looking for anymore.

The cold crept in, curling around you both as the night stretched on, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say another word. Neither of you did.

And in that silence, you finally understood. He wasn’t ready to face it. He wasn’t ready to see what was right in front of him, what you had always been. And you weren’t brave enough to make him.

So, you sat there, together but apart, both too afraid to take that final step toward something that might break everything you thought you knew. And all that was left in the stillness was the hum of the engine and the weight of everything left unsaid.

The cold air cut through you as you glided across the ice, the chill a sharp contrast to the warmth you had carried with you all day. You leaned into the rhythm of it—the scrape of your skates against the smooth, solid surface, the almost hypnotic glide of the blades. The pond in the back yard had always been your place, the one you’d come to when you needed to escape, when the world felt too loud or too heavy. Here, it had always been just you, the ice, and the cool stillness of the night. It was the only time you could breathe, the only time the chaos of life faded into the background, replaced by the quiet hum of your own thoughts and the freedom that skating had always given you.

The ice was perfect tonight. Smooth and crisp, a perfect reflection of the moon overhead. You hadn’t been back here in weeks, months even. Life had moved on, pulling you in different directions—other responsibilities, other distractions. But tonight, as the chill of the air sank deep into your bones, it was as if something had drawn you back. It was the pull of memories—memories that always seemed to be tied to this place, to the pond, to him.

Your breath came in puffs, mingling with the air, rising in the cold night, before disappearing into the vast expanse above you. The world around you was quiet, as if even the trees along the edge of the pond had stopped moving. The sky stretched out above you, dark and expansive, with just a thin sliver of a moon casting pale silver light over everything. It was beautiful in its stillness. The ice was dark underfoot, marked only by the faintest streaks of light, guiding you along its endless surface. For a brief moment, you felt like time had slowed, like everything was suspended in the silence of the night. And in this frozen moment, you allowed yourself to just be—just to skate, to feel the wind rushing against your face, to forget everything else that had been pressing down on you for so long.

But then, as you came around the curve of the pond, you saw him.

It was like everything in the world came to a halt. The rhythm of your skates faltered as you slowed, instinctively, despite yourself. Will stood at the edge of the ice, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ground, making him seem distant, almost unreachable. He was framed by the dark, skeletal branches of the trees lining the pond, his figure stark against the icy glow. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched slightly against the cold, but he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t skating like he used to, wasn’t calling your name, wasn’t laughing as he tried to race you down the ice the way he had so many times before.

No, this time, he was still. Watching you.

The sight of him, standing there like that, caught you off guard. It wasn’t just that he was here, in this familiar place—it was the way he was there. He wasn’t part of the moment, not part of the fluid motion of the pond, the rhythm of your skating. He was apart from it, separate, as if a gap had grown between you that neither of you had been able to cross for a long time. His gaze was fixed on you, his eyes watching with an intensity that felt different—more knowing, more weighted than before. Something in the way he stood there sent an unexpected chill through you, one that had nothing to do with the freezing air or the icy ground beneath your feet.

There had always been a distance between you two lately. It was more than just physical space—it was the silence that had stretched on for so long, the way things had changed over the months, the years. It was the unsaid things between you, the things neither of you had been brave enough to confront. And now, in the stillness of the night, with the moonlight spilling across the pond and the ice stretching out in front of you like a wide-open horizon, it felt like that distance had grown even more. Like it had solidified into something real and permanent, something you could feel deep in your chest every time you looked at him, and yet couldn’t touch.

But still, he stood there, waiting for something. You didn’t know what. Maybe he was waiting for you to speak, maybe for you to skate toward him, maybe for you to keep pretending everything was fine. You wanted to ask him why he wasn’t moving, why he wasn’t on the ice with you, like he had been all those times before. But instead, you just skated, slowly, cautiously, like you were afraid that something would break if you made too much noise, too much motion.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation—the pull between you, the old ache in your chest that never quite seemed to go away, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. You tried to focus on the cold air again, on the rhythm of your skates, but your mind kept drifting back to him, to the figure standing there, watching, waiting.

You slowed as you approached him, your heart giving an unexpected jolt. You hadn’t expected to see him here tonight. But then again, maybe you should’ve known. This had always been your place—the place where you and Will had spent countless hours skating together, laughing, talking, and being… just being.

When you stopped in front of him, he didn’t immediately speak. He just looked at you, his eyes tracing the curves of your face, like he was trying to find something he’d lost.

The air between you both was thick with unspoken words, the kind that had been left lingering for too long. Will’s gaze was unwavering, intense in a way that made you feel exposed, as if he could see right through the walls you’d built around yourself. He didn’t say anything right away, but the way he was standing there, frozen like a part of the night itself, told you everything you needed to know. This wasn’t just about the pond, or the ice, or even the simple act of being together. It was about everything that had come before it—the shared years, the moments you had both tucked away, the distance that had quietly crept in without either of you acknowledging it.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath, trying to force the words out, but they felt stuck in your throat, as if they were caught in a knot that had been tightening for months. The question that had sat heavy on your chest, the one you had wanted to ask him for so long, finally slipped out, and you immediately regretted it. “What are you doing here?”

You could hear the way the cold air wrapped itself around the words, how it made them sound small, insignificant. But there was more to it than just that. You weren’t just asking where he was, why he was here on the edge of the ice after everything that had passed between you two. You were asking why, after all this time, he was still here at all. You were asking why you were still here, standing in front of him, when everything had gotten so tangled and messy.

Will shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but he didn’t move closer. He wasn’t standing with the same easy comfort that had once come so naturally between the two of you. This wasn’t the same Will—the one who would have spun you into a laugh, dragged you around the pond as though the world was an endless game. No, now he was distant, locked behind something you couldn’t reach.

He finally spoke, and his voice, rough with the kind of weariness that comes from too many thoughts left unsaid, sent a shiver down your spine. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his words a little softer, like they were trying to break through the cold of the night and reach you. “We used to come out here all the time. I guess I just wondered… why we stopped.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and your chest tightened, a dull ache settling in where your heart used to be. It was like hearing the echo of your own guilt, that hollow feeling that had been quietly growing inside you ever since you’d stopped coming here, stopped showing up. The pond had once been yours together, the place where you both went to forget everything else. But somehow, it had become a place of silence. A place of absence.

You looked away, taking in the moonlit stretch of the pond, the same stretch that had once felt like home, like a part of you that belonged only to him and to the two of you. Now, it felt impossibly far away, like something you didn’t know how to reach anymore. “I don’t know. Life, I guess,” you said, and the words tasted empty in your mouth. They felt like an excuse, like a half-hearted answer to something that wasn’t simple enough to explain away.

Will nodded, but the gesture felt heavy, like it meant more than just acknowledgment. His eyes dropped to the ice beneath his boots, and for a long beat, the silence between you thickened again. It was as if neither of you knew what to say next, but you both knew that something had to be said. That something had to break through this endless back-and-forth of silence, of pretending everything was fine, when it had never been. Not really.

“Yeah, life,” Will echoed softly, his voice carrying a note of bitterness that wasn’t there before. “Funny how it pulls you away from the things you thought mattered.”

The weight of his words pressed against you, heavier than the cold that surrounded you both. They hung there in the air between you, suffocating and yet too fragile to touch. It wasn’t just about the pond anymore. It wasn’t even just about skating, or your shared history. It was about everything that had happened after—everything that had shifted, the years that had slipped away, and the space that had grown between the two of you that neither of you had bothered to fill. You wanted to say something to ease the hurt in his voice, to give some kind of response that would make it better, but the words felt inadequate, and the silence stretched on like a chasm you couldn’t cross.

You could feel the old ache rising in your chest, threatening to choke you. That familiar knot of longing, of pain, of knowing that something had been lost but never being able to put it into words. The last few months had felt like you were drifting, trying to stay afloat in a world that felt more and more like a memory. You knew that what Will was saying was more than just about the pond, more than just about why you stopped coming out here. It was about everything that had been unsaid, about the love that had never really gone away, but that neither of you had been brave enough to face.

His gaze flickered toward you then, just for a second, before he looked away again. You couldn’t tell if it was hesitation or if it was simply that he didn’t have the words, but the look on his face made it clear that he, too, was trying to figure out how to say what had been left unspoken for far too long. There was a furrow between his brows, his lips pressed together like he was fighting against something, like he was trying to decide whether to speak or stay silent.

The silence stretched out, thick and charged, as Will stepped forward, closing the gap between you with slow, deliberate movements. His boots creaked on the frozen ground, the sound sharp in the stillness of the night, each step echoing like a beat of your heart, steady but with an undercurrent of tension. The world around you seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of you, the cold air between you both swirling in invisible waves, and the pond beneath your feet, the same one that had held your memories, your secrets. The weight of everything you’d been avoiding pressed in on you from all sides, but for some reason, standing there in the quiet of that frozen world, it felt more real than it ever had before.

“I’ve been an idiot,” Will said, the words coming out in a rush, like he had to force them past the tightness in his chest. His voice sounded rough, strained, as if every syllable was a weight he had carried for far too long. “I’ve been running from this—running from you—for so long, and I’ve always told myself that I was looking for something else, something… better, I guess. But the truth is, I’ve always known. I’ve always known what I was looking for.”

The air seemed to stutter around you, a breath held in time, and everything inside you froze. The words he spoke felt like a door creaking open, revealing the things you’d buried, the things that had always been there, hidden in plain sight. His gaze, dark and heavy with something you couldn’t quite name, was locked on you now, pulling at you, tugging at everything you’d spent months trying to avoid. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but no sound came. The words were lodged in your throat, a lump too big to swallow, too fragile to touch.

Will didn’t move away. He didn’t retreat like he used to, back when things were simpler, back when running felt like the only option. Instead, he took another step forward, his eyes still on yours, his expression so raw, so unguarded that it felt like you were seeing him for the first time in a long time. You felt your pulse race, your heart beating harder now, like it was trying to escape the cage of your chest. There was no way to stop it—not now, not after everything that had been said.

“I’ve been stupid,” Will repeated, the words heavy, full of regret and the weight of years lost. His voice cracked on the last syllable, as if he couldn’t carry the burden anymore. His words wrapped around you like a warm, bitter ache, and something inside you unraveled, something you hadn’t realized was so tightly wound. “I’ve been looking for something that felt right, something that could fill the hole, but the whole time, I’ve been blind. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

The air seemed to thin, as if the world had paused, holding its breath in the face of his confession. You stared at him, speechless, the words hanging between you like fragile glass, too delicate to touch, too powerful to ignore. Everything you had buried deep inside you—every memory, every whispered promise—rose up in that moment, flooding your mind, too much to hold. The hurt. The longing. The hope you had hidden away because it had seemed too painful, too impossible. And now, here it was, all of it spilling into the space between you, raw and undeniable.

Will stepped closer, his movements slow, cautious, like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too fast. His hand stretched out, tentative, reaching for yours. For a heartbeat, you wondered if you should pull away. If you should hold back, protect yourself from the collision of everything that had been left unsaid. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The moment was too big, too important, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to run from it. You didn’t want to hide.

His fingers brushed against yours, just a gentle touch, hesitant and searching. But when you didn’t pull away, when you didn’t retreat, his hand slid into yours, warm and firm, and the world seemed to shift again, like something heavy had been lifted.

“You and me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if the words themselves were fragile, like they might shatter if spoken too loudly. The weight of the sentence hung in the cold air, shimmering like ice beneath your feet. “Right?”

The question hit you like a wave, flooding over you, sweeping away the last of the doubts, the last of the confusion. It wasn’t just a question—it was a promise, a revelation, a return to something that had never truly disappeared. His words were everything you had been waiting for, everything you had hoped for, buried under years of missed chances, misunderstandings, and broken silences.

Your heart skipped, then raced, and finally, after all this time, the knot that had been twisted tight in your chest loosened, unraveling like a story that was finally being told the right way. The ice beneath your feet seemed to hum with life, the air around you still and electric, charged with the weight of what had just passed between you.

For a long, eternal second, you just stood there, your hand in his, your heart in your throat, waiting for the world to catch up to the truth. And when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, trembling, but certain, like you were giving life to something that had always been there, something that had never really died.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Right.”

Will’s eyes softened in a way you hadn’t seen in so long—like he was seeing you for the first time again, like everything that had been lost was suddenly found. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something deep and knowing, as if this moment had always been inevitable, as if it had been waiting for you both, just out of reach.

His thumb moved slowly over the back of your hand, tracing a pattern, steady and sure, as though he was grounding himself in the reality of the moment. It was like he was reassuring himself that this wasn’t a dream, that you weren’t a figment of his imagination—this was real. This was happening. He was here. You were here. And this time, you weren’t going anywhere.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there, hand in hand, as the silence stretched between you, full of unspoken understanding, full of the quiet recognition that this was the beginning of something you both should have embraced long ago. The night around you seemed to hum with a kind of electricity, as though the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for you both to take the next step.

And then, just as the tension became almost unbearable, Will stepped closer. His chest brushed against yours, the warmth of his body mingling with the crisp cold air, and it felt like everything inside you shuddered in response. He hesitated for only a heartbeat, his face hovering just inches from yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any sign that you might pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The space between you disappeared as if it had never existed. And then, as though the universe itself had given its blessing, Will leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tentative kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. It was a kiss that felt like the culmination of everything that had been building for years—every look, every touch, every moment of longing, of doubt, of waiting for something to change. It was all here, now, in this kiss, gentle and full of promise.

You felt your breath catch as his hand moved to cup your face, his fingers cool against your skin, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, your own hands reaching for the warmth of his jacket, pulling him closer. His lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to savor the moment, to make sure this was real, that this wasn’t just a dream.

Everything felt alive in that moment—the night around you, the ice beneath your feet, the beating of your heart. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, through the warmth of his body, and it made you realize how long you’d been holding onto something that you were finally letting go of. The past, the doubts, the fear—they all disappeared in the heat of the kiss, leaving only the present, only the undeniable truth that had been waiting for both of you.

As he deepened the kiss, you felt a rush of emotions flood through you—relief, happiness, longing, everything you had kept locked away for so long now flowing freely between you. Will’s lips were soft, urgent now, as if he, too, was realizing how much time had been lost, how much he had been denying, how much he had been running from. His hands moved to your back, pulling you even closer, and you felt the warmth of his embrace spread through you, chasing away every trace of the cold night air.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, standing there on the ice, kissing like you were the only two people in the universe. The kiss was a promise, a vow—of what had been, of what was, and of what would come next. You knew, in that moment, that this was just the beginning. You had both been lost, but now you had found each other again, in the most beautiful and unexpected way.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your forehead resting against his, you couldn’t help but smile, your lips still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. Will’s eyes were bright, filled with something you couldn’t quite place—joy, relief, wonder—but there was one thing you knew for sure. He wasn’t going anywhere. Neither of you were.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” you whispered, your voice still soft, but full of everything you had been holding back.

Will smiled, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he looked down at you, his gaze tender. “I know. Me too.”

And then, with a final lingering kiss, you both stood in the moonlight, on the ice, with the silence of the world surrounding you both, it felt like everything had finally clicked into place. The pieces of the puzzle, scattered and jagged for so long, had come together, and you could see it now—what you had both been searching for, what you had both been too afraid to face.

It had always been you. And it had always been him.

[grandline-fics]

hello can I request Luffy for true loves kiss for ur valentine's event? ur prompts are super cute btw!! I literally was stressing over which character to pick for this prompt 😭

DESCRIPTION: True Love's Kiss- The moment they realise they're in love

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Luffy

WORDS: 1,046

A/N: This was also requested by @destynelseclipsa. I hope you both like what I came up with for this one and that it's to your liking. Thank you for the request and Happy Valentine's day guys

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

————————

When the Strawhats docked at the island that morning the crew became confused about being told they wouldn’t be allowed to enter properly just yet. The explanation given was that there was a festival being prepared in the city’s centre for the evening and it would be too difficult to get everything ready in time with outsiders getting in the way. Most of the crew understood and settled in for an afternoon on the ship. Luffy, however became all but impossible to control. Knowing there was a city-wide party just hours away from happening left him a ball of frantic energy just wanting to sneak into the city centre and take a peek at what was to come.

Nami had been yelling at him to behave and just be patient, with Zoro and Sanji holding him firmly in place under the navigator’s instruction but still they struggled. If Luffy wanted to break free he would. You knew it was only a matter of time before he broke, with Nami soon following suit so you decided to get ahead of things to ensure everyone had a good time at the festival. 

Getting up from your seat you approached your Captain and boyfriend. Even with your steps being casual against the Sunny’s deck and muted over the sounds of Sanji, Zoro, and Nami’s yelling, the second you drew near Luffy’s head turned immediately towards you and his dark but bright eyes fixed on you. Anything the others were saying, were completely drowned out by this point as he smiled happily at you.

“You can go peek if you want, Luffy but it’ll just be boring. There won’t be any cooked food ready at this point and maybe a couple stalls built.” You explained with a shrug. “If you want to see that you can just go to Franky and Usopp’s workshops and see what they’re working on right? Or we could stay here and see if Sanji would make something to tide us all over before the festival?”

Sanji jerked when Luffy effortlessly pulled out from his and Zoro’s hold. He glanced at you and quickly grinned, anything to keep Luffy content enough to be patient and even better if he had a hand in it, it would earn him more favour with Nami. “Yeah. How about a pre-festival feast?”

The island they’d found themselves and now got to fully see was bursting with life and colour. Everyone was so cheerful, infectiously so. Luffy grinned broadly as he took in the sights and sounds overwhelming his senses in every direction. Now he was glad he listened to you and stayed on the Sunny until it was time to attend the festival. Keeping one hand firmly linked with yours, he hurried from one stall to the other taking in as many games, food, and possible trinkets to buy. Through it all you grinned at his enthusiasm, soaking up the radiant positivity and excitement that Luffy brought to the already joyous atmosphere. While Luffy was buying another local delicacy to try, Chopper called your name. You told Luffy you’d be right back and hurried over to the doctor to help him pick what to buy from a souvenir stall. Immediately Luffy pouted and watched you across the street. 

“Oh I know that look.” Luffy turned to see the old man in front of the stall he was at. His confusion grew when the man grinned broadly. “That’s the face of a man in love.”

“Love?” Luffy repeated, a hint of hesitation in his tone. Quickly he glanced your direction again. Yes you were both in a relationship but love was a new topic. “What makes you think that?”

“Not think. Know.” The old man clarified with a soft laugh and shake of his head. “That hopeless, lost look you got now even when they’re so close. Besides I’ve been watching you two since you got here. It’s obvious you’re in love with how you look at them. How they’re the only thing that matters above all else.” Luffy blinked at the explanation and looked over at you again, unable and unwilling to stop the smile shaping his lips when you waved him over to join you. At the smallest beckon you gave him Luffy was already moving, needing absolutely to be as close as possible. Now with the old man’s words in his head Luffy began to consider it with more seriousness than he would have without the prompting. He truly couldn’t be without you. But did you matter more than anything else? 

“Luffy! Careful!” You spoke suddenly with widened eyes. You were hurrying towards him to meet him halfway. He blinked in surprise to see you leaning down to pick up his hat from the ground. In his movements and the busy city streets, the tied rope keeping the straw hat around his neck had come undone and it had fallen. He hadn’t even noticed it was loose. He didn’t even realise or felt it had fallen. You had occupied his notice completely and even seeing it had been missing from his person for just a few seconds didn’t bring him nearly as much agitation as you leaving his side had done. 

His hat, his defining image and greatest treasure truly did matter less to him compared to you. Luffy smiled when you settled the hat firmly on his head and secured the rope to make sure it didn’t slip again. Meeting your gaze Luffy was struck with the confirmation that what the old man had pointed out to him was obvious. He knew people called him clueless sometimes but in this moment he fully agreed with him. “I love you!”

“For saving your hat?” You ask with a smile. Your boyfriend was a lovable and affectionate guy so you took his statement with a carefree smile. You only froze when you saw Luffy’s stare on your face was stronger and more serious than anything you’d seen before. His declaration wasn’t one being said thoughtlessly. He meant it with every fibre of his being and it shocked and warmed you instantly. Your lips parted and your took a breath before staring at him with just as much love as he was giving you. “Love you too, Luffy.”

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @rosemary-lungs

[mainalias]

yup. every single character has parts of them that on paper could be interesting and those are completely ignored in favour of silly tropes. why don't we get to grill lucanis about the ethics of being an assassin and how's his decaying mental state given the extended captivity, torture, possession, and insomnia. why did the game give us the goldmine of taash and their mom and the implication that there are qunari who are technically tal-vashoth as they live outside of the qun but still identify as qunari (qunari schism???) and then NEVER goes there. why doesn't davrin mention having ghillannain valaslin and the horror of finding out that despite being one of the "last free elves" he's got a slave brand on his face. why aren't bellara and nev angrier or more distrustful given their respective backgrounds (dalish preserving elven artifacts scavenged from ruins of a city destroyed by humans, fantasy noir detective engaging in a one woman fight against century old systemic issues). why doesn't lace ever react to being stuck in the north trying to stop things from getting worse while her home and everything she ever knew or loved is dying. why is a game that took ten years to make this bad

whenever I see a post that is all "veilguard is a good game actually" and then the justification is 100% completely invented fanon that is not in the game at all I don't engage and just block them and I'm honestly so strong for that

[konigofmyheart]

long way down

MDNI .ᐟ

you sent risky pictures to your ex, but könig found them instead…

implied age gap, references to manipulation (on ex’s side), virgin fem!reader, suggestive!

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

könig groaned, pausing to rub his back as he bent to pick up an envelope right outside his office door, that pesky twinge in his right side reappearing due to having been sat in his office all day, sorting through piles of paperwork. he’d have complained about whoever was on mail duty, except… this letter clearly wasn’t for him. it was face down, its contents poking out: a pretty pink paper and a couple of polaroids?? the only letters he received were bills or work related.

maybe he shouldn’t have, but he took a peek at the pictures, and gott im himmel, they took his breath away. there you are, captured in film, soft shy smiles and silk and lace, such delicate looking lingerie hugging your curves…

he quickly shoves the pictures back in the envelope as his pants get uncomfortably tight, his face warming. say what you will about him, but he’s only human! he unfolds the letter, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the cute stationary and lip stick prints at the bottom of the page. without even reading a word he can tell you must really care for this guy, or else you wouldn’t have put that much effort into this letter. what he wouldn’t give to receive even a fraction of this attention, and here’s someone being so careless with gold like this!

könig slides the letter in the envelope, checking the front. stevens??? lucky bastard, he thinks as he heads to the barracks, begrudgingly intending to reunite it with the rightful owner. you’re a cute girl, you wouldn’t want some old dog salivating over your photos, right? plus, stevens isn’t that bad, a wide eyed recruit as könig himself once was, maybe he accidentally dropped this and has been searching for it frantically. turning into the barracks, he hears loud voices and barks of laughter coming from the rec room, and sure enough, there’s stevens playing a game of cards with three other rookies. they’ve got a fair amount of beer bottles stacked to the side, the losing rookie seemingly having emptied more than the others. they make to stand when their colonel enters the room, though a quick wave from könig has them relaxing back into their seats, breathing sighs of relief.

“stevens, you must have dropped this” he says, holding out your letter, happy to almost be done with his good deed of the month. imagine his surprise when stevens shares a look with his friends before responding with a flippant, slurred “ ‘m sorry about that, sir, i meant to throw that rubbish away… ‘s nothing important”, unsteadily rising to his feet and reaching for the envelope. “in that case, i’ll toss it for you. carry on with your game, men,” könig says between gritted teeth, dismissively clapping stevens on the shoulder, hard enough to make him plop back down on the chair with a grunt, before heading out.

how could stevens not care about such a gift?? unless könig got the wrong read on you… he briskly walked to his private quarters, kicking off his boots at the door and hanging his mask on the wall before settling on his bed. he plucked your letter out, opting to leave the dangerously tempting polaroids in the envelope to keep a clear head. slipping on his reading glasses, he began to read your neat script:

“happy valentine’s day, benji,

i’m really hoping this’ll arrive close enough to valentine’s day or else it’ll just be weird… look, i know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but i’m really sorry. i shouldn’t have made such a big deal about you sleeping with rebeca. i now see that you’re entirely right: it was my fault for not being mature enough for you. you have needs, and you couldn’t help it if i wasn’t there to tend to those needs. i’ve thought a lot about it, and i’ve made up my mind. i’m ready to prove my love to you. i’m still nervous, but like you said, you’re a man, and you need more than just hand holding and boring kisses, and it is getting pretty embarrassing to still be a virgin in my mid 20’s… it’s about time, i just had to realize that. i hope you like the pictures i included. i felt kinda ridiculous taking them, but i wanted to to show you just how serious i am about you, and for you to see what i bought to wear for you when you come home, as your late valentine’s day gift… would you please unblock me? i miss your voice a lot… at least text me? i can’t wait to see you again, if you’ll still have me.

p.s. will you be my valentine? please? <3

p.p.s. in case you lost it, my number is-”

and there, printed clearly, is your number. now könig’s getting the full picture. you’re a sweet girl, far too good for an arschloch like stevens and his manipulations. könig feels such anger to find out that jackass filled your head with such nonsense, pressuring you like some desperate teenager, making you feel insecure and guilty like that. stevens is definitely getting picked for every one of könig’s hand to hand demonstrations, no doubt about it. könig would give anything to have someone like you, and he’s willing to do so, to treat you right, as a lovely thing like you deserves. he takes a deep breath, dialing your number and setting with his back against the wall as the line trills. how he’ll convince you to give him a chance, he doesn’t know, but he does know he’ll do whatever it takes...

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[shyamanuensis]

Echoes & Emotions - m.r

Part two to - Showers & Scourers. Part three coming soon xo

Three weeks. It had been three weeks to the day that you found Mattheo emotionally distraught in the shower and it had taken almost just as long to try and push the image to the back of your mind. Three weeks of curiosity. Three weeks of friendship. Three weeks of being attached at the hip like old times. Three weeks of confusion. Your friends had asked if you were together again. You had never given them an answer. You weren’t entirely sure of what this was exactly. You don’t think you’d ever be. However, you were certain that it wasn’t a relationship. Not in the true sense or meaning of the word anyway. Laying in the middle of his bed; dorm room darkened – the only light filtering through being that of the lightning storm outside, you kept silent, trying to make sense of the single thought you had racing around inside your head – why were you here.

Recent time spent with Mattheo was nostalgic. Sweet yet dangerous. You knew his faults and he knew yours, but you had never expected them to become so entangled within each other again. Despite not having moved for hours; the bedsheets still felt cold. It was as if they were a reminder that you shouldn’t let yourself get too comfortable or let yourself fall into an insecure sense of love, want and need. Your mind knew better than your heart at this point but that wasn’t the way the game was meant to be played – surely. And this was a game. A game of survival, a game of lust, a game of winner takes it all. A game the both of you had enough experience in to know that the final score would cause nothing but suffering for one of you and so you prolonged it as best you could.

“Why are you still here?”

His question cut through the silence like a rough diamond against glass. You blinked; the gesture not doing much as your hand resting firmly against his chest, covered by his own clawed in on itself gently. His heartbeat that you had been feeling; listening for; keeping your breath in time to quickening. His ribs had begun to vibrate from the pounding that stupid muscle was capable of and yours now, following suit. You bit your lip; chewing at the soft flesh as if it were tasteless candy hoping to buy yourself enough time to come up with a suitable answer. Something that would appease the both of you; or at least, answer the question.

“Because I care about you.”

Mattheo chuckled; the sound however devoid of any humour or integrity. His gaze up at the ceiling remained distant before he turned to face you; shifting on the bed with a swift single roll onto his side – the thoughts you knew he had playing on his mind, swimming behind the cold and darkened veneer of his eyes. Care. There was that word you had always mentioned during your relationship. A word so easily thrown around it seems, yet so rarely, truly felt. Your eyes fixed upon his; the frangibleness of you both – your proximity, your anxieties, your devotions hung swinging like a pendulum of doubt as the gaze you both held. Boring into the depths of each other’s souls unsure of what you’d stumble across.

“..and this is what you call care?, his voice was laced with disdain. “Care. You care for me so much that you left me behind before like I meant nothing.” “I’m here now.” “Why – out of pity or convenience?”

You knew where this was going. You knew exactly how the conversation was going to pan out. Every night since you had begun spending time together again it had been the same. As if scripted by the devil to be played out as a duologue which never saw the scenes end. He’d ask you your feelings on the mark. You’d dance around the subject not wanting to upset him. He’d get upset anyway. You’d argue. Never just bicker or squabble; a full blown, ‘this is why we broke up in the first place’ cacophony of sorts which meant nights ended abruptly; without resolution to anything which had been said.

“No, you idiot – because I love… because I loved you.”

Mattheo flinched almost imperceptibly at what you’d just said. That cold, calculating mask that he was wearing; inherited clearly from his fathers’ side, was beginning to crack under the weight of your confession. He was expecting it. Well; not those words exactly. You had managed to correct yourself and he felt the knife you metaphorically had twisted within his heart dig in deeper; slashing away at the layers of anger and resentment he’d build around himself, exposing that small part of him that craved what he truly believed only you could offer him. Love and acceptance.

“Love is a weakness. A plaything.”

You’d heard that phrase before. This time it had hit you like a bludger and you’d have rather thrown yourself into the Whomping Willow than hear it again. It was said by his father; the night you disclosed your relationship to your families. It had resulted in nothing but tears. The same tone. The same hiss. The same scorn contempt.

“Matty, love isn’t a weakness. It’s not a plaything. It’s not something to be toyed or manipulated.”

Your whisper was soft; light and subtle. You gave yourself permission to gaze into his eyes; lean in to rest your forehead against his and stroke his cheek with the most tender of touches your fingertips could manage as you tried to get through to him. Boring deep past the surface layers of hesitation he’d built up to hide behind like a fortress of reservation. The admission which came next one that you’d forever hold onto.

“Your love may be Riddle; but don’t ever, ever think that mine is.”

Mattheo stiffened as your breath ghosted his jaw; the unexpected heat sending a shiver down his spine as his eyes began to darken to a rich espresso stain of emotion caused by a mixture of both defiance and vulnerability. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to argue with you. To dismiss your words. To call them out as naïve and helpless, but he couldn’t. The raw passion held in your gaze, gave him pause.

“Then prove it.” His reply that of a challenge. “Show me of this ‘love’ that you claim to feel. Get marked. Let’s be together again.” “Why? Is that what you want? What you’re craving? Proof of love? Proof of ownership?”

He paused. You fell silent. The questions had caught Mattheo off guard. His gaze turned cold again; turned sharp as another defensive mask that he was so used to wearing slipped back into place across his expression; yet even as words left his tongue, there was a hint of overall uncertainty that was beginning to betray him in ways, he hadn’t expected.

“I don’t crave anything.” A lie. “Least of all not love.” Another lie.

Tilting your head; you let your lips brush against his own with almost a barely there softness, as you fixed your gaze back into his own for a moment; contemplating if this should really have been done before locking lips with his own into a tender kiss.

“…I, love you.”

He gasped against your kiss; body instinctively rolling in towards your familiar touch and although he wanted to push you away, to uphold this sudden cold demeanour he’d been portraying all night, his heart was louder and won the fight against his mind. The kiss for the both of you, ignited a whirlwind of emotions; a tangle of memories and feelings which threatened to consume you both if not acted upon carefully.

“Don’t…” The murmur against your lips, a vibrational mix of both protest and plea.

“You didn’t let me finish...”, you spoke up against his lips; fingers delicate, near subdued in their movements to snake through his curls and then race down with a faint trace along his neck, shoulder, collarbone, chest, waist. Dancing at his belt – the soft supple leather acquainted against your skin for all the wrong reason. “I love you, but I can’t be in love with you.”

His body quivered and shivered beneath your touch – that gentle caress you stained his skin with leaving a trail, the feeling akin to fire, in its wake. Mattheo’s mind was at war with himself; with itself – torn between the need for you and the need for self-preservation. The familiar ache you had bestowed upon him with your touch a juxtaposition to your words. This was all like a dagger again straight to the heart.

“You – love me; but can’t be in love with me?” The echo of Mattheo’s words against the walls of the dorm were laced by an anguished laugh that barely had time to be processed before escaping him. He knew where this was going just as much as you did. It was the reason you’d decided to call it quits in the first place. Your heart not aligning up with what was to be expected of him.

“I know it doesn’t make sense right now; but trust me. As we grow apart again – you’ll see my reasoning, you’ll begin to notice why. It will all come together. I…” “..don’t want to be associated with a guy like me.” “It’s not that. You have a future Mattheo that I don’t agree with. A legacy, a name, a path to live up and follow and I just – I don’t agree with it. I never have and I never will.”

He wanted to argue with you; to demand answers – to hold onto your fiercely and not let you out of his grasp but the timing of all this couldn’t have been worse. His mark; it had begun to burn. He itched at the scar. He hated this as much as he hated the tonality of your words. He felt irritable; hopeless. His voice grafting into a symphony of resignation and frustration as he sat up on the bed and began to scratch at his arm vigorously.

“Fine”, he spat, “I’ll trust you.” “Good.”

You pushed yourself to sit up also; leaning in as if it were common practice and having Mattheo meet you halfway; one final kiss shared that was fuelled by a lingering want, a desire, of hope. Your lips moved against one another’s with a hunger that bordered near on desperation. Mattheo wanted to so desperately memorize the taste of you; the feelings you conjured up within him. You wanted one last final farewell; surprised as he pulled away as quickly as the kiss had begun, the expression on his face hardening into something emotionless.

“Good..”, he managed to echo in response; the word dripping with a hint of bitterness and perhaps, turmoil.

“I’ll see you round Matty. If you need anything…”

As you shifted off towards the edge of the bed to stand and find your sweater thrown to the floor from earlier in the night; Mattheo fought the urge to reach out and pull you back, knowing that it would be pointless. That he had been called for. Summoned. That if he didn’t show up – the unreliable son; there’d be hell to pay. Watching as you got ready to leave the dorm, he ground his teeth against each other, feeling a release of anger with the sound and scoffed before commenting.

“…I can manage on my own.”

You turned back to look at him; head in his hands, not quite a boy, but not yet a man.

“I know.” “You should go.”

Without restraint, you whimpered; tears pooling into the corners of your eyes at his suggestion and paused, wondering if Mattheo would do anything more, but as the seconds turned into the better half of a minute, you gave up waiting; gave up wanting something you knew wouldn’t happen. His heart was breaking. Mattheo didn’t reach out for you; not the way he usually would that you were perhaps expecting him to. His pride, or there lack of it, and anger; warring within him. He was at battle with himself, with his anticipations, with his now formalised expectations that that stupid mark had brought upon him and yet he wanted you to feel the same pain that he was feeling. He wanted you to regret your decision, however deep down – he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you. To harm you. He knew the only person he was hurting was himself in the process.

“Just … go.” He managed with a voice barely above that of a whisper. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be near me.”

You took no more than a few steps before your tears kicked in. Trying to blink them away; everything that had happened tonight finally began to sink in. Weeks, days, hours of blissful retreat within each other’s company torn to shreds within minutes; but perhaps this is how it was meant to be. You hated this. You hated yourself. Why couldn’t you just be there for him. Properly. In whole. With light footsteps you wandered away back to your own dorm, and Mattheo watched you with an expression of indifference until you were well and truly out of sight. Only then did he let his facade drop – his breathing become ragged; his body tremble as he fell back against the bed. Mark still burning but not enough to overtake every other demon he now had fighting inside of him. He fought back tears; feeling them swell within his eyes but refused to let them fall. The pain was palpable. He was alone again – and yet this time, it was unbearable as his final confession danced off the tip of his tongue.

“I’ll get you back my love.. just you wait and see…”

[seumyo]

IDIA SHROUD ✰ THE BOUQUET

Let’s just say that your boyfriend wasn’t as subtle with gifts as he might think he is—

“Oh, holy Seven—that’s a bouquet that’s the size of an ogre!”

Yeah, scratch that, your boyfriend knows how to make his gifts known. Not even the slightest intention to tone it down or even conceal it, nope.

You could only blink in surprise as the large bouquet of pastel flowers was thrust into your arms the moment you set foot outside your classroom. Though you had to admit that the petals that were soft pinks and creamy whites are elegantly arranged with delicate ribbons that cascaded down like vines.

So pretty.

Pretty expensive.

“For [Name]!” The messenger gave you a quick nod before hurrying off, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. You noticed a note nestled between the delicate petals, the familiar, neat handwriting (that was annoyingly tiny) unmistakable:

I figured real flowers are better than virtual ones. Happy Valentine’s Day <3 You deserve pretty things IRL too /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹ – Idia

The message made you smile. Trust Idia to go overboard, even when he refused to leave his dorm room today. You could almost imagine him, huddled over his desk, blue flames flickering with anxiety as he double-checked his order online.

“Ne, those are beautiful!” one of your classmates exclaimed, eyes wide with awe. “Who sent them?”

You hugged the bouquet closer, your heart racing. “My boyfriend,” you tried to sound casual, but the warmth blooming in your chest made it hard to keep a straight face. The collective gasps of your classmates only added fuel to the fire.

Yes, you and Idia have mastered the art of keeping your relationship private. Intimate.

You hurried down the hallway, the scent of fresh flowers lingering behind you. As you made you way to your dorm, you couldn’t help but think of all the little things Idia had done for you. Last week, you found a box of rare sweets from the other side of the globe outside your door. He texted you that he heard they were popular in some dating sim and figured you’d enjoy them. The week before that, you received a plushie modeled after one of your favorite video game characters.

He was always thoughtful in his own quirky way. But flowers... in public? This was bold. Next level. Even for him. Even if he wasn’t physically the one to give them to you.

You placed the bouquet on your desk, admiring the delicate petals. You traced your fingers over the soft petals. You could picture him now, nervously pacing in his room, overthinking every detail—probably wondering how you reacted. If you didn’t say something soon, he’d probably be up all night worrying about your reaction.

But let’s be honest, Idia has enough gadgets and technical equipment to see your exact reaction even if he was on the opposite side of the planet.

Without a second thought, you made your way to the Ignihyde dorm. Access was by no means that difficult because as long as there’s a secret passage, there’s a way. The eerie blue glow of the dimly lit hallways was familiar by now, but it still sent a chill down your spine. You stopped outside his door, hesitating for a moment before knocking gently.

A specific pattern that only he would recognize to know that it was you (as if you hadn’t already sent him a text that you were coming over minutes earlier).

There was a shuffle on the other side, followed by a muffled, “Just a sec!” The door creaked open a bit, and you saw Idia’s golden eyes peeking out, softening when he saw you. “Hi.”

“Real flowers are better than virtual ones, huh?”

His face turned bright pink, the blue flames of his hair subtly matching the hue of his face. “Well, uh—you liked them, right?”

You laughed softly, stepping inside his room. “They’re beautiful. You didn’t have to go this far, though.”

“W-Was it too much?! I knew it… I should’ve just sent a text—or a digital sticker—maybe a GIF. This is why I never do real-life stuff—”

“Idia.” Your voice was gentle, your eyes warm. “I love them. Really. Thank you. It was sweet of you.”

His shoulders relaxed, relief washing over his face as he let you hold his face with your hands. So soft and tender. Idia’s tempted to have you this close forever.

Oh, god.

He’s been reduced to a sap. Like one of those helpless, pathetic male leads that just admires his female love interest for the rest of his days—putting her on a high pedestal. Not that he’d mind that.

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d think it was cringe or something... like... NPC-level cringe.”

“I’d never think that. Besides, it was… romantic.”

“Huh.” He sounded as though in thought, though most coherent thoughts are currently unavailable the moment your face is so close to his. “Does that raise our relationship stats by 10%?”

“Mhm, I guess you could say that. No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

“Wait, seriously? But you’re—I mean—you’re like—goddess-tier…” His face flushed, his pout making itself known. “No one before me ever thought of it before? Those normies are blind and stupid.”

You laughed. “Well… I’m glad it was you.”

Silence hung between you, warm and serene like Idia’s hair supposedly. Your boyfriend’s gaze softened, his expression overflowing with what’s known to be love.

“I’m happy it made you happy.”

“It did. More than you know.”

Before Idia could second-guess himself, he leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. The moment was quick, fleeting, but the feeling sent you tiny waves of electricity.

This side of him was rare. So maybe it really went off on the right occasion.

Idia’s entire face turned bright red, his hair blazing in a burst of pink. He stumbled back, his back hitting the door with a thud. “I— uhm—sorry! I got ahead of myself, ugh... I should’ve asked.”

You laughed, your heart contented and at ease with his reaction. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Happy Valentine’s Day, Idia.” You waved to your boyfriend, knowing that you had to finish a few more schoolwork before the day was over. “And thank you, again. I love them.”

You turned to leave. Idia stood frozen at his door, his heart pounding, face still burning. He must have a fever by now—probably went over new high temperatures. As the door slowly closed, he slumped against it, his hands covering his face.

“G-Goddess-tier event… unlocked… SSR rarity,” he murmured, his hair flickering with excitement. He replayed the scene over and over in his head, cheeks still red.

The bouquet was just to start.

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

[certaimromance]

the way the chapters of this series are getting longer and longer is literally my descent into madness

anyway, here come the fun facts :p (there are many, sorry)

don't read this if you haven't already read the chapter🩷

if you've read my other posts, you know i love parallels and those subtle details you only notice if you pay attention. the elevator and staircase game is obvious, but I'll explain it better here:

the staircase represents their relationship to the beginning; step by step, very calmly, each step is followed by another that takes you closer to your destination.

the elevator, on the other hand, represents the sudden changes they face now. think about how spencer goes from running away from the reader in the hallway to suddenly embracing her. or how you can get on an elevator and go from floor one to floor ten without doing more than pressing a button. in this case, it's about making a decision based on your feelings that can get you from silence to love.

this idea is also made more explicit when i say, "The elevator was still, suspended in a moment that felt endless. Neither of you had pressed a button, and for a heartbeat, the world outside seemed to hold its breath. You were trapped between two floors, between the weight of the past and the uncertainty of what might come next."

also, the whole part with spencer's mom IS KEY, let's not forget why my poor baby was in mexico (other than it's all cat's fault). it hurt me to write it, but it's an essential part of him that i used in this case to show why he was so concerned about the reader having healthier little habits (the whole "i want you to live longer." thing) since all the people he loves are leaving or dying.

and finally, to be honest, the whole cardigan thing, besides being done because the change in spencer's outfit is obvious and according to my reading goes beyond just clothes, but also a reference to my favorite taylor swift song (we all know who the old cardigan under someone's bed is)+obviously stay by gracie abrams, which is THE song of the chapter, here i left you a couple of lyrics that are just on point.

𝜗𝜚 The Other Girl Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: Whenever your world has fallen, your neighbor has been there to save you, but now it's your turn to do the same for him.

Words: 6k (I get crazier with each chapter).

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of murder, injuries, violence, alzheimer, daddy issues, death. hurt/comfort. angst. painter!reader. post prison reid with almost all his past traumas. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I know it takes me a long time to publish the chapters but they all have a lot of emotional charge (in this one IS A LOT) and to get it 100% right I have to rewrite them little by little, it is complex because I am a perfectionist😞 BUT thank you all for the support, patience and love you have given me.

I'm also planning to upload an extra of this poor babies for Valentine's Day💕 It'll be a prequel to the series and is mostly fluff yum.

You still remembered the first time you climbed the stairs to your apartment.

At the time, it hadn’t been a choice but a necessity. The elevator had been out of order in the middle of moving week, and the building management had shrugged off your complaints with little more than an apologetic glance, a vague promise, and a string of excuses that never quite panned out. The idea of waiting for them to fix it seemed absurd, especially when you were already overwhelmed with boxes, tape, and the dull ache of exhaustion that settled in your bones after hours of unpacking. So, with your arms full of the fragile, mundane objects that made up your life—books, plates, electronics, and furniture—you had trudged up the stairs, one step at a time. Sweat slicked your back, dampening your clothes as each heavy step took its toll. The weight of your belongings had felt far less heavy than the weight of the exhaustion, the impatience, and the frustration that boiled just beneath the surface.

And yet, after all of that, you made a promise to yourself: as soon as the elevator was fixed, you would never do this again. You’d never climb these endless stairs in such a haphazard rush, sweat dripping down your face, your legs aching with every painful movement.

But as the days passed, the promise began to feel less like a statement of intent and more like a fleeting thought. The elevator was still out of order, and each time you ascended those stairs, something strange happened. The ache in your muscles, the deep, satisfied burn that had originally seemed like an unbearable weight, started to feel different. It wasn’t just the physical strain of moving boxes. It was something else, something subtle but undeniable. You were becoming accustomed to it. The repetitive rhythm of your steps, the quiet solitude of the stairwell, the knowing sense that this space, though public, was somehow yours. No one else was down there, nobody was watching, and nobody expected anything of you except that you climb. You weren’t running into awkward neighbors. No one was talking about the weather or the laundry room door that wouldn’t close properly. The stairwell became something more than just a space to get from one floor to the next; it became a moment of stillness, of pause, a small sanctuary from the chaos of the world outside.

Then your favorite neighbor noticed.

He didn’t say anything at first. Not until one evening, when you reached the bottom of the stairwell, your legs trembling from the exertion. You were trying to stretch your calves and soothe the burning in your thighs, cursing yourself for the lack of grace you were showing. You were already preparing yourself to leave when a voice, warm yet casual, interrupted your thoughts.

“You know, taking the stairs regularly can improve cardiovascular health, increase muscle endurance, and even help with cognitive function. There have been studies.”

You froze mid-stretch, eyes widening. Slowly, you turned to find him leaning against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, work bag slung over his shoulder. He looked like he had been standing there for a while, watching you struggle up the stairs far longer than you had realized.

“Spencer,” you panted, still catching your breath, “I just like avoiding awkward elevator conversations.”

A flicker of amusement passed across his face, the corner of his mouth twitching in a small, knowing smile. But he didn’t argue. Not that day. Not yet.

“Oh…that’s a good idea, I guess.”

But after that, it became a habit of his.

He started slipping little facts into conversation, always casually, always carefully, like he wasn’t trying to impose, just…offering something. He mentioned the importance of pacing yourself, of stretching, and of drinking water. He spoke of breath control, the way inhaling through your nose and exhaling with each push off the step could help regulate energy and heart rate. He never said it like a lecture, never demanded that you listen. He simply planted ideas, little seeds of knowledge, and let them take root on their own.

Then, he started timing his arrivals. You’d reach the bottom of the stairs, exhausted from your climb, only to find him standing there. He’d walk with you down the flights, his stride long and effortless, as though gravity didn’t pull on him the same way it did you. With each step you took, you found yourself straining to match his pace, to keep up.

One day, after you had finally reached the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing to catch your breath, he spoke again, voice low but insistent.

“You know,” he mused, watching you with that quiet, observant gaze of his, “you’d get even more benefits if you focused on your breathing pattern. Inhale through your nose as you step up, exhale when you push off. It helps with energy flow and helps regulate your heart rate.”

Another time, he raised an eyebrow as you finished stretching, his lips curling into a small frown. “Your posture could use some work. If you lean too far forward, you’ll strain your lower back.”

You had paused, mid-stretch, and shot him a look. “Are you coaching me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer, not even winded, just smiled that small, knowing smile of his. “I prefer to think of it as…guiding you toward better habits. So you live longer.”

There was something in the way he said it, something so utterly genuine, that you had no response. You just rolled your eyes, pretending his words didn’t settle somewhere deep in your chest.

Because he really did want you to live longer.

Preferably forever.

And hopefully, always next door.

Even if you didn’t realize it. Even if you just saw his words as a harmless nuisance, a quirk of his endlessly curious mind.

And somehow, the strangest thing? It worked.

You found yourself drinking more water throughout the day, stretching before and after walking, and adjusting the way you climbed to avoid unnecessary pressure on your joints. The things he told you weren’t drastic changes, just subtle shifts, quiet reminders. But somehow, they made a difference. And what had started as a mindless habit became something else. You noticed the difference, not just physically, but mentally. The clarity of thought after a climb, the way your body felt lighter, more in tune. And somewhere along the way, it became yours and his.

It wasn’t something you spoke about outright. There was no label for it, no need to analyze it. But it was there, woven into the fabric of your days. The quiet companionship. The unspoken rhythm of two people walking in sync. The way he filled the silences with facts, you pretended to roll your eyes at, even as you secretly liked how much he enjoyed your reactions.

It became normal.

Until, of course—

He disappeared.

No explanations. No warnings. No final conversation that you knew was final, no understanding of why. Just an empty, silent absence where he used to be. No more random nutrition facts, no more health tips disguised as casual conversation. Just gone.

Still, you did it anyway. Every day, without fail. Because habits don’t break just because people do.

And now, walking up those stairs alone felt heavier than it ever had before. The silence that had once been a comfort now suffocated you. And the idea of living a long, healthy life when no one seemed to care whether you did or not? Well. That was kind of a bummer.

But this morning, the stairs felt different. Lonelier. Less like a ritual, more like a weight dragging behind you, pulling you under. Your mind was stuck on last night. The chaotic blur of it looped in fragments, like a dream you couldn’t shake. A nightmare too sharp to be fiction, but too unreal to fully believe. And yet the bruise on your cheek wasn’t a dream. It greeted you in the mirror as soon as you woke, a dark, swollen reminder of everything you wanted to forget. Pain settled deep in your bones, not just from the stairs but from what had happened. What you saw. What you heard. What you couldn't avoid.

And now, as you reached the bottom step, everything felt wrong. Your chest was too tight. Your limbs were too heavy. The door to your apartment, just a few paces away, felt miles out of reach.

You stopped. Just stood there. The peeling paint on the wooden steps seemed to hold all the time that had passed, all the moments you wished you could undo. You stared at them, at the cracks, the faded edges, as if they might offer answers. As if they might take some of the weight away.

Then, you saw her.

At first, she was just a figure, an unfamiliar silhouette standing at the threshold of your door, her back turned toward you. She scanned the apartment numbers, her hand hovering uncertainly. Her movements were slow, tentative, almost fragile, and it wasn’t until you took a few cautious steps forward that something clicked in your mind. There was a faint spark in her eyes, something familiar.

Spencer’s mother. You were sure of it.

Although you had never seen her face-to-face, you had seen enough photos to recognize her without hesitation. He had told you about her often enough for you to know as much as you could. But it was her eyes that confirmed her identity to you; they mirrored those of her son in a way that made your heart ache. The same sharpness in her gaze, the same small, thoughtful movements, the same undercurrent of quiet intensity that seemed to follow every action.

But you can see something else in her, something that wasn’t him.

A weariness, a loss. You could feel it in the air, thick and heavy around her, almost like an invisible fog clouding her mind. She was lost in more ways than one, and her presence was a reminder of everything he had tried so hard to shield himself from.

Swallowing, you kept your voice gentle.

“Hi,” you said, careful not to startle her. “Are you looking for someone? Can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, she finally turned.

For a fleeting moment, her gaze met yours, and you saw the confusion settle in, subtle but unmistakable. Her brows knitted together, her lips parting as if forming a question she couldn’t quite grasp.

“You…you’re…no. You’re not…No, I thought…” Diana’s voice trailed off, barely more than a breath, lost and small, as she sighed, a sound heavy with defeat.

Your heart clenched.

“I think I know who you’re looking for.” You softened your tone, offering her a small, steadying smile. “Spencer, right?”

Her eyes flickered at the name, the briefest flash of recognition breaking through the fog. A tether, however fragile. She nodded slowly, her hand falling to her side in a motion that seemed more instinct than intention. Her eyes then drifted back to the door, and for a long moment, she seemed lost again, looking at the numbers as if they held the answers she was searching for, her thoughts adrift somewhere far away.

“I just want to see him,” she murmured. “I can’t miss his birthday again.”

Oh no.

The words hit you like a physical blow. Spencer’s birthday wasn’t for another couple of months. You knew that with certainty, but hearing it from Diana, the way she said it, with such unwavering certainty, made your chest tighten. She wasn’t just lost in space. She was lost in time itself. And the realization, sharp and painful, settled in your stomach, a stone that refused to be dislodged.

You glanced at her again, her fingers twitching at her sides, lips pressed together as though trying to hold on to a thought, a memory, something that kept slipping away from her. The confusion was thick, almost palpable, and it filled the space between you, leaving you with the distinct sense that you were intruding, stepping into a moment too fragile, too fleeting to hold on to.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

You weren’t supposed to meet her yet.

Not like this. Not without him.

You exhaled slowly, steadying the tremor in your voice. “He’s not home right now, but I can call him for you. Maybe we can wait inside?”

Diana’s gaze darted back to the door once more. For a moment, she seemed suspended in two realities: the one in her mind and the one in front of her. The world she remembered and the one she now stood in.

“No…I—I should go.” Her fingers curled at her sides, her voice fragile, distant. “I just wanted to see him. I just…”

You felt a lump in your throat. Spencer had told you about those moments, but he never went into a lot of detail because he was afraid of scaring you. But he'd given you enough to understand how much they hurt and how much they terrified him. He never said it directly, but you could tell when he talked about her. You could hear the tension in his voice, the way his hands started to shake every time he got a call and thought it might be from the nursing home she was in, how he spent his time reading huge books and researching ways to help her with her illness, and most of all, in how he had delayed letting you meet her for fear that you would be frightened to see his possible future.

But now, here you were, standing before her anyway, facing the woman who had given the world someone as brilliant and kind as Spencer, yet who now stood stranded in fragments of a past that no longer fit.

“Diana,” you said, your voice firmer now, gentle but insistent. “It’s okay. Spencer would want to see you. Let me call him. He’ll come.”

She hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly. Searching.

“You know my son?” she asked softly.

“I do. He’s—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. What were you to him? A friend? A neighbor? Something else? The definition had never been clear, but it didn’t matter now. “He’s important to me.”

Something in her expression shifted, though the confusion never fully left her eyes.

“I have a key to his apartment,” you added carefully. “He gave it to me in case he wasn’t here.”

Diana’s gaze dropped to your hand, where the key glinted under the dim hallway light. She studied it for a long moment, her thoughts drifting somewhere you couldn’t follow.

Then, finally, she whispered, “Okay.”

You guided her inside, the familiar scent of his apartment wrapping around you both like something solid, something safe. She sank onto the couch with a weary sigh, looking small, fragile, as if the very act of being here took more effort than she could afford.

“I’ll make some tea,” you said softly, trying to fill the silence with something tangible, something grounding.

Moving toward the kitchen, you kept her in your sights, watching as her gaze flitted around the apartment. Her eyes were looking around, at the walls that had seen Spencer's life in all its quiet moments over the past few years. After watching her for a moment, you noticed that she seemed to be especially focused on the various pictures hanging on the walls. You had painted some of them, and he had bought the rest in his attempts to discreetly help you monetarily. Most of the paintings were landscapes, one or two inspired by the books he always told you about and how you imagined them, plus even a portrait of Mittens playing on the balcony.

Until that moment, you hadn’t realized just how much of yourself had become part of his home.

Something in your chest tightened, but you pushed the thought aside, stepping away to dial his number.

The line rang once.

Then twice.

Then—

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer’s voice, quiet and concerned, almost as if he had been waiting for your call. “I wanted to talk, but—”

You exhaled, relief and uncertainty tangling together at the sound of his voice. “Hi. I’m fine. Um…your mom is here.”

Silence.

Then, the shift, something you had come to recognize when he was processing information at a speed faster than most people could follow. “She’s—wait, she’s where?” His voice was sharper now, alert.

“She’s safe,” you reassured him quickly. “We’re in your apartment. But…” Your voice softened. “She thinks it’s your birthday.”

Another pause. A breath.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost a whisper. “I’m coming. Please don’t let her be alone.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I won’t.”

“And…” His voice faltered, then steadied. “Thank you.”

The call ended.

You turned back to Diana, whose hands were wrapped around a cup of tea. The liquid swirled gently as she lifted the mug to her lips, the warm steam rising in a delicate plume. She looked at the tea, but her eyes weren’t focused. They were far away, somewhere beyond the moment, distant as though she had left this room a long time ago.

“Spencer’s coming,” you said softly, as if the quiet of the moment demanded it. You knew how much she hated noise. “He’ll be here soon.”

Her eyes flickered for a brief moment, a slight shift in the dullness that had clouded them. She blinked, and for a split second, it felt like she was with you again, her gaze a little clearer. But then, just as quickly, the fog returned, and she glanced up at you with a faint smile, one that was both familiar and distant, like a stranger trying to be someone you once knew. She took another sip, the sound of it like a small exhale in the room.

Carefully, you lowered yourself onto the couch across from her, keeping your movements slow, deliberate, as if any sudden shift might shatter the fragile tether that kept her here in this moment with you.

“You painted these,” she murmured, more statement than question after her eyes drifted back to the paintings on the walls, lingering for longer this time.

Your breath caught for a second. How did she know?

“Some of them,” you admitted, glancing at the familiar brushstrokes, at the colors you had chosen, the emotions you had poured into each piece. “Spencer liked them. He, uh…kept buying them even when I told him he didn’t have to.”

Diana’s lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smile.

“He’s always been like that,” she said softly, her gaze distant but warm. “Always finding ways to help without saying it outright. As a boy, he would leave little notes in my books. Facts about things he thought I would like, little reminders of things I would forget. He never wanted me to feel like I was slipping away.”

For the first time since you had met her in the hallway, she didn’t seem frightened. She wasn’t lost, drifting between past and present. She was here. Grounded. Aware of the space around her.

It felt like magic.

But then, just as quickly as it came, something in her shifted again. Her brow knit together slightly, and her fingers smoothed absently over the fabric of her sleeve.

“But I still did, didn’t I?” Her voice was quiet, almost fragile. “I slipped away.”

There was no easy answer to that. No a good one.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “He loves you,” you said simply.

Diana’s hands, which had been moving idly over the fabric of her sleeve, stilled. Slowly, she turned her head toward you. And for the first time, she really looked at you, not in passing, not through the haze of misplaced time, but deeply, as if seeing you for exactly who you were.

Something shivered through you under the weight of her gaze. You wondered what she saw. The faint smudges of paint still clinging to your sleeves? The way your makeup, carefully applied, hid the faint traces of a bruise in your cheek? The cup in your hands, her son favorite, still bearing the faded imprint of your lipstick, because Spencer always refused to wipe it completely away?

Something unreadable passed beneath the surface of her expression, something quiet but powerful. Then, after a moment, her features softened.

“He talks about you,” she murmured.

Your pulse jumped.

“He does?”

“Not in long speeches. Not in obvious ways. But I know my son.” She exhaled, her gaze flicking back to the paintings, the bookshelf, the little details scattered around the apartment. “I know the way he holds on to things that matter.”

Her eyes found yours again, gentle but knowing.

“And you…you’re in the details.”

The words settled in your chest, warm and heavy all at once.

Your breath caught as her gaze flickered around the apartment. Not just at the paintings now, but at the bookshelf, where your art books sat nestled beside his. At the little traces of you woven so seamlessly into this space. The familiar hoodie draped over the armrest, too big to be yours but still carrying your scent. The unopened package of your favorite tea sitting on the counter, bought without a second thought.

Everywhere.

You were everywhere.

The realization pressed against your ribs, something warm, something steady, something undeniable that made you nostalgic.

Before you could find the right words to respond, the sound of the front door opening cut through the stillness.

Spencer stepped inside in a rush, his eyes immediately locking onto his mother, scanning her with that same mix of relief and worry you had come to recognize. His bag hung off his shoulder, his coat still half-buttoned as if he hadn’t even stopped to fix it in his hurry to get here.

“You?” Diana asked suddenly, her voice small, uncertain. “What are you doing here? You are not invited to his birthday.”

He froze, and so did you.

His mother was looking at him, but she wasn't really seeing him. She was seeing someone else, someone from her past. Someone whose hair and eye color he had inherited. Someone he had accused of being a murderer years ago. Someone who was the first to leave him and say goodbye with a letter. Someone who forced him to be the one to take care of the rest since he was a kid. She was seeing his father.

You saw it in his face, the way something inside Spencer broke into a thousand pieces. And only then did you realize the pain he carried every day. Because just when you thought you had Diana anchored in the present, she slipped into the past and dragged an unwanted memory with her. That was the worst part, going from having everything to having nothing. To go from having your mother to having a stranger.

The silence hung heavy between you, and then Spencer did something you hadn’t expected. Slowly, carefully, he sank to his knees in front of her. It was a gesture of both humility and desperate tenderness. You could see it in his body language, the way he made himself small, as though trying to reach the part of his mother that still remembered him.

“It’s me, mom,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, breaking the stillness with the weight of everything unsaid.

Diana’s gaze flickered, her fingers tightening slightly around her sleeves.

“I’m here,” he said again, his voice soft but firm. “I’m Spencer…your son.”

You stayed quiet, watching as something in Diana’s expression shifted. She blinked once. Then twice. Her lips parted slightly, her brows furrowing.

And then, finally her gaze cleared just enough.

“Spencer,” she whispered.

The weight in his shoulders lifted, just barely, just enough for you to see the breath he had been holding.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

Her fingers twitched in his grasp before settling. A long, slow exhale left her lips, and she leaned forward, just slightly.

Your heart ached at the intimacy of it, at the sheer relief in his expression, at the way his mother finally saw him.

You didn’t move.

You just let them have this moment.

Your heart still carried the weight of everything you had witnessed earlier that day. The ache in your cheek from where you had pressed your hand to your face was almost unbearable, but it seemed so insignificant now. The pain felt almost like a distant echo compared to the one you could see in his eyes, the raw, and unspoken hurt that had been etched into his life for so long. Every time you thought about him, about what he’d endured, it was as if your chest tightened, the reality of his struggles pressing in on you from every side. What had you seen today? A broken cycle of love, loss, and confusion. And Spencer…he had lived it over and over again.

After his mother had finally recognized him, there hadn’t been many words exchanged. The silence between them felt like the weight of a thousand unsaid things, thick with all that had been left unspoken for years. He had explained gently that it wasn’t his birthday today, that it was still months away, but they’d celebrate together when the time came. The sadness in his eyes even as he reassured her, and the tenderness with which he helped her back into the present, spoke volumes. You had stood there, a silent observer, an outsider in their fragile moment. You had smiled at Diana, said your goodbyes softly to her, and watch they two left, knowing there was nothing more you could say.

And when the tossing and turning in your apartment began to make you and your cat dizzy, you retreated to the couch on the first floor, right in front of the front door, and watched every person who entered. Your mind was filled with a million thoughts, but none of them seemed to make sense. You waited for Spencer, not knowing how much longer you could sit there, but not wanting to be anywhere else.

The minutes stretched, thick and heavy, suffocating in their silence. What could you say to him when he came back? Was there anything you could say that would make even the smallest difference?

Then, at the seventh sound of the door opening, the cold air rushed in, followed by that unmistakable, familiar scent of him. Spencer. Your heart lurched in your chest at the sight of him, the weight of his exhaustion and sadness hanging from his shoulders like a heavy cloak. His face was drawn, his eyes tired in a way that made it feel as if he’d aged ten years in just a few hours. He looked so broken.

“You’re here,” he said, a flicker of surprise crossing his features when his eyes landed on you, as though he hadn’t expected to see you standing there, waiting.

You gave him a small, automatic smile, trying to make it light, but it felt flimsy, like a mask that wasn’t quite right. “I was…looking for my correspondence,” you said, the lie slipping out with the ease of a long-forgotten habit, but it tasted hollow in your mouth, as if the words themselves were trying to escape. It felt like a flimsy excuse, a weak justification for why you hadn’t been somewhere else, anywhere else, but here, with him.

As you walked beside him into the hallway, you did your best to keep the air light, to make your steps unhurried, as though everything were fine, even though the very air felt heavy, full with things unspoken. You glanced at him, trying to break the silence with something simple, something safe. “How’s your mom?”

The words hit him like a blow. His entire body seemed to stiffen, the tension rolling through him like an electric current. You immediately regretted asking, wishing you could take the question back.

“She’s better now,” he said, his voice tight with the weight of his unspoken thoughts. “I stayed until she fell asleep.”

You nodded quietly, taking in the weight of his words. His world, and his life, was full of unpredictable chaos, of moments like this, moments that no one should have to endure. You didn’t need to hear the details to know how much it hurt him. You stepped into the elevator as he held the door open, the tension between you thick and suffocating. The doors closed slowly, the sound of them closing almost felt like the world itself was pressing in, leaving you both suspended in a silence that was heavy, too full.

“I’m glad she’s okay,” you whispered after a long moment, the words tasting like something too small for the weight of the situation.

“Thanks to you,” he replied softly, and there was so much unspoken in those four words that it hit you like a punch to the chest. The sincerity in his voice, the gratitude mixed with something more, something raw, caught you off guard.

It was as if the Spencer who had come back a few weeks ago, the one who didn’t want you around, had disappeared. The man standing before you was something else entirely, and for a moment, you weren’t sure which version of him was the real one.

And then you noticed. He wasn’t wearing his coat. His shirt barely covered his arms, and despite the warmth of the building, his body was shaking from the cold, his lips a pale shade of purple. The tremors were unmistakable, the way his body quivered with each movement. It wasn’t just the chill of the air; it was something deeper, something that made your heart clench with an instinctual need to protect him.

“You’re shivering,” you said, the concern in your voice rising, louder than you’d intended, but you couldn’t help it.

He shrugged, his eyes quickly falling to the floor as though he were ashamed of his vulnerability, trying to hide it away. “Oh, I gave my jacket to my mom,” he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips, as though he didn’t want them to matter, but they did. They mattered more than anything.

Without thinking, you took off the cardigan he had lent you so long ago, the one that had quietly become a part of you because it carried his essence. You draped it over his shoulders with a tenderness that startled you, instinctively wanting to offer him something, anything, to ease the shivers and make him feel good. But when you saw the look in his eyes, you froze. He didn't seem to be used to being taken care of anymore, not like this, not after being on the defensive for so long.

It was strange to you that after only three months away, he seemed to have forgotten the way you were always willing to take care of him.

“Don’t,” he said softly, his voice apologetic, as though he were making a quiet plea for something you didn’t fully understand. He didn’t move to take the cardigan off, but his words had a weight, and for a moment, you felt a strange, painful distance between you. “It’s yours.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, an unspoken question in your expression, and he continued.

“Technically, it’s yours,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I haven’t worn any of this stuff in a while.”

And then you understood. The clothes in his closet had changed. Gone were the soft, earth-toned cardigans and slacks you used to love, replaced by sharp, black suits and ties, clothes that looked like they belonged to someone else, someone trying to appear more sophisticated, more put-together, more respectable. It was as though he was trying to transform himself into someone else, someone who had moved on from the things he used to love, the things that reminded him of you.

“I know,” you replied, your voice quiet, carrying more meaning than just those two words. A sad smile curled on your lips. “I miss it…I miss you in it.”

The words hung between you for a moment, heavier than the silence. He didn’t respond, his gaze flickering away, but you could see something shift in him, a softness, something vulnerable. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand brushing against his. His fingers were ice-cold, and you instinctively cupped them in yours, the warmth of your touch contrasting sharply with the coldness of his skin.

“I remember you once said something about the power of human warmth,” you said softly, your voice breaking the weight of the silence, a fragile smile on your lips. “Let’s try.”

The elevator was still, suspended in a moment that felt endless. Neither of you had pressed a button, and for a heartbeat, the world outside seemed to hold its breath. You were trapped between two floors, between the weight of the past and the uncertainty of what might come next. The world was still, but your hearts, your thoughts, they were swirling, caught in the same limbo.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice a little rough, a little uncertain. His breath caught as your warm fingertips brushed his, and for a second, the world felt smaller, softer.

“I don’t want you to freeze or get sick,” you whispered, the words soft but steady, even though your heart was pounding in your chest. “I want you to live longer.”

Because you really did want he to live longer.

Preferably forever.

And hopefully, always this close to you.

For a long moment, Spencer didn’t speak, the tension between you palpable, thick with everything unspoken. You almost apologized, the words tumbling from your lips, but before you could finish, his touch stopped you.

He grabbed your waist, pulling you close with a force that took you by surprise, pressing your bodies together in a way that was intimate, urgent. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you melted into him, your cheek resting against his chest, your hands sliding around his back. You could hear the steady, comforting beat of his heart beneath your ear, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside seemed to disappear. Everything else fell away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

The silence grew between you, and then, without warning, the tears came.

Hot, silent, as though they had been held back for far too long, breaking free from the calm of his chest. They soaked into the fabric of your shirt, but you didn’t care. You held him tighter, your arms wrapped around him, offering him what little strength you had left. The weight of his sorrow pressed against you, and you could feel the deep, guttural pain that had been locked away inside him. It spilled out of him in waves, raw and unfiltered, and you didn’t say anything. You simply held him.

His body shook with the force of his grief, his fingers clutching at your shirt as the tears kept coming. “I’m here,” you whispered, your voice a steady murmur in the chaos of his pain. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You gently stroked his back, your touch slow and grounding, the rhythm of your movements steady and soft. As he clung to you, you could feel the tension slowly begin to ease, just a little. His sobs quieted, the sharpness in his breath softened, and the storm inside him started to calm, just a fraction. In your arms, he found the space to grieve, to release everything he had held in for so long.

Everything shifted. The elevator, once a place of uncomfortable silence, became a sanctuary. A place where Spencer could let down the walls he had built around himself. A place where, for the first time in what felt like forever, he was free to feel, free to cry, free to just be. And you were there, holding him, never letting go.

And for the first time in a long time, you both felt like you were exactly where you needed to be: he was yours, and you were his.

Tag list ❤︎ ︎: @burningwitchprincess @withloverosse @fairiesofearth @pleasantwitchgarden @ximensitaa @lover-of-books-and-tea @cherryblossomfairyy @cherrygublersworld @i-need-to-be-put-down

Send me an ask or comment here if you would like to be added or removed!

[honeysorwell]

a ring and the (Super Bowl's) ring

pairing: Restaurant!AU Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1 + Chapter 2

Link on AO3

Chapter 2

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (I tagged you all because you are all on my tag list for my other Melissa's fanfic, so since this is also a fanfic for Mel here you are!) (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Words: 2,9k

All information about the game and the ring was from Google. And thank you all very much for the kind words in the last chapter (and I truly apologize for the delay, but I was checking if the information makes sense, but then I gave up... and now I'm just praying. SERIOUSLY!

Enjoy!

“You look so beautiful waking up like a champion, hon.”, the redhead’s whispered voice, still kinda asleep, in Y/N’s ear infiltrates her senses fast enough for her skin to crawl before she is able to smile at her girlfriend.

Just like the night before, before and after the Eagles’ crushing victory in the Super Bowl, Melissa’s hands are not content with just gently embracing the food critic's skin. The chef of the Italian restaurant needs to let her fingerprints wander under the winning team’s jersey that her girlfriend borrowed from her last night.

“You’ve said that every time I’ve worn one of your Eagles jerseys since we’ve known each other.”, the food critic answers her girlfriend after looking at her own body and noticing that, in fact, she slept in last night’s shirt, but that doesn’t matter when she stretches her body just enough to place a soft kiss on Melissa's lips.

“And I mean it every single time.”, was Melissa’s laughing response to her girlfriend, as she moved even closer to hug her better and escape the morning sun that was gently filtering through the half-open curtains, painting the room and their bed with warm shades of orange and gold.

The delicate light illuminated the messy bed where those two women were intertwined, covered by a disheveled comforter, and the silence of the apartment was broken only by the soft sound of their breathing, low giggles, sweet kisses, and the distant noise of traffic outside.

But being awake suddenly made a throbbing headache appear on Y/N’s forehead, who groaned softly, putting her hand to the spot before asking her girlfriend:

“Oh my… What time is it?”, she murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep and the night of excesses.

Beside her, Melissa began to move, pulling the duvet to uncover part of her body and look at the clock on the bedside table, but the numbers seemed to dance before her eyes.

“I don’t know… too early, for sure,” the redhead replied, letting her head fall back onto the pillow, but it wasn’t long before she carefully rolled over once more, leaning against Y/N' body again.

The two ladies lay there, enjoying the calm of the morning and the warmth of each other. Some nausea and some headache were there, sure, but they seemed small compared to the happiness they felt with the memories of the previous night more vivid than anything in their minds.

Because the previous night was definitely something.

It always is when the Eagles win. Especially the Super Bowl.

Ever since the food critic, Y/N Y/L/N, started dating the chef and owner of the traditional Italian restaurant Schemmenti’s Cucin, she noticed her furious love for the football team. But she really doesn’t think anything could have prepared her for how furious that love is when the Eagles actually win the Super Bowl.

And with such a crushing victory against the Chiefs.

Melissa’s Italian restaurant was buzzing with energy that night. Even though it was a Sunday, a day when the restaurant normally closed early, the redhead decided to open exceptionally to welcome close friends and some family to watch the game that all Eagles fans were eagerly awaiting. The tables had been rearranged to accommodate a large projection screen, and the aroma of lasagna, bruschettas and tiramisu filled the air.

Melissa, wearing her tightly-fitted Eagles jersey and a particularly cute team hat, nervously circulated among the guests, handing out cannoli and making sure everyone was well-fed even after dinner, before the game started, slightly unaware of the adoring gaze that was following her.

Y/N was sitting in a cozy corner with Seamus, Barbara, and her husband, Gerald, watching the anxious chef from a distance. The black woman would hardly participate in an event like that, but thanks to her husband's love for football and her decades-long friendship with the most nervous redhead in the place, the successful painter simply accepted her fate that night. And, with a small watercolor and some disposable napkins, she made quick sketches of the vibrant scene around her.

“You never know when the Eagles are going to win,” was how she justified herself to Y/N and her husband, when they both came to keep her company after dinner, “And I just know Melissa would appreciate it.”

Gerald was just trying to explain the rules of American football to Seamus, who seemed more interested in watching his friend's wife capture the atmosphere of the cheerfulrestaurant than in the game itself.

Kristin Marie, on the other hand, was nowhere near visible, leaving only a patch of her blonde hair perceptible at the restaurant door as she basically inhaled cigarette after cigarette out of nervousness for the Schemmenti's favorite team.

Toni, on the other hand, was more than happy to take care of all the children in the place, at least for now. She was happy and smiling as she handed out one cannoli after another to all the little ones, trying her best not to get the Eagles jersey she borrowed from Kristen Marie dirty. (Theoretically, Don, the blonde's husband, was the one who lent her one of his wife's shirts with the big eagle printed on it without telling her, but no one but the two of them needed to know that.)

When for the first time in Super Bowl history, the Chiefs went to the locker room without scoring, Y/N really began to understand what she had gotten herself into.

There was so much beer. So much wine. So much Grappa.

But maybe this was a great distraction for Y/N's plan.

It wasn't anything too elaborate, but it was certainly special to her.

The following week would be Valentine's Day, and the food critic knew that it was absolutely impossible to take her girlfriend out to dinner on a night that was one of the busiest of the year for restaurants like hers. Melissa had been preparing herself and everyone who worked at Schemmenti's Cucina for over three months. Asking to ruin this for the redhead, who was so full of love for her restaurant, was just cruel.

So a plan was hatched.

Two days before Valentine's Day, after Schemmenti's Cucina closed, Y/N would show up at her beloved's restaurant with a bouquet of pink roses, the redhead's favorite, and her gift. This would give her enough time to enjoy the gift and recover for the busy day at the restaurant two days later.

But unfortunately, Y/N didn't calculate the work she would have to do herself that day. The uncles of the owner of a new restaurant contacted her as a disguised food critic to try some of the new dishes that afternoon, and the poor woman had no idea how long she will be there, and if she would have time to go to the florist who she ordered the flowers and then to get home to pick up her girlfriend's gift.

Taking the flowers to work in advance was a stupid idea, after all, what if something happened to them? She wouldn’t even plan on driving that day.

Bringing gift to work could be a good idea. It was small, light, and wouldn’t be a distraction. But if she forgot it or lost it somewhere in the city, dealing with the redhead’s wrath would be a particularly terrible way to spend the rest of the week. That is, if Melissa didn’t decide to just end her entire two-year relationship with her.

No, she couldn’t even dream of putting that at risk.

And that’s why Y/N was here, in the back of the store, looking for a place subtle enough to hide the elaborate jewelry box, but what she didn’t take into account was that her presence would be missed by the redhead.

“What’s this?” When the redhead’s voice rang out, in the small room filled with kitchen utensils, Y/N thought she would have a heart attack.

The younger woman turned to face the door faster than lightning, holding behind her back the jewelry box that she was sure her girlfriend had seen. The confused and irritated look on her face was more than enough proof.

“It’s not important. Go watch Kendrick, I'll be there in a few minutes.”, the food critic tried to tell her girlfriend, but she knew that wouldn't be effective.

“The halftime show is ending already, hon. But I think you know that. What are you keeping in there?”, the redhead tried again, now even more curious than when she entered there.

“You're going to miss the start of the game then.”, she tried once more, but it didn't work either.

“24 to 0, hon. It's not like something disastrous like that can happen in the two minutes that you show me what's in your…”

“MELISSA? You told me you were going to tell me what was going on in the game while I was smoking and here you are and… What's going on?”, Kristin Marie's voice starts off deeply irritated as she storms into the room, but softens as she sees the distance between her sister and her respective girlfriend.

“Nothing, we’re already on our way back.”, is how Y/N answers the blonde, with a voice desperate enough for the two Schimmentis in front of her to look at her, both annoyed now.

“Mel, do you have any juices for the kids? I just need to put some sleeping pills in them so I’ll be finally free and…”, Toni’s voice is heard before she even appears, but the younger Schimmenti sister’s reaction upon finding two of her sisters there is basically the same as the older blonde’s, “Oh… What are we doing?”

“My girlfriend was trying to hide a jewelry box in my restaurant and refuses to show me what’s inside.”

And it’s exactly as these words come out of the redhead’s mouth that Seamus decides to appear, with a particularly hyperactive child on his lap, who looks for the blonde mother with attentive eyes and only rests when he gently lays his head down in Kristin Marie neck's after being passed into her arms.

“It’s kind of… your Valentine’s Day present.”

The words murmured by Y/N make it seem as if a movie was being played in the Schimmentis' minds.

A family reunion.

A piece of jewelry.

A proposal.

“Oh God help me if it’s a ring… I swear I’m going to close this restaurant.”, Melissa said, now with an accusing look in Y/N’s direction, finally demanding what was once just a request, “Give it to me.”

Y/N smiled nervously amidst the watchful eyes of three of the redhead’s family members there and, with her eyes shining with contained emotion, handed the small box to the chef. Melissa just looked curiously at the velvet box, lost in memories lived there in her restaurant before carefully opening it, just to be completely speechless by the words that stared right at her, separated by a well-known eagle.

“World Champions”

That was an identical replica of the Eagles’ 2017 Super Bowl ring, shining brighter than the redhead’s green eyes.

The three diamonds representing the three postseason victories on top of the trophy. The eagle's back was set with four small green sapphires to represent the franchise's four NFL championships—in 1948, 1949, 1960, and 2017. The inside engraving being upside down to the top logo. It was just… perfect.

By the way it sparkled, Melissa could tell the quality of the work was remarkable, and before she even put it on her finger, she looked at Y/N, with tears in her eyes.

"I know you don't want to get married again, and I completely respect that. So, no engagement rings!”, she said smiling a little, now glancing at the redhead’s siblings, who were watching everything with their mouths open and in silence, before turning her attention back to the woman she loved, “But I found a store that makes particularly charming replicas of any jewelry you could ask for and I just asked for one cuz you are the most important person in my life, and I wanted to give you something that would show how much I love you and how much I value who you are and the things you love.”, Y/N said all at once, leaving no room for shame even with the gaze of the Schemmentis on her back, “You know, like the Eagles?”

And there, exchanging a soft look with her siblings that looked a lot like a silent “I told you so” that she always tells at them, and then focusing on Y/N and how nervous the younger woman seemed waiting for a reaction from the redhead, Melissa felt tears finally escape her eyes.

With shaking hands, she placed the heavy ring on her middle finger, admiring it for a moment before pulling Y/N into a tight hug.

“I love you so much,” Melissa whispered, her voice cracking. “This is… perfect. You are so perfect.”

A Super Bowl ring, of all things.

The only possible ring that wouldn’t hurt what she had set for herself for life.

The only ring that couldn’t be considered a warning, or the sound of a ticking clock.

The one that now rested heavily on her finger was the most perfect ring she could ever receive.

And Y/N gave it to her.

The two remained in each other’s arms for a long moment, before returning to the main hall and watching the entire second half of the game. The redhead, with the Eagles ring shining on her hand, watching her favorite team play brilliantly and with Y/N’s love wrapping her in a soft embrace, could only feel that she had everything she needed.

But when the Eagles were declared champions, Melissa was just on top of the world. She kissed Y/N hard, putting her hand under the Eagles jersey she had lent to her girlfriend and scratching her back while promising her the best night of her life. The redhead also jumped and hugged Kristen Marie, who squeezed her just as hard back before pushing her away. She kissed Gerald's bald forehead, an act that made Barbara laugh like never before shocked by her friend's excitement, before asking Y/N if that on the redhead's finger was what she thought it was. Seamus was just lifting three of the eight Schemmenti children, while Don lifted four more and both men jumped with them in their arms amidst their joyful screams. Toni waited for a few minutes before raising her glass of red wine and announcing a toast, which made everyone present go after their glasses and toast the Eagles' victory like Y/N had never seen before.

With the shrill sound of several messages being received on Y/N's cell phone, the memory that was flooding the culinary critic's heart and mind was replaced by confusion.

"You didn't say you would work this morning, hon.", Melissa muttered, already feeling what was the beginning of a stronger headache thanks to the horrible noise.

"That's because I'm not…", was Y/N's response to the redhead, more confused than irritated. "Can you check who it is for me?"

Without even answering, the redhead turned towards the small bedside table and… picked up the ring she had gotten from her girlfriend the night before, which was resting gently there.

Melissa placed it on her index finger, then on her ring finger… Always smiling softly at her own hand before having her attention called by Y/N.

“Please, my love? It might be important.”

And the term of endearment was what did it for Melissa.

“Oh… It’s just Don.”, was how she answered, already with her glasses on her face, before carefully reading the rest of the message, “He wants to know about the ring because he wants to give one to my sister… He also said that you made all the Schammentis spouses particularly angry with your gift to me because no one had thought of it before. Oh… lucky me to have such a beautiful and helpful girlfriend.”

“How does everyone know about the ring?”, was the first question that escaped Y/N, before realizing that it didn’t really matter, “Should I send him the information?”, she continued, now with a smile on her face and cheeks softly flushed thanks to her girlfriend’s compliment seconds ago.

“Yeah… I'm already the first one in the whole family to have one anyway…” the redhead said simply before handing the phone to her girlfriend, taking advantage of the fact that Y/N's full attention was now on the device before pulling the comforter covering them away from both of their bodies, “Oh! You should give me the number of that jeweler too, so I'll have both rings before Kristen Marie when they announce the new design!”

“Maybe… I've already taken care of that.”, I murmured softly to the redhead before focusing on her face, only to see her eyes widen along with the most beautiful smile in the world appear on her lips, proving that the deal she made with the jeweler in case the Eagles won on Sunday was worth it, “You see, for a woman who didn't want any rings you're way too excited to have two.”

Before responding to Y/N's accusation, Melissa lifted the shirt that was on her girlfriend's body until her panties, the skin of her belly, and her breasts were exposed to her.

“It’s not just any ring, Y/N!” she said with a frown before smiling and gently placing her hand on Y/N’s belly, quickly sending shivers down her girlfriend’s skin at how cold the ring in question was, before continuing and finally pulling her in for a kiss again, “You gave me THE ring!”

[sugarwarachan]

title: give me a sign (something legible this time)

pairing: oliver aiku x afab!reader

author's note: really just wanted an excuse to be angsty over playboy oliver and still let reader have him. nsfw, mdni

you're supposed to hate oliver aiku.

it's not for lack of trying. it's day 32 of whatever the fuck this situationship is, and he's managed to worm his way into your heart and rot you from the inside out.

case in point? you're attending some sleazy party simply because you hope he'll be there, standing just outside of your peripherals so you have to swivel your head and find him—

"missed ya, baby," his voice is low against your ear as he swoops in from behind. your face presses into his neck and the smell of cedar and laundry soap overwhelms your senses.

you do hate this, just a little bit. the whole, doesn't-do-commitment, loves-to-play-at-boyfriend-anyway act that he does, but what you really hate is how little you actually care because he always chases away any lingering hurt with his teeth in your neck and his hand around your throat.

"what do you want?" you ask, taking a sip of your drink. you pull a face; it's too fucking sweet. you press it off on him. "you like sweet things, right?"

his smile is feral, heterochromatic eyes flashing in the blue and purple haze of the party. he takes the drink and pounds it back. a drop cascades down the thick column of his throat. your eyes track its movements into his shirt.

"you're right, angel. I do like sweet things." he palms the meat of your ass and jostles you back into his groin, rubbing his already-hard cock into the back of your skirt. you gasp when he lifts the fabric.

"people might fucking see," you hiss, swatting at his hands.

you mean nothing to him, you have to remind yourself, even as he gently pulls your hair to the side to kiss your neck, his deep voice a rumble in your ear—

"let them see."

"no," you insist, pushing away from him. he takes a step back, hands shoved deep in the pockets of those stupid designer jeans that fit him like a glove. brow furrowed, he cocks his head down the hallway where you know at least one shadowy bedroom awaits. you take off after him before you can stop yourself.

"you're mad at me," he says once the door shuts. your eyes blink at the wall of gaming tech. frustration bubbles over. you're not in his room or yours—

"we're always hooking up at parties," you tell him.

his eyebrows raise. "and?"

god, sometimes you hate him so much you can't see.

"and," you bite back, "I'm fucking tired of it. this—" you gesture between the two of you, a part of you reveling in his crumpling expression, "is done. I'm not getting fucked in some rich kid's masturbation den because you can't commit."

he blinks at you.

"I'll take you home then."

before you can fully process the words, he flips you around and presses your back against the door. his knee wedges between your thighs and you bite back a sigh. his hand wraps around your throat, the gentlest pressure, and your eyelids flutter shut.

"it's not forever, but could we start with one night?"

"nice line, jackass," but you kiss him all the same.

and as one night collapses into four, and then 17, and then 289, you eventually stop thinking you're supposed to hate oliver aiku.

WHY DO I WANT THIS MAN THE WAY THAT I DO

[crowliphale]

ALRIGHT.... after roughly three days and one complete re-work, i think i can now proudly show off my silly sims creation...

Madrick Roslof's House

(disclaimer: i know it's shown to be a cutesie little cottage in the module but hush i have an overactive imagination)

I took some HEAVY, HEAVY inspiration from @sweet-reaper's fic What Lies Between Us (as in, it was supposed to be a recreation but i'm more than 100% sure i messed some things up) so go give it tons of love!!!

Tour below the cut!

The Outside (front & back)

I'll admit I'm not the greatest exterior decorator, but I'm still happy with how it came out! I was going for a building that wasn't constructed professionally, but rather by the people living in it. Personalized, asymmetrical, kinda like my grandparents house...

The Foyer/Livingroom

You'll notice right away that Roslof has an absolutely chaotic variety of furniture, and that's completely intentional! I wanted it to feel like this house has been lived in for decades, becoming more of a place to store all of Roslof's trinkets rather than an organized space. For sims reasons I gave him a TV, but if it were purely dnd-based that wouldn't be there lol. The dollhouse is there for Hootsie, who's a toddler in my game!

The Kitchen

Kremy's baby. He practically lives in this room. Despite it being Roslof's house and kitchen, I REALLY leaned into the fact that this is Kremy's space. It's a lot cleaner than some other parts of the house, and feels slightly more updated while keeping that awesome vintage vibe. Not a ton to say, it's probably the 2nd most accurate to my initial vision while reading reaper's fic.

The Dining Room

Not a ton to say here! I honestly didn't even intend on adding a dining room at first, but realized i had an empty room that served no purpose, so why not make it a dining room? I'm really happy with the eclectic collection of chairs, and I felt like a genius for putting one to the side after I replaced it with Hootsie's high chair

~ UPSTAIRS ~

The Guest Room (currently Kremy & Gideon's room)

The MOST accurate to my vision while reading reaper's fic, I think the only part I wish I could change is that the table in the back is meant to be a vanity table. I also would've added more clutter and the shrine to the Baron, but I kinda just don't have the space/CC for that </3 otherwise I love this room!!

Roslof's Room (formerly, now deceased)

This one's the most lackluster in my opinion, I really didn't have a clear picture of what his room looks like. It's also likely getting changed in the future as Hootsie grows up--Maybe I'll move Gideon and Kremy into here at some point... either way it isn't awful, I wouldn't mind spending my final days in here.

Guest Room 2 (Frost & Gricko & Hootsie's room)

I think this is where I strayed the most from reaper's story. Not totally sure how the arrangement is in the fic, i haven't reread it in a minute, but I know I typically make the three other guys all bunk together... but as you can see, this room is WAY too small for that. So instead it's just Frost & Gricko & Hootsie. Didn't put a ton of effort in, but that's mainly because I don't think Frost or Gricko have very many worldly possessions to their names.

~ BASEMENT ~

The Workshop (Gideon's baby)

I literally just DON'T have the CC to make this work that great, but I tried to still arrange things the same way they looked in my mind! Again not much to say, without the proper CC it kinda just became a filler room.

The Storage Closet (Torbek's room)

Poor Torbek... FJDSKFS I'm actually so sorry I put him down here partially as a joke and partially because I couldn't remember where he sleeps in the fic. and because I was pretty much entirely out of space anywhere else. Sorry big guy, I gave you a night light as consolation

~ THE GREENHOUSE ~

The Greenhouse (the greenhouse)

THE GREENHOUSE!! It's my absolute favorite part of the build it's just downright gorgeous, I tried so so hard to make it work despite not having the correct CC/DLC, and I'm super happy with how it came out!! Literally all I would add is some hanging planters from the banisters this thing is great.

and... that's the house! Hooray! Not sure how else to end a post like this, so here's the worst photo ever of how the guys look (+ toddler Hootsie)

I'll probably make another post like this but for the family's closeups/outfits/traits if I notice enough interest for it.. anyway tho hope you liked my silly sims build!! go read reaper's stuff its actually peak i'm so serious!!

[bigmacari]

╭────────────────.★..─╮

Amir Beckett x Gen Reader

Romantic Dating Headcanons

Warnings - Mention of Anxiety

╰─..★.────────────────╯

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

☆ Holy lord this man.

Amir Beckett is a very silly character with some deep emotions going around.

As he says in the game, you are the first person he has been with.

You are his first everything AND YOU SHOULD BE PROUD.

He is willing to give his all to you and his very excited to be your partner.

Amir's love languages are words of affirmations, quality time, and physical touch.

In that order.

☆ This man will compliment you to the moon and back. All the compliments would be in extreme detail too. "I love how your eyes shine like diamonds in the moonlight 🥰" "Your skin is as soft as a baby lamb" LMAO idk some shit like that.

And as you know, he gives you the silliest of nicknames.

Honey bunch, love muffin, baby cakes, snookums, (name) booboo bear, fluffy kins, pumpkin pie, cuddle bug, love nugget, cutie patootie, etc.

I can go on and on, he just never runs out of them.

Amir isn't afraid to compliment you or use corny nicknames in front of the rest of the Hex either. No matter how much they may roll their eyes. I think he just would try extra hard just to annoy them lmao.

☆ Amir loves spending time with you, of course he understands that everyone needs their space though.

No matter what you guys are doing he's happy. Ya'll could just be cuddling and he's over the moon. Though he moves a LOT. Always fidgeting with anything he can get a hold of. You included.

Amir would love playing with your hair, doesn't matter the texture, length, or hairstyle. Amir promises he won't mess up your hair (but sometimes it happens anyways lmao)

Another thing he like to fidget with is your fingers and hands. Especially when you have jewelry on. Oooo let him paint your nails, paint his too!!

Chronic hand holder. Especially if he feels anxious.

Now, if your overwhelmed and don't want him to touch you, he understands. (Can't count how many times that has happened to me)

☆ If you asked him, Amir would totally get in the shower with you. It doesn't have to be anything sensual, it can just be relaxing and wholesome. He'll wash your body and hair, give you a massage, or just kind of hold you and relax.

Wash his hair for sure though, he would love that.

☆ Outside of battle, a lot of time is spent with him is playing video games. Since future isn't familiar with the technology, Amir would have a blast showing you all the video games that he has. Super Smash Bros, Donkey Kong 64, Final Fantasy, Resident Evil 3, Tony Hawk's Pro Skater?? And of course all the arcade games he plays with in the mall.

☆ Before yall go to bed for the night, Amir can be found playing on his game boy for a bit while cuddling you. If he's really into the game, you kinda have to rip it from his hands. Once he actually settles down and tries to sleep, its a whole process.

It takes him a good while to get to sleep. You guys talk for a hit minute while yall cuddle and Amir plays with your hair or gently rubs his hand up and down your back. Even when he's half asleep you can still feel him do it.

When he is finally asleep, the poor thing moves so much. I imagine he can't stay asleep for more than 30 - 45 mins at a time, so he's always tossing and turning. I promise you its the caffeine. Amir's also a huge sleep talker.

It could be about battle, gaming, the hex or you. But he's always mumbling something. You definitely hear a nickname of yours slip out once and a while. Other than that he's not big on snoring. If he does its very light and fades into the background after a while.

Huge cuddler when yall fall asleep but eventually sprawls out and does whatever.

He has nightmares due to stress and anxiety sometimes. I'm not gonna go into huge detail about what I think they are about, but it happens.

☆ As I said earlier, silly character with some deep emotions. Amir does have a panic attack in the game and has mention to had some in the past. So there are times were he will come to you for comfort as you have comforted him in the past.

In the beginning of the relationship, Amir will have some insecurities about not being enough for you. Which leads to reassurance from you. It may take a bit of time, but once he understands that you love him for him, nothing will stop him from treating you the best he can.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Well, here's my two cents and a paper clip. Sorry it's so short, I've been focusing a lot of school lately and its killing me. But I hope you still enjoyed. Warframe is underrated, even so Amir. I need more fanfics on him asap.

[uluvjay]

Trip to Boston-W.Smith & M.Celebrini

Will Smith x fem! Reader x Macklin Celebrini

In which Will & Macklin return to Boston to pay a visit to their girl and attend the annual bean pot.

Warnings?: poly! Relationship, kissing, cursing, bets, flirting, pet names, slightly suggestive?, technically underage drinking(even tho Mack’s legal back home), sorry if I missed any errors!

“Can’t believe you’re not supporting Bu” Macklin shook his head from his spot beside you in the passenger seat.

“Baby I go to Bc, I can’t be caught rooting for our biggest rival. My boyfriends school or not.” You laughed.

The brunette shook his head at you dramatically pressing his hand to his chest mocking a broken heart.

“Don’t worry Mack one of your practice shirts is under my Jersey.” Will piped up from the backseat.

Macklin smirked at that knowing Will was taking pride in you still attending Bc and supporting his old school giving them some more support for the bean pot.

“I’m not supporting Bu, but I’ll always support you.” You smiled patting his thigh.

Your relationship with the boys definitely wasn’t normal, you and Will had been dating for three years but had known each other since you were kids. You two had known Macklin for a while however the boys didn’t get close till their season in San Jose started.

When you went to Visit Will for his first game you couldn’t help the way you gravitated towards Macklin, his kind words making you blush as easy as Wills did. You felt ashamed at first that another man made you feel the way your boyfriend did but when you brought it up to Will he opened up about his own feelings.

Leading you three to now, happy and in love. The world didn’t know about your relationship with both of them, you were known as Wills girlfriend and Macklin was one of your closest friends.

“Thanks babe.” He smiled kissing your hand that had been interlocked with his over his lap.

“Of course, besides you guys are about to get destroyed tonight. Gotta make sure you know how much I still love you.”

-

Those were your famous last words as you sat next to Will, sinking further down in your seat watching as Macklin waved a Bu flag outside the suite after their second goal in two minutes.

He was grinning from ear to ear as the crowd around him started chanting his name, Lane right beside him hyping up the student section.

“We’re never gonna hear the end of this.” Wills voice was full of defeat as he spoke.

“I’m ready to give you my jersey and push you out there.” You shook your head.

“If it wasn’t against the rules I would be.” He scoffed eyes running over the number 6 jersey you wore of his.

He was on his feet and cheering a period ago when Gabe scored the opening goal and now he was sulking in his seat watching as his boyfriend had the time of his life watching his old team dominate the ice.

“Time to take that jersey off baby, I got something way better.” Macklin cheesed brightly as he entered the suite, a bright red Boston University jersey in his hands, the back reading “M. Celebrini”.

“Where did you even find that?” Will asked.

“I have my ways.” The Canadian shrugged dropping the material in your lap.

You sighed in despair looking between the blonde sat beside you and the jersey in your lap, you were proud to attend your school but right now there was no way you were walking past an entire section of Bu students in your smith jersey on the way out plus how could you say no to Macklin’s sweet eyes.

“Sorry babe.” You apologized to Will kissing his cheek before standing and stripping off his jersey leaving you in one of Macklin’s old shirts.

You pulled the red jersey over your head feeling like you were breaking every law of being a Boston College student.

“This feels wrong.”

“But you look amazing, reds truly your color baby.” Macklin smirked.

“Thought teal was her color?” Will teased bringing up the boys words from when you sported a sharks jersey a few weeks ago.

“Every color is her color.” Macklin smiled.

You blushed at his words grabbing the younger boy and pulling him to a secluded part of the suite so you could place your lips on his.

He smiled softly into the kiss his large hands wrapping around your waist as he pressed you against him.

You two were interrupted by the roaring cheers of the Bu crowd around you, the bruins goal horn screeching through the arena signaling another goal for the terriers.

“That’s three Smitty.” Macklin was quick with his words as he pulled back from you, shooting the blonde behind you a smirk.

“I said if you won, games not over yet.” Will huffed staying hopeful despite there not being much time left on the clock.

You and Macklin made you ways back to the seats each taking a side of will as you watched the final minutes tick down.

And it didn’t take long before the final buzzer for Bu to score again making it a 4-1 win in the bean pot, you felt awful for your friends watching as the boys skated with their heads down defeat written on their faces.

Macklin did his best to not gloat knowing Will would be upset and feeling for his friends but he had to remind the blonde about their bet before he disappeared down to the ice to celebrate with Lane and their old team.

“My name is going to look beautiful on your back when you put that Canada jersey on smitty.” Macklin grinned throwing an arm over Wills shoulder.

You gasped at the words realized they’d put another bet on this game just like they did when the two schools played each other a few weeks back.

However this one was a bit more then just schools, it was countries and if there was one thing Will prided himself on more than just being a Bc alumni it was getting to play and win gold for his country.

“You didn’t…” you trailed looking between the two boys.

“Oh he did.”

“We swept them! I thought we had this in the bag, that the boys would Win but here we are.” Will groaned throwing his head back dramatically.

You patted his thigh comfortingly knowing he wasn’t gonna take this easily, he wasn’t gonna be happy wearing the jersey once the boys returned to San Jose against the Avalanche following their long road trip.

“Don’t worry I’ll go easy on you it’ll be my personal one, not one I beat you in.” Macklin threw out and you couldn’t help but laugh at that knowing he had been shitty over having to wear Will’s winning jersey.

With a loud sigh Will threw his boyfriend a pleading look using those baby blues the best he could, “Do i really have to?”

“Yes, now I’m going down to see the team. I’ll meet you guys back at the hotel?”

“Yeah I don’t think there’s gonna be much celebrating going on at the campus.” You replied.

Will nodded in agreement both of you bidding Mack a goodbye as he slipped out of the suite, you and Will gathering your belongings and following behind shortly after.

You two stopped in the Bc locker room to share a few words with the boys, ignoring the teasing at the sight of you in a terriers jersey you caught up with some of the other girlfriends before returning to Wills side and heading out.

You gave him your car keys allowing him to drive from Td garden to the hotel he and Macklin had rented a room in for the few days they were in Boston.

You’d be staying with them since they arrived seeing it much easier then having to get in trouble for having both staying in your tiny dorm where they weren’t even allowed to be after 10pm.

The car ride was quiet the two of you making small talk while you scrolled through social media smiling at all the pictures and videos of Macklin with his old team.

It hurt seeing your school lose but your heart was quickly warmed seeing your boy happy and smiling with his friends.

“What’s got you cheesing over there?” Will asked.

“Macklin celebrating.” You answered honestly, waiting for him to pull to a stop light before turning your phone towards him.

Will couldn’t help his own smile that formed as he looked over the tweet, he was hurting to but just like you seeing Macklin happy made up for it.

Once you two made it back to the hotel you were quick to change into pajamas, Wills consisting of shorts and no shirt while you sported one of his practice shirts and sleep shorts.

He was ordering room service when you saw the texts from Macklin come through your phone.

Going out wit the boys, be back as soon as I can.

Don’t let will take all the cuddles, love ya

You giggled softly knowing how much of a cuddle bug he was, Will liked to cuddle too but he liked to hold you where Macklin wanted nothing more but to be tucked into your side with his face in your neck.

I’ll make sure to save you a bunch of cuddles, we love you too.

Have fun & be safe

“Mack’s going out with the team.” You informed Will noticing he had set the room phone down.

“Oh you are gonna have so much fun with drunk Mack” he laughed as he climbed up the bed to lay next to you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked curiously.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

His voice was calm but the smirk that sat on his lips had your mind racing at all the possibilities.

-

Two hours later you found yourself on top of will as he kissed down your neck teeth nipping at the bare skin of your throat, your fingers tangled in his soft curls.

You weren’t really sure how you got here but you weren’t complaining especially when his hands snuck under the cotton of his shirt you wore thick fingers trailing against your bare skin.

You reconnected your lips in another hot kiss whimpering against his mouth when he pulled you down to grind against him.

His fingers were seconds from tugging your shirt over your head when three loud knocks pounded against the door.

You jumped back in surprise sliding off Will so he could go open and see who it was.

You made yourself comfortable against the headboard listening to the voices as the heavy door was pulled open.

“This belongs to you now, he’s not wasted but definitely not sober”

It was Aiden and from the sounds of it he was hanging over your other boyfriend to Will.

“Thanks man, I’ll make sure he gets to bed.” Will laughed softly.

It didn’t take long for the slurred voice of Macklin to fill the room, “Honey I’m home” he laughed as he and Will came into sight.

“Looks like you had fun.” You spoke up watching amusingly as he drunkly stripped from his sweater and jeans.

“So much fun, but I missed you guys.” He smiled finally climbing into bed when he was ready now dressed in sweatpants.

You held the blanket open for him as he moved towards the bed however what you weren’t expecting was him to plop down right on top of you.

His head tucked into the crook of your neck while his arms wrapped around your body, his lips kissing your collarbone as he settled in.

You ran your fingers through his soft locks admiring the way his face relaxed and the soft smile that stayed on his lips.

Will climbed into bed beside the two of you leaving enough space in case Macklin would want to move over.

“Night Smitty” you spoke softly towards the blonde giving him a soft peck.

“Hey! Where’s mine?” The Canadian in your lap whined dramatically.

You and Will both laughed at his expression as he picked his head up.

“Sorry baby thought you were sleeping.” You apologized.

“It’s fine-now kiss me” he demanded pulling your face towards his.

The kiss was completely different from his usual ones, this was sloppy and slow as your lips moved in sync. You could taste the peach high noons he no doubt had been downing as his choice of drink.

However when you tried to pull away he was pulling you right back sitting up even more to get a better position to kiss you even harder.

Will laughed at the sight of you two, the first time he’d experienced a drunk Macklin he was tackled to the bed and was forced to play with the boys hair till he fell asleep.

He wasn’t sure what did it and neither was Macklin but whenever the boy had alcohol in his system he couldn’t help the way he needed to be loved on and get attention.

You two went until you physically couldn’t keep kissing him without passing out, Macklin whined when you pushed his face back but he quickly felt the burning in his chest.

His eyes ran over your face admiring your cherry red cheeks and swollen lips, how pretty you looked spent and breathless.

He thankfully felt like the kisses were enough for the night tucking himself back into the crook of your neck and it didn’t take long for soft snores to fill the room.

“How was that?” Will teased.

“Tasted like high noons but I can never say no to him” you shook your head still trying to catch your breath.

“Yeah he knows how to do that to people” will grumbled thinking about the fact he’d be wearing a Canadian jersey in a few weeks.

You nodded in agreement allowing yourself to get comfortable and soon all three of you were sleeping peacefully.

-

My valentines gift to the WillMack community!

[dreamyluigi]

superstar saga luigi crashout thoughts

looking once again at this awesome piece by yamari-san and how it sparked a lot of thoughts in my brain about luigi's treatment throughout SS

(link to the pic, this artist is also a huge inspiration for me)

through this whole game luigi is consistently ignored/disrespected by almost every NPC who recognizes mario, always being seen as That Other Guy or The Brother Guy or Lu... Louis? What Was His Name Again? etc. i like to think for the most part luigi is so used to this already, like it's par for the course for awhile especially in the beginning of the game - like, this is the first time (by RPG standards) he's actually gotten to travel alongside his brother like this. he didn't want to, but i think as time goes on he finds himself enjoying their time together and feels useful for once. despite that, NPCs continuously disrespect him throughout the course of the game, even after he's proven himself to be just as strong and capable as mario. you'd think after awhile that starts to wear on a guy, right?

of course there are random characters who admire luigi, there always will be. and characters who genuinely acknowledge him as a superstar like mario! but... even peasley disrespects him at times, despite being one of the ones who also gives him compliments and a confidence boost. maybe he's a little airheaded and doesn't recognize some of the disrespectful things he does/says but at the end of it all luigi is still rejected.

luigi's number one goal is to help mario, and i think he'd let mario do just about anything to him in order to achieve that. but i think the culmination of multiple characters ignoring him, forgetting him, etc., and then being hammered into a surfboard just makes him boil over. like... for real, the joke's over. the name Joke's End is the perfect area and time for him to just completely lose it. he's done being just useful, he has worked so hard, done so much to help, he wants recognition for his efforts - not just from the people they help but from mario himself too.

mario of courseeee loves him so much and is probably too thickheaded to even think he did anything wrong. but when weegee finally snaps at him to take him seriously! no one ever takes him seriously! i finally get to come on an adventure with you and nobody even cares! why do i have to be the surfboard!? i think they have a long talk about it... and mario absolutely agrees that luigi deserves just as much superstardom as he does. it's something they've needed to acknowlege forever but just never did because luigi always stayed back, stayed behind, willingly, perhaps out of cowardice perhaps out of fear that he'd drag mario down. but after realizing they have perfect synergy in battle and outside of it, his confidence grows. mario gives him that strength. and he needs to be respected for it!

for as much shit as folks like to give starlow, she is not even in this game and it's the most luigi has ever been disrespected... she has her moments of course but i feel like it balances out with her being kind of the only source of grief luigi gets. in other M&L games after SS i think luigi gets a lot less BS from random NPCs so it doesn't feel as harsh to me? maybe i'm a starlow apologist. i think she's funny. i don't think luigi appreciates it but i think it affects him less than nearly everyone in SS being like Who is this guy lol. Why are you wearing mario's clothes. Are you a fanboy or something (he is but like damn!)

it makes me happy that snoutlet exists. luigi always needs a little bit of bullying as a treat, but the way snoutlet absolutely loves him, praises him, thinks he's a genius, it's what he deserves after all this time of being forgotten or disrespected. and i think mario watching the progression throughout the M&L series of folks respecting and loving luigi more and more the more adventures they take together makes him feel happy and fuzzy inside too. he's a humble guy and seeing his brother get praised makes him feel much more proud than if it was directed at himself

"M&L RPGs aren't sequential-" to me they are. if you look hard enough you will see.

[mintyys-blog]

CLINGY— peter parker

Peter Parker loved a lot of things: science, swinging through the city, his Aunt May’s wheatcakes—but above all, he loved you.

You were his first real relationship, and he was your first boyfriend. So naturally, you clung to him like a lifeline. You wanted to be around him all the time, whether it was curling up beside him while he studied, calling him just to hear his voice, or texting him even if you had nothing to say. And Peter? He never minded.

But one night, everything changed.

Peter was at Ned’s place, playing video games with the guys. The sounds of button mashing and occasional swearing filled the room, but then, the conversation drifted elsewhere.

“Dude, your girlfriend is so clingy,” one of his friends joked. “How do you even deal with that?”

Peter just laughed, his focus still on the game. “Honestly? I love it. I think it’s adorable.”

But you didn’t hear that part.

You had stopped by to surprise him, but as you stood outside the door, the word clingy rang in your ears. You felt your stomach drop. Annoying. Too much. That’s what they meant, right? Even if Peter didn’t outright agree, he still laughed. Did that mean he thought so too?

The insecurity hit you like a truck.

So, you pulled away. Completely.

No more texting him good morning and goodnight. No more calling just to hear his voice before you fell asleep. No more cuddling into his side when you were together. You needed to prove—to yourself, to Peter, to his friends—that you weren’t too much.

At first, Peter thought it was just a bad day. Then a bad week. But when two weeks passed with no soft hugs, no absentminded hand-holding, no rambling voicemails about how your day went, he realized something was definitely wrong.

Enough was enough.

Peter cornered you at your locker after school, placing a hand on the door to keep you from escaping. “Okay. What’s going on?”

You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

His eyes softened, searching your face. “You know what I mean.” He sighed, his voice quieter now. “You’ve been… different. Distant. You barely even look at me anymore.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the books in your hands. “I just—I didn’t want to be annoying.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Annoying?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I heard what your friends said. About me being clingy.”

His heart clenched.

“You—” he exhaled, realization washing over him. “You heard that?”

You nodded, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I was too much. So I figured I should… back off.”

Peter’s chest ached. He reached for your hands, his fingers curling around yours. “Baby.” He gave a gentle squeeze, finally making you look at him. “I love that you’re clingy.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I love it,” he repeated, eyes warm. “It makes me feel important. Like… I don’t know, like I matter to you.” His lips quirked into a small smile. “Sure, maybe you overdo it sometimes, but that’s just you. And I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

Your breath hitched, emotions bubbling to the surface. “But your friends—”

“Don’t matter,” he cut in gently. “What you and I have? That’s what matters.”

You swallowed, the weight of your insecurities starting to lift. “So… you don’t think I’m annoying?”

Peter grinned. “I think you’re adorable.”

A small, relieved laugh slipped past your lips, and Peter pulled you into his arms, holding you tight.

“I missed this,” he murmured against your hair.

Your fingers clutched at his hoodie, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself lean into him.

“I missed this too.”