#deeper down still they know it’s love. too much love

[lamefish]

kento nanami is an anniversary man. nsfw

you think it's sweet, how he has the date of big events in his life on memory. when it's a loss, he'll take the day off to remember, with his head in your lap as he tells stories of whomever has passed. you listen intently, ask questions about them and watch as your husband recounts every good thing about a person.

he celebrates the good, too. almost excessively. the date you met is circled on the calendar, and kento will wake you up with breakfast in bed and a day of doting to show you just how important this anniversary is to him. you turned his world upside down in the best of ways, and what kind of man is he if not one to celebrate the light in his life?

of course, your wedding anniversary too. it's the one he goes all out for: more often than not you put a weekend aside to take a trip and spend some uninterrupted time together. you'll act as newlyweds again, because you still feel like newlyweds despite the passing years, and you'll be reminded over and over just how lucky you are to have found your soulmate in a man like kento nanami.

a man who is sentimental, and so very in love with you. and also celebrates the first time you had sex.

that first year, he had spent the day doting on you so profusely that you were convinced he was going to propose. he was pulling out all of the stops, taking you out fopr an expensive meal, dosing you with fine wines and so many kisses you could get drunk off the taste of him alone. he took you home, ran you a scented bath and took care of the house while you relaxed.

and of course the night ended in mind blowing sex—as your nights usually do. he had insisted on fucking you in missionary despite his recent penchant for taking you from behind and, once he has ripped two orgasms from you and was working on your third, he let it slip.

“we made love for the first time a year ago today,” he whispers against your lips, cock pulsing inside of you as he reaches deep inside of you. “just like this—looking into each others eyes, three orgasms from you, two from me. fell in love with you that night, do you know that honey?”

“you kept track of the day?” you cant finish your sentence without a moan breaking from your throat. “kento, you’re something else.”

“of course i did. it’s an important date, reaching such intimacies—feeling these beautiful velvet walls of yours for the first time… i’ll never forget it.”

you laugh, though it’s quickly swallowed by a kiss from your lover. he rocks his hips into you, feels every inch of his veiny cock disappear inside. he looks down to watch himself sink into you, though his gaze his brought back when you speak.

“three.”

kento blinks. “three what?”

“orgasms from you. you said you had two, but you came a third time right at the end—i milked you dry and you were so sex-drunk and exhausted but you insisted on making me food.” you reach down and grab his hand, the one that had been cupping at your chest, and hold it up for him to see the gentle scar that runs across his thumb. “you cut yourself slicing the bread because i fucked you mindless.”

it comes back to him in gentle flashes. you had, in fact, milked him of a third release. he had just been so out of his mind with nerves and pleasure that the memory had washed itself clean from his mind. he scolds himself mentally for ever daring to forget a detail about being intimate with you, but smiles.

“i remember,” he says. “you told me sex made you hungry so i wanted to incorporate it into your aftercare…”

“silly man,” you wrap your legs around his waist and lick your ankles behind him. with a gentle nudge, he’s forced that tiny bit deeper inside of you. “my silly man.”

kento moans—his eyes flutter shut and his lips catch between his teeth. he adores you—he really does. so much so that the sheer memory of his first time with you is quickly becoming too powerful of a memory to have.

and you, his beautiful other half, laid beneath him with lustful eyes and parted lips, smile up at him. “are we recreating our first time, ken? is that what this is?”

he nods, a little wordless as he tries to keep his mind straight.

“then i think you know what i’m going to do to you, my love.”

he smiles. “milk me for all i have. it’s all yours anyways.”

you lean up and kiss him. it’s slow, gentle, like your first kiss with him was. you taste him wholly on your lips and thank all the divine beings that may exist for putting such a man in your life’s trajectory. his cock twitches inside of you, he fills you out so perfectly.

still, you smile as you roll your hips up to meet his. “just let me handle the aftercare this time.”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆｡𖦹 if you wanted to kill Bill, this might do it °⭒˚

somewhere in the woods, you take everything from Bill Cipher by loving Stanford Pines

tags: nsfw, smut, Ford Pines x fem reader, angst, fluff, vaginal & oral sex (m receiving), voyeurism, praise kink, when you hate your man’s toxic ex so much you use his statue as a bed frame, i wrote this to spite Bill Cipher

Ford has never been this weak in his life.

Above, somewhere in the tangled branches, birds chatter and sing, oblivious to what you're doing with your scientist. The leaves rustle from the wind as golden sun drips through the canopy. But down here, where you kneel in the warm dirt, Ford is loosing his smart mind.

It all started with your feigned surprise. “Stanford Pines, tell me, what does my dress have to do with topography?”

“Its not what- It’s-! Oh, hell.”

The woods are golden in the late afternoon light, it’s warm, honeyed summer and everything is moving through syrup.

“Oh, god,” he's already ruined, god bless him. ”this is- this is entirely unnecessary, we could’ve waited until we returned to— ahh—” says the man who got so distracted because he kept catching glimpses of your thighs every time the breeze lifted your dress.

You interrupt him, pressing your tongue to the sensitive tip of his cock and the sound is so pretty, so pathetic, that you moan softly against him just to hear it again.

He's never known a greater pleasure than your hands on him.

His head tilts back, exposing the cut of his throat, the sharp bob of his adam’s apple. Such a mess already, his chest rising too fast beneath his sweater. His six fingers twitch as he wants to grab your hair but doesn’t dare to, always so careful, so controlled.

Meanwhile you keep your hands on his thighs, pressing your nails into the fabric of his pants, and Ford jolts at the sensation, at the impossible warmth of your wet mouth around him. You squeeze him a little tighter, just to see how much he can take.

Ford bucks forward involuntarily, moaning so sweetly, so needy, and oh, god, you feel yourself getting wetter from just the sound of him.

He is shaking and his breath is uneven, back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, he grips at it helplessly, desperately trying to silence himself, but there’s no holding on, no steadying himself. Not when you’re doing this to him.

“S-Sweetheart—” he gasps, cracking on your name. “oh, you— you’re—” he wants to say something smart, something clever, of how you shouldn't be doing this here, but his mind is nothing but white noise and you know it, because when you take him deeper, let him hit the back of your throat just to hear him sob, he actually whimpers.

His hips jerk and he immediately grips the bark harder, forces himself to still. Poor Ford, trying so hard to be good. You press your nails deeper into him, warning him, slowing down to make him squirm, determined to make him louder.

Ford groans, lets his head thump against the tree. You’re torturing him. “dont t-tease. . .”

You’re taking your time, savoring this moment, savoring him, moving in slow, teasing strokes. When you pull off with a sloppy, wet sound and your breath fan over him, pressing a gentle kiss to the flushed tip, Ford looks down at you with question on his flushed face.

“So quiet.” you murmur, nuzzling against his length, feeling the heat of him against your skin, the soft press of his cock against your cheek.

Ford’s gives you an awkward tiny smile. “well, we are in the middle of a forest, darling, i-i can’t exactly—” he blinks, panting, glazed eyes locking onto yours, hoping you'll understand.

No, you dont. “but i want to hear you.” you lick a slow stripe up his length, and Ford bites his knuckles, because that's too sexy for a nerd like him. No one, no fucking one had ever done that to him. He tries to muffle the soft, helpless groan that escapes him, tries to stay quiet by biting at his own skin, fingers.

You stop immediately, frowning up at him.

He gasps in disappointment, blinking down at you, disoriented. “wh- but why did you—?”

You press your cheek to the side of his cock, again, pouting. “i told you, Ford,” look up at him through your lashes. “let me hear you.”

Stanford lets out a breathless mix of a laugh and a groan, tilting his head back against the tree in defeat, taking a deep breath. “darling, you're going to destroy me.” but you know that tone of his, he can't argue back, because he's ready to do anything for his beloved.

Satisfied with your victory, you take him into your mouth, feeling the way his thick cock twitches on your tongue, filling your mouth so perfectly. You work him slow, gripping his base with your free hand.

Ford whimpers, slapping one hand over his mouth before he remembers, remembers your request, remembers that you want to hear him.

He drops his hand, exhales sharply and finally moans. God, he's so beautiful like that, face contorted in pleasure, brows knit together, lips parting, whole body shakes under your touch. You, you, you, all because of you. He’s so damn gorgeous, so vulnerable like this and you can’t help but feel that ache, the deep ache of needing to please him, of wanting to worship him, all of him, your lovely scientist.

“My brilliant girl,” he groans, adoring. “oh, sweetheart, my love, my love, please—“ you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, swallowed him whole, greedily, as if he is the last thing you'd ever taste and Ford practically sobs. “feels good, can’t�� i can’t! if you keep going, i won’t last.”

“So good for me, Ford,” you praise him, dragging your warm tongue along his length slowly. “so brilliant,” smiling, you wrap your hand around the base, pumping him lazily what makes Ford let out the most pathetic desperate sound imaginable. “so handsome,” and when you reach the sensitive spot just beneath the head, he nearly folds.

“Darling, oh, oh, oh—!” you hum against him, because you can feel the way he’s straining to hold himself back, to keep from just snapping his hips forward and fucking your mouth properly. Ford wants it, needs it, but he’s too embarrassed to admit it, he wants to pull you closer, wants to thrust deeper, but he also wants to let you do whatever you want to him.

He wants to stay like this forever

But Ford is Ford, always so polite, so careful, gentle, even like this. And you love him for it

“You can move,” you murmur sweetly as you take him back into your mouth.

Ford curses, exhales a trembling breath, but his hips roll forward hesitantly. Six fingered hands finally leave the tree, sliding into your hair, unsure, scared to hurt his lovely girl. He holds your head, guiding himself into your warm mouth, finally losing that last shred of restraint.

And you love it, love how helpless and horny he is, completely at your mercy, how his whole body shakes just from the feel of your mouth. His body overriding his poor, struggling self-control.

You relax into it, adjusting to his pace, letting him use your mouth to satisfy himself, letting him set the pace.

“Ohh, you feel. . . you feel so good, taking me so well!” Ford thrusts into your mouth again and he’s moaning, groaning, whimpering your name like it’s holy. Your hands slide down, one still pumping around the base. Then Ford chokes on his next breath when your fingers trace along his balls, tears in the corners of his eyes as he gazes down at you, completely undone.

“Ohh, oh— oh, love, oh, mhmm—” his knees nearly give out, Ford tenses, head tilting back, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, his thighs tremble, his stomach tightens and he knows, he knows, he knows that he's right at the edge. “oh, too much! I c-can’t—”

Slickness trails down your own thighs, you're dripping, feeling your own need building just from the taste of him, the sounds of him, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. You hum around him, swirling your tongue, taking him deeper, deeper until he’s hitting the back of your throat again. His fingers tighten in your hair. Good, you think, he's close. First sign of his impending orgasm. You know this man like the back of your hand

“You’re, nghh, you’re so good, so— so brilliant, my brilliant girl” you moan around him, because god, you love it when Ford calls you that. He feels the vibration from your muffled sounds. You look up at him through your lashes, cheeks hollowed around his cock and he absolutely crumbles when you roll his balls between your fingers again, massaging them gently.

Ford's gone, moaning so beautifully loud, choking on your name, shaking violently and then he’s coming hard, his whole body locks up, hips jerking as he holds your head firmly, roots of your hair start to hurt and your jaw aches already, but that's so hot when Ford gets a little bit rough like that.

He's loud, so loud, he can’t hold it back, can’t stop the sounds spilling from his lips, his always so calm voice pitches up, sounding so high and desperate. Ford babbles your name between gasps, begging without even realising as he cums in your mouth.

“Oh, f-fuck, fuck! mhmm, s-sweetheart, I— ohh— fuck, im cumming—“ his voice is hoarse while his body shaking.

And you take it all, let him ride it out as long as your lovely scientist needs, until hes shaking. His glasses are fogged up as sweat rolls down his forehead, his knees nearly buckle.

And above, somewhere high in the trees, a bird trills obliviously into the quiet.

You pull off him with the dirtiest sound ever, swallowing everything he gave you, licking your lips, and Ford watches you do it with glassy, half-lidded eyes. He sags back against the tree, panting like crazy, dazed.

You wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb, smiling in satisfaction. God, your jaw feels so sore. . . but then your eyes widen a little when he cups your cheek, running his thumb over your swollen lips. His hands are still shaking. Ford looks at you in awe, dumbfounded, totally in love, obsessed, yours.

And that’s when he finally moves.

He grabs you, yanks you up, presses you against the tree. He’s kissing you instantly, tasting himself on your lips, moaning into your mouth while trembling hands hike up your dress. He slips his hand into your panties, feeling the evidence of your arousal, running slow circles over your swollen clit.

Ford groans, presses you tighter against the tree, and this time, he won’t stop until he’s completely buried inside you.

“Right now. I need you, right now.” his fingers tighten in the fabric of your dress, bunching it higher, exposing you completely. Turning you to face the tree, Ford lines himself up, running the head of his cock slowly through your soft folds, memorizing every reaction.

Your summer dress is hiked up around your waist, panties dangling at your ankles, and Ford is right behind you as he desperately adjusts himself between your legs, the thick head of him nudging against your entrance.

“Ford, please!” you squirm, pushing back against him desperately, arching into him.

He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. Ford, your brilliant, nerdy man, so desperate to be inside you and you're nothing but a puddle beneath him. He’s in love with you, so deeply in love and he can’t hide it anymore, not when you’re like this, not when you’re giving him all of you, when you're being so good for him. He’s so turned on by the idea of having you out here, exposed, but he’s also so fucking in awe of you.

“I have you, sweetheart.”

And then he pushes in, as always he does it, so slow, careful and deliberate, feeling how your warmth welcomes him. You suck in a sharp breath, stretching around him, feeling every inch of his throbbing cock. You drop your frehead against the bark.

“Dear god, you feel— you feel so good, sweetheart, s-so warm, so tight, i— i c-can’t believe—” Ford is mumbling, drowning in how you feel. He kisses your shoulder, then the nape of your neck. “you take me so well, oh, sweetheart, i—” his hands rest on your hips, holding you steady. “ohh, ohh, oh— god—”

He sinks in deep, shuddering, burying himself to the hilt, feeling your pussy clenching around him. And for some time, he just stays there.

“Just like that, swee—” he can't even continue, just presses his forehead against your back and groans. You squeeze him, just to hear him choke on his next breath. “p-please, please— i need—”

“Ford, move.” after that, you feel him pulling back before thrusting back in what makes you both moan.

His pace starts slow and measured, but he's still breathing hard against your skin, whispering between ragged gasps. “youre so warm, taking me s-so deep. . . could stay like this forever, i— i swear, i—”

You arch against him, curling your fingers against the bark and he grips your waist tighter. You let out a gasp when he thrusts deeper, your body stretching to accommodate him.

Ford pushes in, pulls out, thrusts back in. Trying to stay in his senses, controlled, reverent. You may not see his face right now, but you're sure he looks beautiful as ever, trying so hard to stay composed but failing miserably as he makes love to you.

“Your pussy feels so good, god, you're so warm,” his hands slide up your waist, over your stomach, gripping, mapping, memorizing. His pace starts to pick up.

You whimper, pressing your hips back against him, and he chokes on a curse.

“Darling, d-do that again, please—”

You do. Ford holds your hips and starts moving faster, deeper.

The world spins.

“Deeper, Ford,” you cry out into the silence of the forest, needing more. “want you deeper.”

He snaps his hips forward roughly, loosing his control and oh oh, oh, oh. Fuck, a sharp, overwhelming pressure—

You gasp, tensing immediately, something feels wrong or maybe you just— Fuck! Ford pushes into you again and that pressure spreads through your body as you feel slight discomfort.

“Ford, too deep, wait. . .”

“I— are you okay? did I hurt you? i didn’t mean to, i got carried away, i—” he immediately adjusts, pulling back enough and stopping all his movements, but you're silent and it scares him. “sweetheart, talk to me, what do you need? do you want to stop?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just- just go slower.” Ford trusts you so he pulls out and adjusts your pose a little bit, then sinks back in and changes the angle, gentler this time, smoothly, more careful. And fuck, it feels heavenly perfect now.

You giggle when you feel him pressing kisses to your neck, whispering apologies.

“Darling, is that better?”

You only nod eagerly, too breathless to answer.

“I don’t want to hurt you, i just want you to feel good, i just want to- to worship you, to love you.” you know he's honest because of the way his fingers dig into your skin, and you know he’s trying to hold back, he’s so afraid of hurting you, and you love him for it, so much. Ford buries his face into your hair, breathing you in. “oh, i love you, i love you so much.” you moan in response, easing into the pleasure again.

“F-Ford,” you turn your head and give him a passionate kiss, whispering “i love you too.” into his lips, gasping for breath between each word as he thrusts his cock into you.

You push back against him, moving together with him, your body demanding more, your hands gripping the tree even tighter as you take more of him.

“That’s it, baby,” you breathe, “youre fucking me so good.” and everything what surrounds you blurs. All this summer heat, the golden light, the trees, the birds, the leaves, the wind, it all melts away, until there is only him.

That praise means everything for him, the fact that you enjoy it too. Ford fucks you like you’re his religion, needing you like sinners need confession. The trees stand tall around you, the Oregon forest whispering with wind and distant birdsong. But none of it exists. All that exists is Ford behind you, losing himself, his cock is buried inside you, stretching you open, making you feel so full it’s dizzying, consuming your mind.

The contrast between you is dizzying.

You, flushed and breathless, dress hitched around your waist, panties now lost somewhere in the moss. and Ford, fully dressed, coat, the red of his turtleneck, the belt strapped tight across his chest, the dark fabric of his trousers straining as he presses against you.

He’s clothed like a man who’s spent his life preparing for war, layers upon layers, protection stitched into every seam and yet he’s undone by you

“You're still—” you gasp as he thrusts into you, “fully dressed.”

A choked laugh against your throat. “can't help myself,” Ford admits, ”you’re too pretty i couldn't wait.”

His coat brushes against your bare skin, the contrast of fabric and flesh making you shiver.

His boots firmly planted in the earth. Big. Heavy.

Your bare toes curling against moss, slipping against damp forest floor until you step on his boot. You don’t even mean to, just seeking more balance, more stability. But Ford let's you stand like that if it's more comfortable for his lovely girl.

His hands slide down your stomach and he pressed his fingers against your lower belly, grinding into you and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. Your legs start shaking.

“Can you feel it, sweetheart?” Ford's fingers press into your skin. “feel how deep i am inside you?” he moves deeper what makes your legs nearly give out, but Ford grips you tighter and holds you up. “i’ve got you, i’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe, let me hold you.”

Your pussy is wet, tight around him, and he can feel every flutter, every clench, every slick, pulsing squeeze. Ford drags his cock out of you what makes your brows knit together and then he thrusts back in, forcing loud gasps from your parted lips.

“Yes, just like that, yes!” tears slips down your cheeks like melted diamonds.

Ford touches you, smoothing over your belly, sliding up to cup your breasts through your dress. His cock is leaking with pre cum and throbbing inside you, the head rubbing against every sensitive sweet spot inside you, dragging against your walls in sensual thrusts.

Your pussy is soaking him whole, dripping down your thighs, making a mess of both of you, and he can feel it, he can hear it because of wet squelching sounds and it’s driving him insane.

“You're dripping, sweetheart, holy moses. Soaking me.” his long fingers delving between your thighs, pressing against your sensitive clit, pleasuring you even more and your velvety walls clench around him tighter as he rubs your little nub. “that's it, love, that's my brilliant girl, so smart, so perfect, so good for me.” he’s thrusting into you deeper now, more harder, but still careful, drinking in every sound you make, studying the science of your pleasure.

He's filling you with warmth as the pressure inside of you builds. You’re so close, so close you can taste it, can feel the climax just within reach. You push back harder against him, wanting it, needing it as you try to match his thrusts while his fingers work magic on your clit.

“I love you.”

“I love you, i love you, i love you!”

And the forest sings, the wind hums, the world tilts. The sun is honeyed, pooling over your skin.

You’re falling, falling, falling. And he’s falling with you.

The air is filled with heat and pine, damp with the scent of sweat and sex.

The forest is watching, breathing, alive.

But nothing else exists except the way he moves inside you.

“Does it feel good, darling?”

“Yes, yes, oh!” his fingers rub soft circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Ford, please, don’t stop. . .”

“Won't, i won’t, i could never.”

“Fuck, Ford, im—“ you can't even finish as your thighs start shaking, you’re so close, so close, so fucking close your brain can't work anymore.

“I know, sweetheart, i know, i can feel you, you squeezing me.” his fingers rub your clit harder, his cock fucks into you deeper and you fall apart completely, sobbing and writhing, cumming so hard you swear the whole fucking world disappears. Your pussy throbs, drenches his cock, soaking his thighs, soaking the ground.

Ford thrusts into you through it, desperate, obsessed with how hot you look. “darling, you’re so beautiful like this.” he can't stop pressing kisses to your shoulder, your spine, your neck, his hands smoothing over your stomach, your thighs, soothing you, loving you.

You’re trembling, absolutely ruined by the powerful orgasm your scientist gave you, gasping for air. You want it again, you want him again.

“Please, sweetheart,” his cock throbs inside you, he’s right there too. “please, can i— can i cum inside?”

“Yes, yes, please!”

“Thank you, thank you, sweetheart.” he slams his cock deep one more time and spills inside you, filling you up with his warm seed.

Ford holds you tight in his arms, whispering your name, thanking you, kissing you over and over, breathing hard, sweat damp at his hairline, glasses crooked. His body is so exhausted and overwhelmed.

“Sweetheart,” he's so kiss-drunk. “i think you’ve completely wrecked me.”

You smile softly, too dazed to say something in response, your eyes hazy, body still trembling around him.

But then, involuntarily, you turn your head. Your unfocused gaze falls on. . . oh.

Him.

The statue.

Bill. The golden demonic triangle, locked in stone, frozen in time, trapped in his own cursed monument with his single, etched eye.

Looks creepy, in a way. Like he's watching.

Your breath shudders as your whole body goes still

Ford notices immediately as he calls you by your name, asking what happened. You don’t answer, just tilt your head slightly, staring right back at the statue.

Ford follows your gaze and sees it too.

“. . . Oh.”

You look at Ford and he looks at you. Your fingers trace slow lines down his chest until you whisper.

“Put me against it.”

Ford stares at you, wide-eyed. “you, you want to—”

“Yes.”

“Sweetheart, what if he can—”

“Good.”

Ford sighs and you smile.

“Don’t you want to remind him that you’re mine now?”

And that’s how you end up with your back pressed against the stone surface of Bill’s statue with Ford between your legs. His gaze accidentally falls on the statue and his heart slams against his ribs.

Bill. Watching. Unblinking. Trapped. Helpless.

Bill, who once called him Fordsy, Sixer, IQ.

Bill, who once called him cute when he tried to fight back.

Bill, who once called him his perfect other half.

Bill, who was once the sun in his galaxy.

He's watching, so let him see.

Bill can’t move, can’t speak, can’t scream, but he can see. And he is fucking seething. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

THIS?

HIM?

His Fordsy, his fucking Sixer getting ruined by some desperate, pathetic little human? He hates you, hates the way you’re moaning, taking his Sixer’s cock like you fucking belong there, hates the way Ford’s holding you, worshipping you, whispering against your skin.

You are hypersensitive now, your body feels like a live wire, buzzing, overloaded with him. The way Ford's hands move over your skin, trying to understand how someone like him, six-fingered, battered, buried under too many regrets ended up with someone like you, soft and brilliant and wholly, painfully, his.

The coolness of the stone surface of Cipher's statue feels like cruel contrast to the heat between your legs.

Ford makes a quiet whimper before kissing you like he’s dying. Like he’s never known softness before, like he’s never known devotion before, like he’s never been worshiped before.

Your hands wander, relearning the shape of him, the texture of him. The scarred hands, the broad shoulders, the soft expanse of his stomach, the sharp ridges of his hipbones.

You can feel his heartbeat through his cock.

You drag your nails up his spine, feeling the way his whole body twitches, responds, obeys.

His brain is short-circuiting because he’s never had sex like this, he’s never been touched like this, he’s never been wanted like this.

“I should stop,” the scientist between your legs says. “i should sweetheart, this is madness.”

But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop. Because he can’t. Or maybe because he doesn’t want to. Could it be both?

Bill remembers when it was him who could make Ford tremble, when it was his words, his touch, his power that made Sixer gasp. When it was him who was the center of Ford’s universe.

And now Ford is gripping your thighs, burying his face in your neck, whimpering into your skin.

Bill is fucking livid, watching HIS Sixer trembling, gasping, clinging to you like you are his entire existence. Watching Ford ruin himself for you. Watching Ford let himself be loved. Watching Ford beg to be yours.

And Bill can’t do a fucking thing about it.

Ford is losing his mind because it can't be real, too much, too good, too intense.

Bill hates the way Ford’s fingers slide into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, letting you suck, letting you worship his extra one.

“Good girl,” his Sixer says, watching the way your lips close around his digits as your tongue flicks against the calloused pads, your moan vibrate straight into his palm.

Bill remembers the first time Ford ever held out this hand to him.

"I was born strange. I am attracted to the strange. And the strange has always been attracted to me." Ford’s brilliance was always his curse.

Bill had taken his hand. And never let go.

Until now, until you.

His sixer, his brilliant, stubborn, impossible Sixer reduced to this? To a whimpering mess, buried deep in some lovesick human.

Bill wants to claw his way out of this stone. wants to take back what’s his. Bill would laugh if he could, would tear you away from him and remind Sixer exactly who he belongs to.

This is hell, no, this is worse than hell.

He was a god, infinite. And now he's a fucking rock, a statue, a prisoner, a powerless, speechless, helpless observer to. . . to what? to this shit?

“You’re mine,” you breathe into Ford's lips.

“Yes, yes, yours, I'm yours, always, always, always.”

Ford. His Ford.

No. No, NO, NO.

He is watching Ford give himself away, watching Ford worship you like you hung the fucking stars.

Stanford was his. HIS.

He was supposed to be the only one to drive Ford mad. He was supposed to be the one who made Ford weak, made him beg.

Ford had been so easy back then. So starved for validation, but desperate for knowledge and so beautifully eager to destroy himself in pursuit of something greater.

Bill had owned him.

“You’re mine.”

“Yours, all yours, my love.” Ford’s eyes are unfocused, hes so far gone, for you.

And you know it, Bill can fucking tell because you're looking at him, looking at the statue as you grip Ford tighter, protecting him from Bill.

“Mine.” and Ford, who, in Bill's opinion, has always been an obedient dog, damn nods.

This is a joke. This is an insult. This is a violation.

And yet, it is him that you and Ford are violating, his monument, his remains and his final resting place, his one trace left in this world.

“She knows. She knows what Ford and I were. That’s why she’s doing this, isn’t it? That’s why she’s dragging him down onto the cold stone, letting him touch her, making him forget everything but her. She wants to erase me, wants to make sure that when Ford thinks about what it felt like to kneel before me, to look up at me with awe and fear and longing in those stupid, stupid human eyes, all he will remember instead is this. She wants to overwrite it. Reprogram him. Take what was mine. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. She is all human frailty, weak, pathetic, replaceable. She is mortal, temporary, fragile, finite. But my Ford brilliant. Ford is infinite. Ford is so much more. And yet, he isn’t even thinking of me, is he? He is looking at her. She has ruined him. He used to beg for me. Now that idiot is worshipping her. Losing himself inside her. Dedicating himself to her like a disciple, a zealot, a man willing to fall to his knees and destroy himself for devotion. That used to be for me. His hands. . . oh dear Euclydia, those hands— how many times did those same hands trace the surface of my pages, searching for truth, for knowledge, for validation? How many times did those fingers clutch at my edges, desperate, reaching for something no human was ever meant to touch. Now those same hands are on her. And I cannot stop it. I cannot do anything. I can only watch as she takes him further and further from me, until there is nothing left. Until the Stanford Pines I knew, the Stanford Pines I built, the Stanford Pines I made, the Stanford Pines I claimed is completely gone. Until I am nothing more than a forgotten scary whisper in his mind. Until I am just a rock in the woods, forced to witness the slow, meticulous erasure of my own existence. My body doesn't have mouth and I cannot even scream.”

Bill doesn’t love Ford. He doesn’t even know what love is. But he knows obsession and he knows hunger, and somewhere in that chaos, Ford became the center of it all.

Bill has never been helpless before, never been forced to endure something without intervention.

And worse, this is Stanford Pines. The only human who ever matched him, challenged him, fascinated him. Ford believed he could outthink a god, Bill knew that mortals only crumble faster under pressure.

Ford isn’t just being fucked. Ford isn’t just desperate and needy, begging for attention. Ford is in love. Being consumed by love, taken in a way that made him forget himself. Forget Bill.

Bill can’t stand it. This is cosmic-level sadism.

”I am a god, a destroyer of worlds. I have seen the rise and fall of civilisations. I have cracked open minds and turned them inside out. I have walked between dimensions and burned the laws of reality into my own design. Now I'm left to rot in this miserable meat-world. And i could have handled that, maybe. Could have tolerated the humiliation, the aching eternity of nothingness, if not for this. If not for Stanford Pines, of all people, of all creatures in the multiverse, of all sentient beings in all realities, here like this. Right in front of me, crying out in reverence for someone else. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! He's looking at her like she’s the fucking god in this equation. It’s not just that he’s on his knees for her in the same way he once was for me, it’s that he WANTS this. It's that he’s soft for her and not because he’s lost his mind and scared, not because he’s intoxicated by the thrill of the impossible, not because i have my hands in his brain turning the gears myself. But because he loves her. I should be touching him, i should be inside his head, mind, body. I should be the one pulling those noises out of his throat. This is the worst part. Not the betrayal. Not the humiliation. But the knowledge that he doesn't think about me anymore. Ford Pines is no longer mine, he does not dream of me, he does not scream my name, he does not shudder at my touch, he does not remember what it was like to belong to me, he has forgotten, he has replaced me and there is nothing i can do about it. Not now, not ever.”

I'm going insane.

He’s the smartest idiot I’ve ever met. And trust me, I’ve met a lot of idiots.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE GOD?

To see everything, to know everything, to hold eternity in your hands like a matchstick? To bend reality, break minds, carve new universes from the ribs of dying ones?

To whisper your name into the black holes of men’s hearts and have them answer you, hungry, desperate, willing?

I do. I did. Hahahahahhahaha! NOW I SEE!

This is what i did to you, isn’t it, Sixer? This is what i made you feel, when i left you alone, when i lied, when i called you a fool, when i told you that you needed me more than i ever needed you.

This is what it felt like, isn’t it? It hurted you?

“You’re the smartest person i’ve ever met.” Ford thought he could tame chaos and Bill thought he could devour genius. The tragedy is they both succeeded.

Sixer was always meant to fall into obsession, but it was supposed to be Bill’s name trembling off his lips, not yours.

Do you even understand what you’re touching?

Do you know what he was before you came along, sinking your little hands into him, sinking your little teeth into his throat, into his fucking soul?

Do you know what he could have been?

My Sixer was never meant to be this small, this weak, this human.

Do you know what i saw in him? POTENTIAL.

He was born wrong, born strange, born too smart for his body, too brilliant for his world. He was never meant to belong.

But i could give him something better. And oh, Sixer, my darling Sixer, my beautiful, tragic, broken Sixer, you knew it, didn’t you? You knew it the moment you met me because the first time you let me in, i felt you shudder. Not in fear, no. In recognition. As if finally, finally, finally you had found something as hungry as you.

“I need you, darling, need you so much, it’s terrifying.” aww, but Fordsy, you always did love things that scared you.

Cipher was the sun in his galaxy, but do you know what happens when a star collapses? It doesn’t just disappear, it becomes a black hole, it pulls everything in, crushes everything under its gravity. It becomes a point of no return.

And you, little parasite, LITTLE THIEF, you think you’ve won? Seriously? You’ve stolen him from me!

Ford builds to understand, but I destroy to prove. He may map the stars, but I decide where they fall

Ford defines matter, but I define meaning, my poor Sixer seeks the truth and i am what breaks it.

He draws the line between genius and madness. I blur it until he can’t find his way back.

I'm still here.

“He promised me knowledge, and I gave him my trust. He took both and left me drowning in questions I can never unask. I let him orbit my thoughts only to find I was a moon bound to a planet that devoured itself. I thought he was a guiding star, but he was a collapsing supernova, destroying everything in his wake and I still couldn’t look away.” torn pages from Ford’s journal say.

Ford will never admit it, but Bill gave him something he never had before, a reason to feel important. It’s not that Ford wants the universe. He just wants to matter in it. And Bill let him think he did.

Ford thought he hated the way Cipher talked, but it’s the silence that terrifies him because he knows he’s still there, waiting.

Bill carved himself into Ford’s life like a parasite, but Ford let him in like a lover.

And it's a mistake he'll never repeat again.

fuck it.

Ford doesn’t know what’s more overwhelming. The way your pussy clenches around him, fluttering, soaking his cock. Or the way you lean back against the cold, unmoving surface of Bill’s statue, lips parted, a wicked little smile curling at the edges.

You reach back, threading your fingers through his damp, silver-streaked hair and kiss him roughly, biting his lips, exploring his mouth with your tongue. You don't notice the way Ford's eyes flicker up to meet the empty, unblinking gaze of the stone triangle looming over you both. Ford’s stomach twists, his pulse stutters. His mind reels

You are on top of him now, your thighs are straddling his hips, knees pressing into the damp moss, hands cradling the sharp lines of his jaw. Ford's free hand grips your ass, squeezes tight, pulls you down harder.

You ruin him, it's too much, the way your pussy swallows him, velvet heat stretching around him, keeping him locked inside you. The way you grab his wrist, pull his hand to your mouth, and slip his fingers past your lips again.

Ford's hair is a mess, just like himself, his face is flushed, drenched in sweat, pupils so wide they swallow the soft brown of his eyes. Half-lidded and glassy, he looks at you, taking you in, drinking you in, your beauty.

Ford pushes the straps of your dress down, letting them slip from your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the golden, dappled light filtering through the canopy above. The sight is so beautiful, watching your breasts bounce as you fuck yourself dumb on his cock. Ford thinks he might never want to leave this moment, this place, this overwhelming, earth-shattering feeling of being inside you, of being part of you, of belonging to you.

“So good, so good,” you whisper, scratching your nails against his shoulders as he stretches you open. “hnngh, Ford, so big, you're so big, Ford, c-can feel you—”

His entire body locks up. “too deep? Sweetheart, do you need me to stop? Do you—”

Your hands fly up, cupping his face. “No, don’t you dare stop.” you sink down again, grinding onto him, taking him even deeper and Ford cries, his body can't process the pleasure of feeling you squeeze around him, taking him so perfectly, so fully

“Love, I—” you roll your hips, rubbing against him just right. “I— oh, god, oh fuck,” he’s always been articulate, always so good with words, so clever, so brilliant, but right now, he’s nothing but wrecked, broken syllables, hoarse moans, desperate gasps.

God, you love him so much.

His head tilts back against the Bill's statue, exposing his throat to you, mouth open, panting, eyes unfocused, completely pussy drunk.

“Baby,” you whisper, sliding your fingers into his hair, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at you. “stay with me.”

His silly gaze snaps to yours, pupils blown wide as he gives you the most genuine fucked out smile.

“Always, always, sweetheart, always.”

"Keep talking, please.”

“Can't,” he gasps. “can't—” he's gripping the swell of your ass, yanking you down, forcing you deeper, forcing you to take every inch of him, and god, he's buried so deep it makes your breath stutter.

Your walls tighten around him and Ford straight-up whimpers. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your forehead against his.

“Where’d all those big words go, hm?”

“You— you’re— ngh, y-you’re ruining me.”

You don't really notice how he slides a hand between your bodies and runs two fingers through the mess where you're stretched around him, rubbing your clit, then brings his fingers to his mouth. His lips close around them, licking the taste of you and he groans like he's been starving.

“You taste like heaven, my love.” Ford hugs you and buries his face in your throat, teeth scraping, lips sucking, marking you, branding you meanwhile his fingers slide back down, slipping between your folds, circling your clit gently and you fucking die from this kind of intimacy. Your whole body tenses.

“F-Ford!” he grips your waist tight, holding you in place and then he thrusts up, deeper, faster and harder, his cock slamming into you so perfectly it makes your vision blur. “Yes,” you sob, “yes, please, harder. I love you, more!”

His cock drags against your inner walls, grazing against every tender spot.

He isn’t just giving you his body, but his soul. And he’s never, ever taking it back. The smartest man in the universe, the man who has solved unfathomable cosmic mysteries, completely undone beneath you.

Your clit throbs as you cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders, holding yourself.

"Please," man beneath you gasps, "please, sweetheart, don't stop—" you ride him faster. You move together like you are the one. Your bodies fit like the phases of the moon, waxing and waning, perfect in every alignment.

The pressure builds and builds until it snaps, and you cry out. The heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, your breath coming in short, frantic bursts. Ford's fingers rub over your clit one last time and the oversensitivity makes you jerk and shake.

Ford thrusts up into you, his hands shaking on your waist and then he cums. Your head falls back, lips parted in a silent cry as your pussy grips him tight, milking him. His thrusts slowed as you feel every inch of him pulsing, his cum filling you to the brim you can feel it dripping already.

The world is quiet. The only sound is your breath, the exhausted gasps of two people who just destroyed each other in the best possible way.

Your legs are shaking too much to move, body boneless

Ford presses his forehead to your shoulder,

“Jesus christ.”

You laugh, dazed, punch-drunk, deliriously happy. Your tired. hand slips and you almost touch the statue, or to be exact, Bill's stone hand as it looms just inches away, and Ford’s eyes go wide.

”Don’t!” he shouts, grabbing your wrist.

You freeze. “Wha—”

“It’s a deal, you touch him, you’re making a deal and we’re not doing that. Not ever.” you look at the statue when realization dawns.

Later, when you’re both dressed and leaving the clearing, Ford glances back at the statue with blank expression

“He can’t hurt us,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “not anymore.”

Stanford spent a lifetime chasing knowledge, mysteries, the secrets of the universe.

And now he's realising he should have been chasing you. It’s good that there’s still a lot of time left.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Anything for my girl Abby? :( I miss my babygirl... Sleepy tired sex with Abby (reader rides her) bonus if she's blue collar

blue-collar abby stays in my mind so i will always be eager to write her. MDNI, 18+ content below. afab reader.

Abby sighed, a lazy grip on the handles your hips provided her. She let herself appreciate the view of your hips heaving up and back down onto her cock. Each moan she heard leave your lips was music to her tired ears, and though she was heavy-eyed, she would still glance down to watch your pussy swallow her up. 

Her hand slid up, rubbing affectionately over your ass. “My sweet girl,” she cooed, smiling when she felt you shudder above her and not stopping in her sloppy assault of praise, “you’re just made for my cock, aren’t you? Pussy’s made for me.”

“Just for you, Abs.” You assure her, voice filled with the sweetness she just loved to hear from her girl. 

Just ten minutes ago, she was walking through the door with a tired, defeated sigh. Another long day at the construction site with her coworkers being assholes, as usual. She hated working late, knowing that you were probably still awake, waiting for her to get home so you could give her some love. Just ten minutes ago, her back was aching and her bones felt heavy with the day’s labor. Still, she walked in and greeted you with a deep, warm kiss. She always did, telling you how much she missed you and apologizing for working so late. 

You, as always, were a sweetheart. So lovingly massaging away the stress she carried in her shoulders and down her back. She didn’t hesitate when she felt your soft, warm hands dig into her arms and rub the freckled, slightly tanned skin. She told you that the one thing that would make her day better was you giving her a ride. She was too tired for much else other than guiding you and whispering filthy bouts of praise in your ear. 

So, you found yourself soaking up every movement and coo that filled your ears. 

You rode her slow pace and at an angle that would make it easier to rub onto her clit, and she was hardly keeping it together underneath you. You were like her own personal pornstar, tits bouncing for her eyes to take in almost a slow-motion trance. She was in a dilemma between groping them or moving your hips, but the selfish pressure on her clit made her opt for helping you slam yourself down onto her cock.

She could almost make herself cum with the thoughts of how good you felt. She knew it must’ve felt good to be so stretched on the particularly decent-sized strap she had on, letting the length plunge into your gummy insides and clench involuntarily, as if your pussy knew who was fucking you, knew that it was getting fucked in the best way. 

You tried to press deeper into her lap and help her feel good, but it only made you whine as you felt her cock slide even deeper into your pussy. Abby pulled your face forward, lazily kissing your jaw and shushing you in a heavy tone. “It’s okay, baby. Just ride it. You wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” You eagerly nodded, and she planted an ironically affectionate kiss on your cheek. 

“Feels so good..” you muttered, voice drifting into something almost incoherent. She was just too deep in you, making you feel almost unbearable amounts of pleasure that you wanted a release from. 

“What does? C’mon, be a good girl and speak up.” 

You buried your face into her neck, desperately kissing the soft skin there and ranting about her cock between your needy lavishing. “Your cock. Feels so good in me, Abs.” You let out a quiet cry when she palmed your ass and pulled you back down on her cock, “wanna feel you cum.”

“Yeah? You wanna feel me cum on that pretty pussy of yours?” Her words grew more frenzied, probably from a mix of exhaustion and the impending closeness of her orgasm growing in her.

“Please. Give it to me.” You placed your hands on her chest, fingers spreading over the mass of her tits.

Oh, that had her cumming in a matter of seconds. With a loud moan, Abby had you grinding your hips down so firmly against her clit that she swore she could feel you clamp down and squeeze around her. She wanted to. Her guidement had you easily cumming along with her, filling the room with the sounds of skin meeting and shared moans. 

When the two of you calmed down, Abby sighed and just let you snuggle up in her lap for a little. She knew you were probably sleepy from the sex and staying up late to spend time with her, so she wasn’t surprised when you dozed off. She winced at the soreness in her body, but gently lifted you off of her body, carefully pulling out of you. The deep red cock she had on was glistening with your slick, and she felt a warm feeling of pride at the sight. She helped make that mess. 

Abby set the harness aside on her nightstand and eagerly moved to hug you from behind, pressing goodnight kisses into your back, whispering a little “thank you” for helping her relax. Though, you probably wound her up more than anything. She was grateful anyway.

[wendichester]

Hear me out

Soft smut with Sam for the first time since reader gave birth to their baby

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ baby momma,

summary. the first time in a while ୨ৎ

pairing. sam winchester x mommy!reader

wordcount. 524

notes. i wanted to bang my head against a wall, because sam is so precious. i can't for the life of me ever stop loving this man

The house is quiet, save for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the nightstand. Your little one has finally fallen asleep after a long day, and the peace of the evening feels like a balm to your soul. You stretch out on the bed, exhaustion pulling at you, but it’s a good kind of tired—the kind that comes from love and care.

Sam steps into the room, his tall frame silhouetted by the soft glow of the hallway light. He’s already in sweats and a plain t-shirt, his hair slightly tousled. There’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your breath catch—a mixture of love, admiration, and a spark of something deeper.

“You’re still awake?” he asks softly, sliding into bed beside you.

“Barely,” you admit with a small laugh, turning to face him.

His hand reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, reverent, as though he’s afraid to disturb the fragile calm of the moment. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, though his words make your cheeks flush. “I’m just doing what any mom would.”

“No,” he counters, his voice firm but tender. “You’re doing so much. Taking care of her, taking care of me… You’re incredible.”

You look away, embarrassed, but Sam tilts your chin back toward him, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. “I mean it,” he says softly.

The sincerity in his voice melts something inside you, and before you can second-guess yourself, you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. The kiss starts slow, sweet, but there’s a quiet intensity behind it, a hunger that’s been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

Sam’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer. “Are you sure?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and full of unspoken questions.

You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I’m sure.”

His lips find yours again, deeper this time, as his hands trace gentle patterns along your sides. He’s careful, as though he’s hyper-aware of your body’s changes, but you tug him closer, reassuring him without words.

“Sam,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as his kisses trail down your neck.

He pauses, looking up at you with those soulful eyes. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he says softly.

“It’s perfect,” you reply, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions flooding through you.

The rest of the world fades away as he moves with you, every touch and kiss filled with love and reverence. He takes his time, his focus entirely on you, as though nothing else exists.

It’s not just about physical closeness—it’s about reconnecting, about rediscovering each other in this new chapter of your lives. And when you finally collapse into his arms, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room, you feel a sense of peace that goes beyond words.

Sam presses a soft kiss to your temple, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” you reply, your head resting against his chest as sleep begins to pull you under.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume

[lixiesbrowniess]

SAFE WORD

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, rough sex, sexual content, safe word usage, he gets a little soft, talks you through it

The air was thick. You greedily suck it in as shaky moans escape your lips, Ben's hips snap harshly against you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled your ears as he drove his cock all the way inside your quivering walls.

It was nearly the fifth round, Ben had you pressed against the mattress fucking you right into it, as you arched flush against him. He had your legs around his waist as he was on his knees between them, able to push deeper and harder through your soaked cunt. Your hands gripped the sheets as you felt his hands grip your waist, pulling you back to meet his vigorous thrusts. That would leave bruises for sure.

His angry tip hit your cervix over and over until you felt it slightly penetrate it. A strangled moan leaves your mouth as you dig your nails into his bicep, Ben didn't even flinch at your assault as he kept slamming pummeling his aching hard cock into you, liking your moans and whines way too much.

Once he heard you whisper your safeword almost out of breath while your little hands desperately held onto him, his eyes widened slightly "C'mon what's wrong, sweetcheeks? Is it too much?" He cockily murmured against your cheek, leaving heated kisses down your neck and face.

You nod as tears prickle your eyes, soaking your cheeks. "Aw, you poor thing, want me to go easy on you?" His hips slowed their assault, his strokes progressively prolonged and interminable, his cock throbbed while he pulled his hips before he sheathed back into your heat. He leaned in his lips brushing against your neck.

"This better, babe? Hmm" he hums, kissing down your neck, your eyes shut, you could barely recognise him while being so soft, worrying about your own pleasure. "I know you can taket it, love." His slow strokes made heat pool at your core as you felt the pleasure bubbling again, your moans soft again as he spoke to you while thrusting into you.

You nod the pleasure building inside you, your grip onto his biceps softened. "Ben－" You whimpered, feeling yourself close to another climax "Yes I'm here, doll. Cum. Cum for me." His voice a deep growl as his thumb started to draw circles onto your clit softly, just grazing it, and that was enough for you to feel the overwhelming orgasm reaching you.

You came soaking his still hard cock, squeezing around him "Yeah that's right, soak my dick just like that" his hips stuttering as your cunt squeezes him even harder "Damn it doll, you're gonna cut it off" he chuckles as his thrusts get sloppy. He groans as he feels himself over the edge.

After a couple more thrusts, he buries himself into you, spilling his seed into you, filling you to the brim. "Oh fuck yeah. That was something else" he lowly chuckles pulling himself out and admiring your gaping hole, while his seed leaks out down your thighs. He plants a kiss onto your forehead.

"You alright, doll?" He murmurs before taking a cig from the night table. You breathe heavily, nodding. "That was much unexpected, Ben." You smile snuggling against him. "Oh sweetheart, I definitely know how to please a woman, don't you underestimate me as a man who just uses them for himself" he takes a drag from the cigarette puffing out a cloud of smoke. "I definitely love to know a woman screams in pleasure for me."

[insidekatmind]

Early morning-Jamal Musiala

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

It was still so early.

As soon as Jamal Musiala woke up, he started shifting in bed, trying to sit up as he always did, not wasting a single minute.But a hand slid around his bare waist. Your hand.You didn’t want him to get up so early. It was the weekend, and all you wanted was to spend a bit more lazy time next to him.

He froze for a few seconds, thinking about what to do, before gently falling back onto the mattress with a sigh.

“C’mere,” he said softly, pulling you close and holding you against his chest.

The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat were all you needed in that moment. There were no training sessions, matches, or obligations to disturb that little pocket of shared happiness.

His fingers began to brush through your hair, tracing invisible lines with a slowness that seemed meant to keep you there, safe in his arms.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked in a quiet voice, still tinged with sleep.

You nodded against his chest, smiling. “And you?”

“I do now,” he replied, his relaxed smile hidden in your hair.

You smile softly and cling to him, kissing his lips. He closed his eyes as you kissed him, humming softly with pleasure and wrapping his arms around you tighter.

When the kiss ended, he nuzzled his face against your skin, enjoying being so close to you, your scent and touch.“Mm, I love you,” he murmured, his words a bit husky from sleep.

“me too baby” you murmur into kisses as you caress his hair softly with your hands. He leaned into your touch, his eyes still half-closed as he let out a satisfied moan, enjoying the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.

“I don’t know why I even considered getting out of bed,” he said, his voice a low rumble next to your ear. “This is much better.”He shifted, turning slightly so he could pull you even closer, his bare chest pressed against your body.

Jamal planted messy kisses to your neck, his lips hot against your sensitive skin, making you shiver with pleasure."You're so warm," he whispered, his hand slowly running up and down your back. "And you smell so good..."

His legs entwined with yours, holding you so close that you could feel the heat of him everywhere. He pressed his face against your shoulder, his breath warm and a little ragged as his lips found your earlobe and nipped at it tenderly. Each touch of his mouth on your skin sent a jolt of desire through you, making your heart beat faster and your body grow hotter

You moan softly and arch towards him. He felt your reaction, your body pressing against his, and it only fueled his need for you. He ran his hand down your side, tracing the contour of your hip and thigh, his touch soft yet possessive. Jamal lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "I want you, now," he said with a low growl, his voice filled with need.

You smile and climb on top of him, straddling yourself as you enter him, since you were both naked. He breathed heavily, his hands immediately going to your hips, holding you on top of him, his fingers digging into your skin. He stared at you, his eyes darkened with lust and something else, something deeper."God, you feel so good," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow, his lips parted as he panted."I love you."

You moan as he enters you and close your eyes for a moment trying to adjust. “I love you too,” you whisper softly and sweetly. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze intense and filled with raw desire. He could feel your body adjust to him, and it was driving him wild.

He ran his hands up your torso, his fingers trailing across your skin, before cupping your face softly in his palms. He pulled you down, kissing you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine."You're beautiful," he said between kisses, his voice almost a whisper. "Mine."

You smile softly, opening your eyes and start moving slowly on him, rubbing yourself. “Yours,” you say, groaning and gripping onto his shoulders. He kept his eyes on you as you began to move, his hands holding onto your hips, guiding your motions, his touch firm yet gentle.

"That's it," he encouraged in a low voice, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Just like that. Baby, you feel so good."He ran his hand up your back, his fingers tracing the line of your spine as you continued to move on top of him, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin.

"I love seeing you like this," he said, his voice a growl. "So beautiful, so responsive just for me."He watched your face as you pleasured yourself, his hands roaming over your body, his touches growing more and more demanding as his own need grew.

"I need you," he groaned, his hips jerking upwards to meet your movements. "I need to feel you, all of you." He sat up suddenly, pulling you even closer, his arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face in your neck. He started to kiss and bite the tender skin there, his mouth hot and hungry, leaving marks you'd discover later.

"I can't...I can't get enough of you," he panted, his voice hoarse and broken with desire. He began to move with you, his hips now pushing upwards with a needy, desperate rhythm. You moan loudly at his movements against yours. “so good” you say longingly as you bite your lip looking at him.

He looked back at you, his eyes dark and intense. "You drive me crazy," he said through clenched teeth. "The sounds you make, the faces you make, it's all I can think about, every waking second."Jamal reached up, his hands burying in your hair as he pulled your mouth down to his, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. He kissed you with so much passion, so much need, that you felt like you were drowning in him.

You moan into the kiss as you feel his thrusts get stronger and stronger. He began to move faster, his rhythm becoming more urgent, more primal. He was completely lost in the moment, completely focused on the sensations coursing through his body, the feel of your body against his, the sound of your moans in his ears.

Jamal broke the kiss, his head falling back against the pillow as he groaned loudly. "I can't hold on much longer," he panted, his words broken by ragged breaths. "I'm so close."

“me too baby” you say moaning hiding your face in the crook of his neck, nibbling on it. He shivered at your touch, his grip on you tightening as your mouth traced the lines of his neck, your teeth leaving marks that he'd wear like a badge of honor.

"Please, please," he gasped. "I can't... I need... I need you to come with me."He was getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure so intense that it was almost painful. He needed release and he needed you to be there with him. He held you tight against him, his hands roaming over your body, touching you everywhere he could. He was so close, so close...

"Look at me," he said in a voice rough with need. "Open your eyes, look at me."When you finally managed to focus your eyes on him, you could see the raw, intense need in his gaze. He was teetering on the edge, holding back until he could know that you were right, right there with him.

"I love you," he managed to say, the words getting caught in his chest, his breathing coming in shallow, desperate gasps. "I love you so much." Jamal was close, so, so close... He just needed to hear those words from you now.

You moan as you come on top of him, feeling his thrusts getting harder and harder. “I love you too Jamal” you whisper softly. The moment he heard your words, that you were there with him, he let go.

He arched against you, a guttural moan ripping from his throat as he reached the peak, his body shuddering with release. He held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as if he never wanted to let you go, as he rode out the waves of pleasure."I love you," he repeated again, his voice low and hoarse, filled with emotion.

You smiled and lay on top of him and with one hand you stroked his hair while giving him sweet kisses on his cheek.

He held you close to him, his arms still wrapped around you like a protective cocoon. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his body slowly relaxing as the last tremors of his release faded. Jamal turned his face towards you, his lips finding your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Everywhere he could reach.

"You're amazing," he murmured, his voice still a little shaky. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

[blue-arkhamknight]

Omg hiiii you seem cool ! And I’ve had this Jason Todd idea in my head for a bit so

What if the reader is basically his nurse he comes to her for every little cut to actual serious injuries

And this is normal but one night when he stops by to have her help with something small he realizes she sick ,fever ,chills the works and she’s stubborn but he wants to help his nurse

Just some good hurt comfort ,kinda the tables have turned

This could also totally be written as gender neutral reader instead of fem

Have a good day !

Tysm!! I actually love this idea. I have delivered (not too much well though) . Thank you for requesting and have a good day too!

Images do not belong to me and I am not a doctor or a nurse! This is all with my Dr. Mike knowledge.

I changed it a bit sorry 😿

Chicken Soup and Netflix.

Warnings: Sick reader and some deep brief detail about the sickness.

── .✦

── .★

Jason is… a bit odd to say the least. Very tall and muscular with the peculiar trait to have his face scrunched up in the waiting room of one of Gotham’s hospitals. You might ask, well what’s Jason doing there? Simple, he got a cut. Slicing some apples that his lazy brother Dick didn’t want to slice himself.

But he didn’t go there to see any nurse that could quickly attend him. No, that’d be too easy! Might as well just buy a simple bandaid and stick it on his finger then call it a day, which he absolutely can. He just doesn’t want to. This time and like any other time he went to that hospital (which was all the time) he asked for the same specific nurse. You.

“Alright, Jason. To what do I have the pleasure of seeing you for the sixth time in four days?” you questioned as you finally attended Jason. He still glared at you because for his logic, you took too long in attending him. Reality was that you were just working on a patient that was going to get a CT scan, after all, patients should be hydrated before the scans… And you were not feeling well in all honesty. Of course, Jason noticed your held in sneezes and cold shivers, but he didn’t say anything for now, fearing he would be wrong and make a fool of himself.

He held up his left index finger, showing the small cut on full display. “I cut myself.” he explained dryly as you stared at him like he was the dumbest person on Earth. You silently sighed, at the sight of his dumb cut, but also because you felt like absolute crap. “You do know about the existence of bandaids, right?” you said as you pulled out a box of them after you questioned him on how the cut occurred like with any patient. There was no need for an experienced doctor here and waste their time like you were wasting yours, even if you felt the slightest pang of something by Jason’s often demands to be attended by you out of everyone on the field.

“This is very serious! It could get infected and I need medical assistance.” he quickly defended himself. He was cradling his finger as if it would fall off. Your eyes looked at the tiny cut while you held in that very annoyed eye roll. Once you had ‘cured’ him as he called it, he stopped with the frowns. He was indeed sad that it was quick, but hey. It’s a win situation for him because got to see your face!

“Achoo!”. What? Jason’s head immediately whipped from where he was standing at the door to behind him. His hand dropped from the door knob and moved his body to face you. “…Are you sick?” he asked with his normal stoic voice, though his face was the smallest bit softer than usual. “What- no, no, no!” you rapidly declined with a very, very stubborn frown, though you were wrong. So wrong. Chills, shivers, fever, and held in coughs and sneezes.

How had he not noticed?! You looked awful and he hadn’t helped! “Sit down.” he said, though it sounded much more harsher than he intended it to be and what made it sound like a command when it wasn’t. Which rightfully so, it earned a deeper frown and a scoff from you. Truly, he was as stoic as a rock, but of course that didn’t stop the pang on his heart. The one that screamed at him ‘Stop being a nuisance and help!’, but shhh shhhh! He needs to be nonchalant, guys! Though he was always welcomed to be as chalant as he wanted.

────

After lots and lots and lots and lots of talking he finally did it. Jason convinced you to leave work and call in sick. With of course the very logical excuse that a nurse shouldn’t go to work ill, they will get sick other patients and potentially making them feel worse. Guilt tripping much, but you had to admit. The guy had a very good point.

Conveniently, Jason got to be your ride home. Again, he reasoned that you shouldn’t go on the bus and risk getting people sick. “But what about you, smart ass?” you asked sarcastically, though your words held deep inside concern of getting sick this regular patient with whom you’ve had deep talks like good friends. It all held its own deep meaning nonetheless, the glances he stole, the scoffs, the frowns, the eye rolls, and the effort he put into seeing you at the hospital. Every small injury he got, intentional or not, was an excuse to see you.

“You’ve helped me enough. Let me be of use this time.” he said as his motorcycle came to a stop. Jason hopped out first, carefully taking your hand and helping you get down. Though before you could say thank you, or huff at him, you quickly had to cover your mouth and sneeze, making you sigh and disinfect your hands so you could later wash them. You groaned at the cold, violently shivering while you walked up to your apartment complex. Jason trailed behind you in deep thought. Suddenly there was a welcoming warmth around your shoulders, a brown jacket.

If Jason could admit, it was definitely freezing. He had taken off his own jacket for your own safety. Not wanting your state to get any worse and as much as he doesn’t want to admit, he absolutely despises the horrible condition you are in. He doesn’t like it. Not the paleness, the shivering, the sneezes, the disgusting phlegm sounding coughs, and the eye bags. In conclusion? He had the case of being utterly worried and hiding it behind a stoic mask.

Clearly his jacket was welcomed since you didn’t give any sign of protest, other than huff. Even if you still didn’t want to admit it you were sick as hell and he was going to leave you alone. After all, you had helped him too many damn times with the dumbest stuff. As you both made it through the complex he saw an elevator and quickly guided you to it. “Number.” he said gruffly, leaving you confused, “Number?…” you repeated as a question. He grumbled looking at you, “Floor number.” Jason specified, making you mentally go: ‘Ohhhhh.’. “Right- Sixth floor.” you said looking at him as he gave a nod and pressed the elevator button with the number six on it.

Shortly you went into a coughing fit, covering your mouth. Jason took a notice, his hand snaking to your back and slightly patting your back. He could feel the violent shivers. Once the elevator opened and he made sure you stopped coughing, he gently pushed you off the floor elevator and trailed behind. You started walking towards your apartment. Opening the door you turned to him.

“…You can.. uh come in if you want.” you muttered, your voice getting hoarser by the time. Jason, still internally concerned gave a nod waiting for you to get inside. “How’s your finger? Still lethal?” you asked as you stepped inside, trying to loosen the tense air. He shrugged, looking at his index finger that wore the smallest bandage, “…I suppose I can last a few more hours.” he said following your tone. A hum escaped your throat, “Maybe you need some IV’s.” you said as he stepped behind you and closed the door, getting a “Definitely.” from him.

You settled down your stuff, crashing down in the couch and thats all Jason needed. He looked around and walked to the kitchen, looking for stuff to at least make a soup for you. Surprisingly he isn’t a bad cook. Grabbing the necessary ingredients to make a simple chicken soup. You looked at him from the couch, eyes lidded with exhaustion and a twinge of guilt.

“You don’t have to cook you kn-“ you spoke up, getting cut off by a stern stare of him making your sentence die down. He opened a cabinet after another, stopping when he found medicine, reading each of the labels until he saw one that was needed for your symptoms. He finished cooking the soup and poured it into a bowl and set it aside to cool down a bit. Jason then opened your fridge to grab a water bottle. His steps echoed through the silent apartment.

He stopped in front of you, handing you the bottle of water and the medicine, fixing his jacket so it covered you and kept you warm and sat you up. “Thanks…” you mumbled and took them as you sat up with his help on the couch. Jason gave another nod, “Yeah no problem.” he answered. He walked again to the kitchen and grabbed the soup bowl, a spoon and went to sit next to you. Gently, he handed you the bowl and looked around. Seeing this you gave him the TV control and he gladly took it.

Jason played a random movie in your Netflix account as you ate slowly the soup he had carefully made, his jacket around you. Your legs were in a butterfly position on the couch and slowly leaned your head on his shoulder while you kept eating the soup. Then there was a weight on your own head and another around your shoulders, his thumb rubbing against your shoulder. “Guess who’s the nurse now?” he teased, making you roll your eyes, but at last, it was nice to be taken care of instead to take care of.

──── ⋆˚✿˖° ────

──── ⋆˚✿˖° ────

SORRY IF THIS WAS BAD!! English isn’t my first language, but I’m trying to be better at writing!! Hope you liked it a little bit.

[sturniolostars]

﹫𝓑𝓡𝓞𝓦𝓝𝓘𝓔𝓢 𝓟𝓣 𝓣𝓦𝓞﹫

Chris Sturniolo x You

In which: while both of you are high Chris fucks you on the kitchen counter

TW: being high, weed, sex while high, unprotected sex (Don’t do it), p in v, breeding

The grinding that at first took place, soon escalated into something more.

Way more.

Now I’m on the counter of our kitchen being split in half on his cock. My head is thrown back in pleasure the weed brownies I ate before this making the pleasure that much more sharpened.

“Fuckkk” I whine. He rams into me and I grab onto his arms that are hold my legs up so he can thrust into me deeper. “That’s right pretty girl let it out” he grunts.

My eyes are rolling back into my skull and I’m seeing stars. “So close” I moan. “Me too baby me too” he huffs his thrusts getting sloppy.

I feel his til abuse my cervix and I’m gone. “Holy fuck I’m coming!” I moan. He moans my name then halts his thrusts, hips pushing into mine. “Shit me too” he grunts.

I know it’s prob the weed but I’m basically–no literally begging for him to breed me.

“Shit fuck Chris yes! Fill me up baby please” I say grinding into him fucking myself through my high. I watch his own eyes roll back and feel his hot cum paint my insides.

“Shit” he sighs as he comes down. Both of our pupils are still blown half from lust and half from the weed we consumed. I pull him into a lazy kiss after he pulls out, smiling stupidly.

“Love ya babe” I mumble still feeling out of it. He returns the goofy smile and hugs me carrying me off the counter and to our bathroom to get us cleaned up.

After a fresh shower he lays us down in bed and we immediately fall asleep. And even in my sleep I can’t help but dream of making thousands more of these brownies just to have him fuck me like that……

All. Over. Again.

[al-1-na]

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 ~ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱

⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱

The days flew by in a blur after that night. You and Drew spent every spare moment together, slipping away from the chaos of the set to steal kisses in quiet corners, sharing secrets under the stars, and dreaming aloud about what the future might hold.

But as the end of the production drew closer, so did reality. You were going back to New York. Drew had a packed schedule of press tours and auditions lined up. Neither of you wanted to bring it up, but the question hung over you like a storm cloud: What happens next?

One evening, after a long day on set, Drew called you over to his trailer. When you arrived, he was sitting on the small couch, his head in his hands. He looked up when you walked in, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your chest ache.

“Hey,” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, his usual smile absent.

You sat beside him, your knee brushing his. “What’s wrong?”

Drew sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to ruin this.”

“Ruin what?” you asked, though you already knew.

“This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us. I finally have you back, and now we’re about to be thousands of miles apart again. What if—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you reached out, cupping his face in your hands. “Drew, stop. We’re not the same people we were back then. We’ve both grown, and we both know what we want now.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “And what I want is you. Every day. Not just when it’s convenient or when we happen to be in the same place. I want to be the guy who’s there for you—no matter what.”

You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, his words cutting straight to your heart. “I want that too, Drew. I don’t care about the distance or the logistics. We’ll figure it out, because you’re worth it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Drew pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he buried his face in your neck. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“I think I do,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours before he kissed you. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, filled with every unspoken promise between you. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as if he were afraid to let go.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said, his voice barely audible as his forehead rested against yours.

You nodded, unable to find the words, your heart too full.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of tangled sheets and whispered confessions. Drew held you like you were the most precious thing in the world, his touch reverent and his kisses endless. Every moment felt sacred, like a piece of the puzzle you’d both been missing for years had finally fallen into place.

As the first rays of sunlight crept through the blinds, you found yourself curled against his chest, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm.

“You know,” he said, his voice still husky with sleep, “I’ve been thinking about taking some time off after this project. Maybe spend a few months in New York.”

You lifted your head, your eyes widening. “Are you serious?”

Drew nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I want to see what it’s like—being with you every day, not just in stolen moments. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find a project there. But even if I don’t, I just… I need to be where you are.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you leaned down to kiss him. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just say yes,” he murmured, his hand sliding into your hair.

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips.

And in that moment, as Drew held you close, you knew this wasn’t just a second chance. It was the beginning of something even better—a love strong enough to weather any storm.

⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱⋰∴⋱

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @maybanksgirl69 @raeven-marie43

[bloodfiendarling]

all the time , nonnie .. hes in my head 24 / 7 its not even funny anymore ... i hate this bitch ( im lying )

drabble

wc — ~300

pairing — reader x phainon

contains — sub bottom phainon , dom top reader , writter w mtf reader in mind , praise kink , leashing , cockdrunk ( char )

phainon is a simple man — a little praise, and he’d be weak in his knees. it’s not just any praise, though — it’s your praise.

a little bit of your praise, and his mind turns to mush. just you, you, you in his head. it’s almost stupid. it’s like you could almost see a doggy tail wagging anytime you’d tell him a simple compliment.

here he was — on top of you, his hips thrusting down to take your cock in. “good boy.” you’d tell him, holding him down by his thighs. there were hearts in those bright blue eyes, looking at you with such adoration.

tug the leash on him — his head yanking towards you. the black doggy collar displayed prettily on his neck — his shaky hands on your shoulders. “you’re so pretty, phainon.” you smile, grabbing his face with your other hand. his head has pretty much gone dumb at this point.

“mmf– mhm‐!!” he nodded mindlessly, thrusting you deeper into him again — letting you hit that sweet spot inside of him. “hggn — ah.. i love you. i love you — hya ♡— i love you so much..”

like a broken record he’d end up suddenly showering you with praise and adoration. leaning forward to kiss you messily.. his head was completely fucked over — by you, of course. both your cock and your praise.

phainon is such a love struck, little puppy..

he squirmed on your lap — poor boy didn’t even know if he wanted to stop or not. his body certainly wasn’t stopping anytime soon. he’s too cockdrunk to really care how long it’s been going for. as long as you still wanted to keep going — then fuck, he’ll surely comply.

he wants to be a good boy. your good boy. the sound of praise entering his ear was like a drug. and don’t forget to kiss his gold sun tattoo — he’ll melt. face growing more red, his hands scrambling onto your back. it won’t take long till there are bright, red crescents on your back.

hsr m . list ♡

[manicandobsessive]

Icarian | L.H.

Chapter 2: July

“But you arrived like sunlight in the gloom. And burned off the haze when the year was still new. Keeping me going, how you show up like July.” Andrew Hozier Byrne

Ch 1. > Ch. 2 > Ch. 3

Warnings: swearing, pet names, pure fluff, seriously it’s so sweet, mutual pining, no use of y/n

A/N: i have returned!!! apologies for how long this took, i went back and made a plan and outlined chapters and whatnot. i really love this one i hope you guys enjoy it! <3

WC: 4.1K

“Logan! I swear to fucking-”

“Swearin’ to what now, sweetheart?” The man asked with a smug grin. Logan was leaning over the railing of the mansions’ staircase, two floors up from where you stood. You scoffed at him in irritation, absolutely exasperated with his behavior. Which only further fuelled his amusement.

“Fucking get your ass down here.” You grit out through clenched teeth, even more agitated at the deep rumble of his laugh in response. It wasn’t so much his behavior that angered you, but the desire that burned beneath it. Every chuckle he let out sent shivers down your spine, every smile made the hair on your neck stand on end. It was pathetic, if not for the fact that it was Logan.

It’d been no more than three months since Logan suddenly showed up. Three months since you and had him clicked instantaneously. You could confidently say at the current point in time he was your closest friend.

And at times your worst enemy. For example, this moment exactly.

If there was one thing you’d learned in the period of time you’d spent getting to know the mystery that was Logan Howlett, it was that he absolutely loved to instigate. A sucker for drama if you’d ever met one. And while, yes, you and him terrorized Scott frequently. He seemed to love getting a reaction out of you independently.

He soon learned with great pleasure that you gave back as good as you got. He reveled in it. Logan annoyed the living hell out of you at times, but simultaneously- you were too in deep. Somehow his ridiculousness- his unwavering immaturity, only made him more appealing. ‘

And sure, maybe you’d fallen a little deeper than friendship. But you assured yourself it wasn’t like that to him. You guys were friends, best friends. That was it. That was all it ever would be.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Everyone saw it. Everyone around both of you knew. Seemingly, Logan and you were the only oblivious ones.

Logan walked through those halls like ten tons had been lifted from his body. He no longer hunched his shoulders. He didn’t stomp from point A to point B subconsciously. He even went so far as to say a brief greeting to those he passed by. You, the same. While you never were as outwardly reluctant to social interaction as Logan had been, there was a notable exchange. The other X-men, who’d known you more closely, had seen your distaste for being cooped up at all times flip to being almost excited to stay inside. There was a skip in your step. You smiled more. Logan hung outside the confines of his room more often.

And when you were in a room together, it was good luck to everyone else. There had been a bond that always existed, you two just had to find each other.

On the downside, both of you having been stubborn fucks prevented any further growth of the relationship.

Logan was aware. He was, in fact, way too aware of the effect you had on him. Seeing as he’d stuck around for three months straight. No plans for anything else. Not even a thought or consideration of leaving, not while he knew you would be here. He wouldn’t be able to, he thought. He felt this invisible thread practically tethering him to you. It was something that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t shake. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to in the first place. You had been a light, and not just to him- but to everyone. You were oblivious to the way you lit up a room. The way your warmth had effortlessly radiated to those around you. A simple flash of your smile made his day.

He often wondered if that was your mutation. If you weren’t really just a human, and you had some unknown gene of heightened empathy. How he wished he could match that level of gentleness.

Logan was burdened by his mutation. Originally, he planned on making sure you’d never find out. He was convinced you’d never accept him the way he is.

But that didn’t happen. The day you’d found out was one he’d never forget.

~

“Fucking shoot me then!”

His voice echoed through the halls. Claws extended and all. The whole nine.

He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his adamantium skeleton. His heart thudded behind the cage of his chest- he knew in that moment exactly what he needed to do.

A few of Strykers’ men charged at him- apparently with the lack of knowledge that he could, in fact, not die. Logan took their bullets like they were nothing but a mere inconvenience. He felt no more than an itch from them, after all. He sliced through the men one-by-one. Not a single fucker survived. He’d be damned if he let someone danger the entirety of the mansion.

The rest of the X-men appeared, all at the front door at one time. Seemingly having taken care of the remaining nuisances from the outside. Logan tensed and whipped around. His hostility was evident in the way his muscles contracted under his thin tank top and how his claws stayed extended.

“We took care of the rest.” Ororo stepped forward, speaking up after a moment of silence between the group and Logan. Who seemed less than thrilled at their lack of assistance.

“Thanks for the help.” Logan grunted sarcastically, having been already pissed at the intrusion. Now, even more so at the fact that he took the blows of most of the men. The team seemed to always rely on him. His healing, his strength, his violence. He felt partially used, when he cared to look into it. But most of the time, he didn’t give enough of a shit.

His eyes scanned over the group of X-men: Jean, ‘Ro, Summers, hell- even Chuck.

Pause. Where the fuck were you?

He spoke your name in a whisper. It was soft, almost intelligible, and his heart began racing yet again with the idea that they could’ve gotten to you. He was under the impression you were an X-man of course. Why wouldn’t you be?

He never would’ve assumed you were any less than the others. You radiated the confidence of someone ten times more powerful than any of his teammates combined. He respected you beyond words. And of course, he found himself caring more than he should. More than he could deny.

Your soft spoken- slightly raspy from sleep- voice calmed his frantic movements in an instant. His shoulders dropped to his sides with the breath he let out. One he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Damn you had him whipped.

“Y’alright?” You rasped with half lidded eyes and a yawn. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your knuckles, a movement he’d noticed you do when you’re tired. You furrowed your eyebrows in crystal clear confusion. Having slept like the dead through the entire event of the night.

Logan huffed the smallest of laughs. An imperceptible smile playing on his lips. You’d have thought he’d seen a ghost with the expel of air that left his body, loudly at that.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his, still reflecting light off of them in the dead of night. You weren’t scared, just- surprised. And obviously still half asleep. You had no idea what mutation Logan harbored. Clearly, he’d had one. He was much stronger than the average man, and a million times bigger. Figuratively and literally with the way he towered over most of the tenants of the mansion. But that was the extent of your knowledge. You never thought to ask, as you gathered from your first few interactions that he wasn’t one to just open up. But you trusted that he would eventually.

He retracted them almost immediately at the look on your face. Standing frozen in the middle of the common area. He was bracing himself for the reaction that was bound to occur. He was used to it, people running from him. People being scared. Calling him a monster.

Didn’t make it sting any less.

The last thing he wanted was for you to be scared of him. He softened his posture, an attempt to seem less intimidating. Which he couldn’t really do if he tried his absolute best. It was in his nature to be on the defense. So naturally, when you blinked, your eyes opened wide in shock- his walls were built high.

You took the first step. Walking downstairs in the most graceful manner, at least from Logan’s point of view. Anything you did was perfect to him. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but you looked like an angel.

You composed yourself. Determined to make sure the man knew you weren’t scared of him. To show him that this didn’t change any part of how you saw him whatsoever. You could sense it from the moment he’d made eye contact with you. You quickly pieced together the reason he didn’t tell you what his mutation was in the first place. He was afraid. But you wouldn’t have that. Not with Logan.

You silently walked up to him, resting a hand on his arm. He tensed just slightly. Afraid of the next thing, the next word. You looked at his face. A small smile gracing your own. He refused to meet your eyes, he focused more on your hand. The one now comforting him in the smallest of touches.

“Logan.”

You spoke in such a manner that he could never ignore you. Doesn’t matter if it were life or death. He’s not sure if the world was ending that he could ignore your sweet voice to save it. To that, he turned his head just slightly. Meeting your soft eyes, which made his own soften in return.

“Sweetheart,”

He spoke so rough, so rugged. He seemed like he was on a mission to make you flinch away. To prove himself right yet again. But you were nothing if not stubborn. And he wasn’t going to get you to back off that easily.

“I’m not scared of you.” You took the words straight out of his mouth. He stood there, soft eyes, his mouth agape. His expression was one of relief and surprise. He wasn’t sure why he doubted you in the first place. You with your unwavering kindness, your beautiful soul. Something that even a blind man could see.

His mouth opened and closed a few times. He felt like a stupid fuck. He was left with no words to say. No attempts to push you back, it was useless. You and him both knew it to be. Plus, he was in no rush to let you go.

“I’m not scared. Not of you, Logan.” You repeated. Stern but gentle, just like every other aspect of your being.

To your surprise, he smiled. He looked into your eyes with his own and he flashed you that grin that only few got the luxury of seeing. It wasn’t prideful. It wasn’t cocky. It was a smile of appreciation, something to convey what words couldn’t express. He’d only hoped you’d gotten the message.

And while you two were no more than friends, your approval seemed to be the only thing that mattered to Logan.

~

From that day on, Logan hung around like a shadow. The two of you were inseparable and even more so, unstoppable. It was clear that this wasn’t some typical surface-level relationship. Whatever was between you two ran deep, and it was only a matter of time before it became more.

You were something to Logan that was unable to be disregarded. Like a light straight to the great beyond. Like you were created for him and him alone. He so desperately needed to keep it in his clutches. Even if he was dead-set on never falling in love. He had to have you around in some capacity, though it was hard not to let himself dive in head first.

You made even the darkest days feel like the brightest, no matter what you did. Simply existing near you whether it be watching TV or silently admiring you, made Logan’s mood instantly become brighter. The whole of the mansion noticed. Charles being the first, of course.

Logan warned him from the start. He was stubborn enough to go as far as telling Scott he’d sew his mouth shut if he so much as teased either of you. He wanted no part in making anyone think you two were more than close friends. Despite his wild imagination creating a perfect world where he wasn’t concerned you’d get hurt because of him. A world where his past was merely a memory and you were his present. One where the two never mingled.

As long as he kept you at as much a distance as he could, he could keep from worrying himself sick. Didn’t mean he wanted to though. He craved to be closer to you. To hold you, kiss you, know you inside and out. The three months you two had been like this, it had only gotten significantly worse. And his desperation was even more conceivable to the naked eye.

~

Ororo, on the contrary, had a blast teasing you.

“So,” She began, pretending to innocently be catching up with you. You were more than accustomed to her nosy behavior. Her meddling didn’t bother you, it was amusing so to speak. But when it came to Logan, that was a sensitive subject. And you were well aware that she was all in on the drama when the pair of you were involved.

“How’s he been?”

You scoffed, your eyes practically rolled to the back of your head. Perhaps an attempt at seeming indifferent to the situation when you knew damn well your heart sped up at the mere thought of him.

“Drop it.”

“Drop what? He’s been around you more than anyone, it’s a simple question.”

You almost laughed at her terrible acting skills. Almost being the key word, if you weren’t so reluctant to ruin the precious bond you had with the man. Ororo wasn’t exactly known for subtlety, at least for you. She was a close friend, definitely the person you confided in the most at the mansion, even if it wasn’t much. If you were to tell anyone about this infatuation, willingly, it would be her.

It was just infatuation, right?

She could sense the gears turning in your head. A smirk plastered on her face at the sight. You looked down before muttering out a response.

“Just, he’s a good guy is all.”

“Mhm, a good guy who you wanna-”

You were swiftly interrupted by a rumble of another voice. The sound now a distinct indicator of who had entered the room.

“Whaddya wanna do?” Logan quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with the corner of his mouth twitching. A dumb attempt to hide his smile. His arms crossed over his chest, as they always were. He seemed to love making appearances like that. At least from what you’d known. The creak of the floor as he sauntered towards the two of you made you take a deep breath in and out. One you’d hoped he hadn’t caught.

He flopped into a recliner, his arms on both armrests and his legs sprawled. It made your entire body feel like it was on fire, the way he could do the most basic of motions and look effortlessly attractive. It was annoying, to be frank.

You rolled your eyes. Not only to mask- once again, your clear state of nervous desire. But also because of the way Logan managed to invite himself into your space, not that you had an issue with it. He had made it known that he followed where you went. It was a sign of endearment, as the telling smirk on your lips showed.

“Oh. Nothing, just talking about who’s bones your woman over here wants to jump.” Storm instigated, all with a telling smile, of course. You almost screamed, if it weren’t for the bark of laughter that escaped Logan. And the way your mind raced with the fact that he didn’t stop Ororo from calling you his girl.

“‘N who would that be, darlin’?” Logan asked you, smiling all the more. He had to have known. He’d probably fucking known since the day you’d met him. And yet, three months later, you still had convinced yourself it was an infatuation. You had only spent every waking moment with him, after all.

“Nobody.” You mumbled, looking at your feet. Fully planted on the ground and ready to skip town if necessary at this rate.

“Don’t sound like nobody to me.” Logan urged a response, the one you’d given wouldn’t cut it. And if, god forbid, there was someone out there that wasn’t him who’d caught your interest. He’d have their fucking head on a platter.

“She’s just messing with me,” You look up, regaining some form of composure. You were reluctant to show Logan any type of romantic affection, despite the nagging feelings inside of you. The truth being- if you were really reflecting on it- you wanted nothing more than to do exactly that.

Logan hummed, clearly not convinced whatsoever. He read you like a book, no matter the time or place. And additionally, he had no shame calling you out on it. As you did for him. However, for some odd reason he didn’t press the matter. Which you were silently thankful for.

He knew if it were someone else he’d have lost it. So with the little self control he had left, he brushed the issue under the rug. For your sake, of course.

~

A knock startled Logan and he stirred from a restless sleep. Not that he ever had a restful sleep. He grumbled, throwing a forearm over his eyes at the sudden light spilling in from the windows.

You walked in, as you had done before. You always knocked, but Logan rarely responded with more than a simple grunt. Sometimes so low that you missed it, so you started to just invite yourself in.

He lifted his arm slightly, catching a glimpse of you in the light. You stood at the foot of his bed. Clad in a summer sundress, something he couldn’t resist on any woman. And you, well he was a lost cause. He was just a man after all.

He smirked, you caught it. Despite your obvious annoyance, the position you always ended up in with him was amusing. Him being the one getting scolded for yet another missed mission debriefing, you being the one to lecture him since the team was well aware of his soft spot for you. He’d never get mad at you, he was sure of it. He couldn’t. It was impossible to.

You started to believe that he was skipping meetings for these moments alone. Maybe the thought was a little delusional, but he’d missed at least four and at the rate he was going, it seemed he didn’t plan on stopping.

“Sorry, doll-”

“Don’t gimme that bullshit.” You crossed your arms, puffing your chest just slightly while you cut him off. Logan thought it was adorable, you trying to be defiant. He knew deep down you anticipated these moments just as much as he did.

“I gotta sit down there and listen to Scott bitch about you not showing up. And I’m not even a fucking mutant!” You huff, your annoyance was clear with the way your voice raised ever so slightly. Though, Logan was bold to assume it was more towards Scott. And if he’d asked, he’d have been correct. Logan could be insufferable, but he was still Logan. And though you were irritated, you knew he could take the brunt of your frustration for you without flinching.

“You better get your shit together, or I might start thinking you’re doing this on purpose.”

“So what if I am?” He countered with a raise of his eyebrow. You scoffed, despite the crimson that dusted your cheeks. He sat up against his headboard with a victorious smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave way to your true feelings.

“You’re insufferable.”

He shrugged, his smug expression still present on his face. Oh how you wanted to kiss it off of him.

“I could hit you right now.”

“But you won’t.” He countered, always a response.

You groaned, throwing your head back and turning your back to him. Walking towards his door.

“Wait, doll.” You paused, back still to him while you glanced over your shoulder.

“C’mere.” He gestured for you to sit next to him. On his bed.

Sure, you’d been in his room before. And maybe you two hung out there once or twice. But you always made sure to sit in another chair, or if anything the edge of his bed. Never had he invited you in it, let alone next to him. And so close, too.

You hesitantly shuffled over to him. Slowly lowering yourself to sit down. His broad shoulder brushed yours. He smirked, as he always did with you. He looked down into your eyes as you looked up into his. Your face was the epitome of how shy you felt around him. Especially at times like this.

Your big innocent eyes, the soft reflection of the light on your skin. The way your lips looked so soft and inviting. It was all too much and not enough for Logan.

And then, he moved your hair behind your ear. A movement so subtle it could’ve meant nothing.

Or everything.

You blinked, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Ya mad at me, sweetheart?”

You scoffed, knowing damn well you never could be. And Logan, well he may just have wanted to see you get all flustered. Hearing your heart race made his own pick up speed.

You subconsciously leaned into his touch, a small smile on your pretty face. He wished he could have stopped time and taken a picture. One to keep for himself alone.

“No, asshole. Just, go to the meetings. So Scott will leave me alone.” You added onto the end, a little something that would hopefully give him a push. You wanted to believe that if you asked him to do something for you, he’d do it.

And you were right.

He huffed and smiled, dropping his hand to now rest on to of your own. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously or not. It made you a flustered mess either way.

“M’kay. I’ll go.” He replied, his voice gruff and soft all the same. He brushed his rough thumb over your soft knuckles. It made your heart grow ten sizes. The way he treated you so gently. It didn’t go unnoticed.

He stood from his bed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Only for ya’ though, darlin’.” He added the last part, the small kiss spurring on your emotions even more. He smiled as he left the room- his room. All but leaving you sitting on his bed, wide eyed and flustered. You scoffed in disbelief, a smile following promptly after.

You up and left his room moments later, once you’d finally composed yourself, and you practically skipped to your room. The energy eminanting off of you was prominent. Your thoughts so loud that Jean, who was just passing through, caught them without even trying.

Jean despised the way the two of you had acted with each other. It was sickening how sweet he seemed to be for you. He’d never once given her that same softness. He’d never given anybody that softness, to her knowledge. Even in the deepest depths of his infatuation with her. It was a type of gesture that nobody had seen from Logan.

And while everyone else found it adorable, the way he followed you like a lost puppy. The way he talked about you like you were his entire world. Two people who could be no less than meant for each other in every sense of the word.

She was disgusted.

Part of her wished desperately to be happy for you guys, to act like the rest of the X-men. But the inconsolable jealousy she felt took over the mere fiber of her being every single fucking time. And not only was she upset with Logan, who no longer spared her as much as a second glance. But she hated herself for how she felt. For having her own boyfriend, one who loved her like no other, and still having the nagging thirst to ruin you and Logan.

Something was up with her. Something nobody except her and Charles had known was coming a long time ago.

[animeyanderelover]

I don’t know where I was going with this. But that doesn’t matter. The power of simping is simply too strong. I left out Finn because he died pretty quickly so I have no way of characterising him really well. I also know that apparently there is another sibling but I haven't watched The Originals so that's that.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, overprotective behavior, intimidation, threats, blackmailing, manipulation, violence, death

Images

Elijah Mikaelson

✞Elijah doesn't love easily. It speaks volumes that throughout his entire life as a vampire he has loved very few times only for that love to slip through his fingers like sand. Whether that loss has been his fault or the fault of the woman that he has loved, he has long since realised that he has never been innocent yet still he desires to maintain the image of the logical and rational man amongst a family filled with violence, impulsiveness and overflowing emotions that so quickly spiral out of control. If there is one person he wishes to be what he deep down isn't though then it is without a doubt his darling. Whilst he will never truly be the man standing on the morally high ground at the very least he wishes to uphold that image whilst he is with you. He values the love existing between the two of you deeply, his one firm pillar in between so many other shaky bridges that he still attempts to rebuild and keep with his siblings. No words could ever convey how deep his appreciation and his love for you goes for the sense of peace and calmness that you provide in his life yet still Elijah does what he can do to give back as much as possible for everything he receives simply by having you by his side.

✞There is no shortage of presents, trips and luxury in a relationship with him. Elijah truly embraces a romantic spirit now that he has you all to always let you know just how much you truly mean to him. Bouquets of red roses, letters expressing the thoughts and feelings he may not be able to convey spontanously as he crafts each sentence carefully and special dates when the circumstances have forced him away from you for more than a few days. It never feels like excessive spoiling though as each gift and each date has a thought behind it that goes beyond the simple luxury and price of it. With you Elijah is always the thoughtful gentleman he believes that you deserve, each action and confession crafted to the closest perfection that he can reach. That never means though that all violence has simply disappeared. It's hidden away from your gaze, the ruthless side Elijah doesn't wish you to see. Perhaps he aspires to be better for you, an act of mercy for all those who threaten you or the relationship as they receive one chance to turn around and to never return. Bloodshed has never been his signature yet should a fool choose to be a fool it cannot be helped.

Niklaus Mikaelson

♕Klaus is something and that can be interpreted in a good or in a bad way which applies both to him. His love is intense and coupled with so many thoughts and feelings that he has a hard tome controlling it all. There's a lot to unravel but the deeper you dig, the more Klaus becomes undone in front of your very eyes which only heightens all his emotions in return. Paranoia, abandonment issues, a sharp fear to forever be alone and a love that burns so intensely that it threatens to not only hurt the both of you but everyone around. Once such obsession has taken a hold of Klaus he is determined to never let you leave his grasp yet he is so used to being left that his hands clutching your life so tightly threaten to shatter it. So many things could go wrong and many things will go wrong as he struggles to deal with all issues and fears that have resurfaced so violently due to his feelings for you. His possessiveness runs high, his jealousy runs deep and the control he tries to force into your life runs wild. All because deep down he genuinely believes that otherwise you would never love nor accept him for the horrible person everyone hates and wants so desperately dead.

♕It's a long and difficult process to untangle the mess of feelings within him until he eases his body and mind. That isn't to say that moments of tenderness are nonexistent. An entire gallery filled with paintings of you, sketches neatly kept on his desk of your face and beautifully wrapped presents placed on your bed. Flights to Tokyo, Italy and all the places you wish to see with your own eyes and confessions of adoration and love that are so rare coming from his lips. All of it can be so easily shattered though in the face of your fear and horror all directed against him. Klaus retaliates whenever you reject him, covers his pain and vulnerability behind the rage and cruelty so many fear him for, becoming the monster you believe him to be. It's likely that he has hurt you once or twice, his feelings bursting out of him as agony and anger and leaving him drowning in the horrible feeling of guilt and a renewed fear that you will never accept him afterwards. Niklaus kills easily. He has left hills of dead bodies behind him throughout his long life already and now with his obsession for you in play new corpses start littering his path all to preserve you for himself.

Kol Mikaelson

🂱Kol is a true wild card as his actions are unpredictable and all guided by his own hedonism. By all means, he actually knows that his feelings are quite disturbing together with all the things he does as a result of it but he doesn't seem to feel an ounce of guilt. It's much the opposite instead as Kol actively revels in it. All the emotions coursing through his veins make him feel very alive to the point where he almost feels drunk on ecstasy and he decides to completely indulge in everything that this obsession has to offer. Known for loving the games though, Kol has a quite wicked way of treating you, the unfortunate victim of his obsession. His approach is quite two-faced as he wastes no time to get to know you during the day and present himself as someone quite cocky yet still quite charming only to haunt you at night and induce paranoia within you. He doesn't feel guilty though instead he finds it quite cute to see the visible effects his stalking has on you as you flinch at every noise, always turn your head over your shoulder as if afraid that someone is following you and start growing more unfocused as a result of the lack of sleep. So he will continue until you break.

🂱There is a different side that often reveals itself to you too, one far more enjoyable than the mindgames he so often puts you through. As he is neither as uptight nor as paranoid as his other siblings, Kol expresses his love much like the adventurous spirit that he has within him. Often he spontaneously whisks you away whenever he's in the mood, no matter what time of day it is. Kisses out of the blue, unpredictable and playful accompanied by some very corny pickup-lines that he has either come up with himself or has heard somewhere and cuteness aggression too. There's nothing that Kol really bothers to hide from you as he is the one who is the most open with his emotions, be it the good ones or the bad ones. Instead he basks in it all freely as he even indulges in the violent urges that arise when someone gets on his nerves. It's genuinely gruesome and evil though how he plays with his victims. He's taunting, he's tormenting and he likes to dangle a piece of hope in front of their noses and watch them running like frightened bunnies only to snatch it away right in front of their faces and enjoy the sheer look of horror and hopelessness.

Rebekah Mikaelson

❀Rebekah loves blindly and recklessly which spells a disaster in the making as her obsession quickly consumes her. She has been hurt far too many times over the centuries and every time she was betrayed by someone that she loved. It's understandable that she wishes to be wary yet deep down she is very much like Klaus in the way that she longs for someone to love her unconditionally and for someone who will always choose her no matter what. She fears being backstabbed by even you and it doesn't even matter how long the two of you have known each other at that point. All of those fears and insecurities combined result in this awful mixture of possessiveness, pushiness and control that can and will be overwhelming very quickly for you. Rebekah seems to have you under constant surveillance as if she is just waiting for the moment where she catches you cheating on her or plotting to have her put back in the coffin again. For that reason she even compels the people around her all to always know what you are up to and to always have someone watching over you and report back to her. She wants to trust, she really does, but she doesn't know how to do that after everything that has happened.

❀Still she is a girl who wishes to be happily in love and that shows in the way that she treats the relationship. In general the two of you are always together and seen as a pair with matching outfits and matching jewelry all chosen by her. Frequent dates, constant hand-holding and excessive mails and calls when she isn't with you at the moment. Rebekah wants her own happy lovestory and she wants it with you which is why she works so very hard to ensure that everything is exactly how she has always wished it be be. However, she has an extremely bad temper and that becomes apparent very quickly as you watch her. Her jealousy threatens to consume her on a daily base the moment you pay attention to someone else that isn't her and she gets spiteful and mean very quickly as that horrible feeling within her stomach wriggles around until she feels nauseous. She lashes out and she does so quickly as her emotions tend to get the better of her and in her rage even you will not be spared from her bitterness. It's that horrible temper of hers which makes her prone to hurt, torture and murder people she sees as threats to the happy ending she so sorely deserves.

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER SIX

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

pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist

tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers

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

word count — 8k

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

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n shook her head. “not recently.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her heart raced as she unfolded it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“trent…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n forced a small smile. “i know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

trent: was really hoping to see you

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

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

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

y/n: or maybe you could come over?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“talk?” trent repeated, sitting up straighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he smirked. “it was good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her dad’s eyes narrowed. “slow, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he stayed silent, letting her continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© PDRIESTA 2025

[biohaz6rd]

hal x fem!reader

pure sex under the cut. mdni u all know the drill ;p

“fuuuck,” hal drawls, his eyebrows furrowing and eyes fluttering shut as he slowly pushes his tip past the entrance of your slippery pussy, the heat of your cunt causing his heart to stop beating momentarily.

well, maybe not literally but he sure as hell felt like it had.

his grip on your hip tightens, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh as he forces his vision to come into focus again. god, hal had always loved coming home from a particularly long and rough mission and drowning himself in the tightness only your cunt could provide him with.

after a few moments of stillness, he pulls out of your wet heat before swiftly thrusting back in, a quiet gasp escaping you as he begins to fuck you the way he knows you like—slow, yet painstakingly hard.

“missed this so much, baby,” he mumbles breathily as he leans down to press a kiss to your soft shoulder. the pure need he feels for you is evident within his voice, a certain whiny quality lacing it.

methodically, he removes one of his hands from your hip to slowly run down the length of your naked spine, a soft sigh of pleasure pushing past his lips as he observes the way goosebumps rise to your skin from his touch.

“missed you so much.” he continues, whispering the words as if they were a prayer. and to him, they were. his hand comes to thread through your silken strands of hair, gripping onto it gently as he thrusts into you with purpose.

“you don’t know what you do to me, do you?” his whispered words coupled with the way his free hand snakes down your body to softly rub at your neglected clit makes you moan wantonly, your back arching even further and hands seeking purchase in the silk bedsheets.

hal jordan was pure sin. fuck, he was practically sex incarnate. that was a fact you had learnt fairly quickly in your relationship with the man but even now with him fucking you into oblivion, the realisation somehow takes you by surprise.

“yeah, that’s it, baby,” he encourages once he feels you clamp down on him, your velvet walls sucking him deeper into their depths. hal groans softly, his grip on your hair tightening involuntary, his chest heaving with laboured breaths as he continues to fuck you into next week.

a gentle, yet firm slap that he delivers to your clit has you coming around him with a cry, your front half limply falling forward into the pillows on your shared bed. hal follows suit not long after, a whine escaping the man as he paints the inside of your perfect, heavenly cunt with his cum.

he leans forward, blanketing your shivering form with his body, a multitude of worshipful kisses being pressed to your neck and shoulders.

“on your back, baby. didn’t think i was done with you yet, did you?” he taunts lovingly. a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as he pulls out of you with a lewd squelch in order to flip you onto your back, your beautiful eyes meeting his own.

“not a chance, sweetheart. missed you too damn much not to fuck ‘till the sun comes up.”

wow! i can still write! even if it’s not proofread. oops.

anyways, savour this post cus it’s probably going to be another few months before i can be bothered to write again!! 😄

[brummiereader]

@mischievouslittlecreature fantastic chapter, Lily 😍!

I'm sorry I'm getting so behind on reading 😩. I've currently got a nasty case of bronchitis that won't fuck off 😭, so forgive me if my comments on this chapter don't make much sense.

He nodded. “There was a message pinned to it. Look down on earth and see the seeds you have sown,” he shook his head. I love how the title of this chapter echoes that pinned note. You're so clever at connecting everything together.

He closed his mouth, eyes narrowing down at her. “You’re so bloody stubborn, you know that?” But there was no bite in his words. If anything, he just sounded very, very tired. Lucy touched his chin delicately. He didn't really think she'd listen to him did he 😅? Poor baby, I couldn't help but notice how tired he was in this exchange too. He sounded like he was stating facts more than having a conversation with her 😔.

Together, they sat, listening to the shrill squeaks and squeals of Charlie’s violin. All the while trepidation sank deeper and deeper into their bones. Although the image of Tommy having to sit and listen to the screeching noises of Charlie's violin always makes me giggle, I've never really looked at this scene and it's deeper meaning until your descriptions. They're constantly trying to simultaneously keep up some normality for Charlie's sake, all while internally losing their minds with stress with everything going on. I wonder if they both ever ask themselves if it's all worth it?

“She likes the life, ey? Well, find one that hates it. Look at him,” Tommy gestured to Arthur. “That’s what he did, and now he’s chairman of the board.” I never really understood what Tommy meant when he said this. Seems pretty counterproductive coming from a gangster 😂. But I can definitely see why Lucy picked up on this comment in particular. She's already pretty fragile when it comes to her own self worth in Tommy's life, and she has a tendency to pick apart small remarks like this until she's convinced herself that Tommy doesn't want her 😩.

How could he not fall in love with Lizzie? She was sweet, beautiful, the mother of his child, and he had known her for years. It's interesting how Lucy only ever points out Lizzie's nicer qualities. Because those far and few between positive aspects of her are often completely buried under the hatred Lizzie shows 😬.

Once that happened, she would be done for. Because when Tommy loved someone, really loved them, like he did her and Grace, he would do anything for them. Why can she never see herself in this equation too 😭? I know he often fucks up when it comes to noticing Lucy's need for reassurance, but I fear she'll never fully see how much he loves her. And I feel like this is only going to get worse as the series continues 😬.

Lucy snorted. As if Michael had any reason to be mad after he’d just lost all their fucking money. Ha, exactly Lucy! Urghh I loathe him.

I love how you explored what Polly would potentially have felt about the situation if things did continue to get worse while she was still there. Because as much as Tommy and Lucy are right about Michael,and as much I think Polly would have agreed with them, there is no fucking way she'd let Tommy take him out. I get the impression that Tommy really doesn't give out second chances to people he's not romantically involved in.

Loved this chapter, hun. I'm eager to see Lucy and Gina's interactions in the next parts 😬!

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy and Lucy begin to suspect Michael of a far worse betrayal than what happened on the stock market.

Word Count: 6,076

Warnings: Violence and insecurity.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 4: The Seeds You Have Sown

Lucy rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand as she descended the stairs sluggishly. The house was always disconcertingly quiet in the mornings. Even more so with Lizzie and Ruby gone. Normally she got up with Tommy, which helped to cloak over some of the eeriness that the huge house exuded in the early hours. Especially in her dark, isolated wing of the mansion. 

But this morning she had woken up alone. Well, the second time she woke up, she was alone. The first time she had stirred at movement beside her, rolling over with an arm seeking out Tommy’s space beside her in the bed only to find it empty.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he had said, large hand passing over the top of her head. Rather than laying beside her, he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, already mostly dressed. 

“Mm. Why aren’t you here?” she complained, patting the spot next to her, even as she nuzzled back down into his pillow.

“There’s something I need to go check. Won’t be long.”

“Want me to come?”

“No, sweetheart, just go back to sleep,” he kissed the top of her head.

She drifted in and out for awhile after that, but it was hard to find true sleep without him there. Finally, she’d risen out of bed with a sigh, yawning and stretching and slouching her way over to the wardrobe to pull on her clothes for the day. 

Dressed and at least half awake, she was just making her way to the dining room in the hopes of finding a warm breakfast waiting for her when Charlie came exploding in through the front door. His shoes clattered loudly on the floor as he raced towards her. 

“Lucy! Dad wants you,” he skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with her. “He’s outside in the garden.”

“Charlie, what–”

“Miss. Winters, there was a phone call for Mr. Shelby’s office phone that he just missed,” Frances appeared to her left. “And Mrs. Milligan is here for Charles’s violin practice.”

Who the fuck has violin practice this early in the morning?   

“Alright, um, Charlie, you go with Frances to your lesson–”

“He said I’m to play extra loudly today,” Charlie giggled. “Because there might be some bangs outside. Do you know why, Lucy?”

Her blood went cold, eyes snapping to the windows. Suddenly wide awake. She looked back at Charlie, forcing what she hoped was a reassuring smile to pull at her lips. “Yes, Charlie. I think I do. You said that he’s in the garden, did you?”

Charlie nodded.

“Right,” she turned to Frances, who had gone a little pale. “Where’s the teacher?”

“In the drawing room.”

“Charlie, go with Frances to see Mrs. Milligan. Frances, keep everyone inside until we get back.”

“Yes, Miss. Winters.” Frances took Charlie by the hand, quickly leading him away. Lucy waited until they’d gone before running to the cupboard in which they kept a small artillery. She snatched up a tommy gun, some extra ammo, and raced outside. 

She found Tommy seated on the grass by the barren fields, smoking and rubbing at his face with hands smeared with dirt.

“What’s happened?” she asked, hooking the strap of the submachine gun over her shoulder. Her eyes darted around wildly, searching for any signs of danger but finding none. Until her gaze landed on the middle of the field, where a scarecrow was erected on a wooden cross. Lucy stared at it, breath catching in her throat. 

They didn’t have a scarecrow in the field. Not at this time of year, anyway. There was no point when there wasn’t anything planted in it anyway.

If she squinted she could make out that it was dressed in clothes eerily similar to Tommy’s daily attire: a dark coat, trousers, waistcoat, and white button down shirt, with a pocket watch dangling from its neck that glinted in the sun, and a peaky cap a top its burlap head. 

Tommy looked up at her with bleary eyes, chest heaving up and down. 

“There are landmines in the field.”

“What!?”

He nodded, gesturing with his cigarette towards the scarecrow mounted in the center of the barren stretch of mud. “All around the scarecrow. Fucking miracle that I didn’t step on one.”

“You went out there?”

He nodded. “There was a message pinned to it. Look down on earth and see the seeds you have sown,” he shook his head.

“Fuck,” she looked out at the field, watching whisps of white mist float across it. 

“In our own fucking garden, Lucy.”

“Yeah.” Already, her mind had begun to work. Who? Who would do such a thing? They were not lacking for enemies, but she struggled to immediately think of any who would be so bold as to do something like this right under their noses. 

“Charlie almost stepped on them. He came running onto the field to get me. If I hadn’t grabbed him in time…” Tommy trailed off, shoulders shuddering. Lucy’s lips parted, eyes widening. A sick feeling twisted in her stomach at the thought of what could have happened to their sweet boy. A hand went to his shoulder, clapping onto it both for stability and in an attempt to offer comfort. 

Distantly, from within the mansion, she could hear the sounds of a violin starting to play. She closed her eyes against the sound. Normally, she wasn’t particularly taken with Charlie’s violin playing. Often she caught herself wishing he’d chosen a less…shrill instrument to learn. Like the piano or even the harp. But today, she relished in the shriek and squeaks of the bow against the strings. 

“He’s okay,” she said, to Tommy and to herself. 

“Yeah.” He heaved out a massive sign, head bowing. She rubbed back and forth across his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles even through the material of his coat and the shirt he had on underneath.     

“What do you want to do about the mines?” 

“We need to take care of them,” he heaved himself to his feet, “so no one risks getting their leg blown off if they step out there.”

“Alright,” she unhooked the strap of her gun from where it was secured on her shoulder. “Should I shoot at the ground from over here, or…?” “No. They’re only around the scarecrow. I think.”

“You think?” 

“If there were ones anywhere else in the field, I’m pretty sure there would be bits of me scattered all over the garden by now.”

She cringed at the mental image, heart twisting upwards into her throat. “Don’t joke about that.”

He looked over at her, saw the expression on her face, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. “Sorry.” He reached for the machine gun clutched her hands, but she pulled it away. 

“What are you doing?”

“Well…I need…” he had enough foresight to look sheepish at what he was implying. 

“I’m not letting you walk back out there alone.”

“Luces, please…”

“No! I’m not just going to stand here and watch you get blown up.”

“It’ll be fine–”

“Then you should have no problem with me coming with you.”

He closed his mouth, eyes narrowing down at her. “You’re so bloody stubborn, you know that?” But there was no bite in his words. If anything, he just sounded very, very tired. Lucy touched his chin delicately. 

“Look who’s talking.”

A ghost of a smile danced on his lips for a second. “You really would rather risk getting blown up with me than just wait right here?”

“Yes,” she said, without even a moment’s hesitation. His eyes softened, and he didn’t even need to say anything for her to know that she’d won. 

“Alright, then,” he sighed, looking back towards the scarecrow. “Just stick close to me, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Through the mist, Lucy could just make out the outline of another tommy gun laying on its side in the mud. He must have dropped it in his haste to get Charlie out of the field. 

“Come on.”

She followed him towards the gate that led out into the rows of soft, damp earth. She was careful to stay behind him and follow the path he cut through the mud, since he knew where the landmines were. He scooped up his gun where it lay on the ground, shaking dark tendrils from his fringe that had fallen forward out of his eyes. Immediately, he started firing upon the scarecrow. He emptied an entire magazine into it before coming to a halt, releasing the magazine drum to let it go tumbling to the ground, sliding a second one into its place with a click. Lucy’s finger found the trigger of her own gun, raising it once she came to a stop at his side. Squinting at the dirt around the scarecrow, she squeezed her finger around the trigger.     

The ground around the scarecrow erupted, dark soil and boiling flames exploding with a furious blaze into the sky. They were standing close enough for Lucy to feel the heat from the explosions on her face and smell the charred scent of smoke and burst metal. 

The explosions came one after the other as they swept the ground with bullets, setting off landmine after landmine, each bursting in its own mini inferno. 

And then all was quiet. 

Black smoke roiled upwards, rolling over itself, momentarily blotting out the sun above them before being broken apart by the wind. 

“You think that was all of them?” Lucy asked, lowering her weapon, glancing over to see Tommy doing the same.  

“Yeah. We’ll have to dig them up later.”

“Not now?”

He shook his head. “Charlie said that there was a phone call for me.”

“Yeah. To your office phone. Do you think it has anything to do with this?”

“Maybe.”

Mist danced around their ankles while he started to lead the way back to the house. She eyed him as they walked side by side. His entire face was pinched with stress, shoulders wound ever tighter than usual.

Michael was supposed to be coming back today. She knew that Tommy had been dreading the day; the tension within him seeming to build more and more as the date grew closer. 

Not that she could blame him. She felt it too; that sense of deep, approaching dread building in her stomach, hairs on the back of her arms standing on end, alarm bells blaring in her ears that danger was approaching. 

Once they were inside, she took a quick detour to lock both of their guns back up in the artillery cupboard before meeting him in his office. He was already on the phone when she slipped in, cocking it slightly when she came over to stand next to him so she could hear static crackling through the receiver, and then the buzz of the line ringing.

Whoever was on the other end picked up, and for just a second, she heard Michael’s voice before it was silenced. And then an Irish lilt filtered through the receiver, the voice introducing herself Captain Swing. Lucy’s brows pinched, stomach twisting into knots as Swing explained that Michael had been caught onboard the ship he’d taken from America, in his cabin making deals with men in Belfast who wanted Tommy dead. In the background, Lucy could hear the faint sounds of Michael’s voice, screaming that Swing was lying. 

Swing offered that she could have Michael killed then and there, or she could send him home for them to deal with. Tommy chose the latter. 

At Swing’s revelation that Michael was discussing with their enemies how they’d divide up the racetracks after they’d blown away Tommy’s legs, Lucy froze. 

That was a very specific way of wording things. And a very specific type of death. 

Her eyes shifted to the windows, looking out at the misty field. Despite the mines they’d detonated around it, the scarecrow was still standing on its cross, the wind ruffling its clothes.

How did she know about the mines?

Either what Swing was saying was true, and Michael had been in on the planting of them, or Swing herself had been involved in some way.  

“What the fuck,” Lucy said, soon as he’d put the phone down. Tommy looked as if he were seconds away from a stress-induced stroke, turning his back to the room to instead stare out the window while lighting a cigarette. “Do you really think…?” “I don’t know,” he shook his head, voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t fucking know.”

It wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility for Michael to betray them. He’d done it before, during the vendetta. But at least then he’d had the excuse of choosing loyalty towards Polly over Tommy. 

“Fucking kid…” the shock was beginning to give way to rage. “We should never have taken him back in.” If it weren’t for them, he’d be some boring accountant, probably for a firm in London somewhere. Or maybe still trapped in that little village that he hated so much. How fucking dare he try to move against them? “He’ll be in Liverpool soon. Assuming that Swing actually lets him go and he doesn’t try to run. I could go to the station and assess him. Find out if anything that Swing said was true.”

“No.” 

She opened her mouth to argue, but Tommy put a gentle hand on her arm, drawing her in closer to his side. 

“I think that if either of us were to see him right now, we might kill him on the spot. I’ll send Polly and Arthur to pick him up.”

“He might not even show.”

“Then we’ll have our answer.” He lifted his cigarette to his lips, movements slow. 

“Even if Polly and Arthur clear him, I think we should quarantine him for a while. Just to be safe.”

Tommy nodded. “I’ll have him and the American girl he’s bringing with him put up at the Midland.”

“Good idea.” The Midland belonged to them. All eyes and ears employed within its walls were theirs. Every phone call, every activity, even every fucking thing that Michael ate would be reported to them. 

“And have some of our boys see what they can find on this Captain Swing and her people.”

“Will do.”

There was the click of heels against the floor outside, and then a few rapid knocks on the door. Tommy’s chest heaved with his sigh, lifting a hand to scratch at his brow. 

“Come,” he called, voice gruff, not turning from where he was still staring out the windows. His voice sounded very far away, and Lucy knew that he was currently locked within his own head, turning each and every possibility over and over in his mind. She inched a little closer to him, and when his arm draped around her shoulders, she looped her own around his waist, hoping that the warm press of her body against his side would help to soothe him. 

Frances came in, bringing with her inquiries from the violin teacher about the bangs she’d heard. Tommy waved away her concerns with an explanation of testing fireworks. One glance at the housekeeper’s face, and Lucy could tell that she didn’t believe him for even a second, but knew better than to pry.

“Also, will Mrs. Shelby and Ruby be home for dinner tonight?” she asked instead.  

“I don’t know.”

Lucy looked down, feeling the all too familiar pang of guilt wash through her. They’d had next to no contact with Lizzie since she’d left. Both of them too afraid of making things worse if they did not allow Lizzie her space. 

But God, it was eating her up not being able to see Ruby. The little girl was like a bright beam of sunlight in the otherwise dreary, melancholic house. The whole place seemed a shade darker in her absence.   

Surely Lizzie couldn’t keep her from Tommy forever. Despite everything, she was still his daughter. She would have to let him see her sometime. 

Him, maybe. But not you. You have no claim to her. No matter how much you love her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The idea of never seeing Ruby again made her want to curl in on herself and weep. 

Approaching footsteps had the three of them starting and turning to see Charlie standing in the doorway, violin clutched in his hands. Excited to show Tommy the new tune he’d learned that morning. 

“And what have you learned, my boy?” Tommy asked, and Lucy detected that he was making great effort to lighten his tone so Charlie would not notice the deep tension practically radiating from him. He slipped down into the chair behind his desk, a hand on Lucy’s waist urging her into his lap. She settled there, arm around his shoulders and head leaning against his.

Together, they sat, listening to the shrill squeaks and squeals of Charlie’s violin. All the while trepidation sank deeper and deeper into their bones. Regarding Michael. Regarding whoever had planted those land mines in their garden, like deadly flowers waiting to bloom in a fiery inferno. And regarding the danger that seemed to be coming at them from each and every direction. 

∗ ∗ ∗

They stepped into the Garrison to find it utterly trashed. Broken glass crunched under their shoes, half filled and empty glasses littered the tables, and spilled booze seeped into the floorboards. There were only two people occupying the pub: a girl, who roused at Tommy scrapping a barstool against the floor to perch on, and Finn, who remained fast asleep spread out in a booth despite their less than silent entrance. The girl rushed to gather up her clothes and hurry out the door at Tommy’s command.

While he and Arthur set to work dealing with Finn, Lucy grabbed up a broom from the supply closet and started sweeping up some of the broken glass littered all over the place. They seemed to get through to him alright, though Lucy couldn’t entirely shake the wariness that had settled within her when it came to Finn. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was something not unlike how she always felt around Polly. That instinctual knowledge that, no matter what she did or how many times she proved her loyalty, Finn would never truly accept her as a part of the family. 

At his mention to Tommy that he’d found a girl he wanted to marry, she started. Jesus, she kept forgetting that Finn wasn’t a kid anymore. In her mind, he was still that little boy running throughout the streets of Small Heath with dirt smeared across his face, grinning as he weaved between the adults’ legs at the betting shop. 

That might explain some of his recent behavior, however, what with the running head-on into danger half-cocked. Whoever this girl was, he was trying to impress her. 

“Tell me about her,” Tommy requested. 

“She likes the life.”

“She likes the life, ey? Well, find one that hates it. Look at him,” Tommy gestured to Arthur. “That’s what he did, and now he’s chairman of the board.”

She frowned, grip tightening on the broom that she was holding, catching her lip between her teeth to worry at it while she shifted uncomfortably. Finn was dismissed, though Lucy barely noticed.   

Was that what he really thought? That all of them were better off with women who hated the lives that they’d chosen to live? 

She did not fit into that category. But Lizzie did. 

Of course he missed his daughter and wanted her to come home. Lucy missed her too. But it had not even really occurred to her that he may be missing Lizzie as well. 

Her fear that Lizzie would someday replace her was a constant, forever presence in the back of her mind. Sometimes it was quiet, hardly even a whisper to be heard. Other times it was a scream, a blaring siren warning her to brace herself for heartbreak that surely would be coming at any moment. The volume of it ebbed and flowed like the tide. 

His words ran on a loop in her head, doubts growing. Maybe the type of person that she was no longer appealed to him. Maybe Lizzie was what he really wanted. A nice, normal woman. Not some basket case who woke up most nights screaming from nightmares, or who flinched at unfamiliar touches or loud noises. Who didn’t find even the smallest enjoyment out of the sport or kind of work that they did. Who rode a horse sidesaddle rather than with a leg on either side.          

Did she like the life anymore? She honestly couldn’t say. The life had caused her an awful lot of pain, as the aches in her shoulders or the twinges in her heart so often liked to remind her. But it had given her Tommy. And if the life of a gangster was what she had to lead to be with him, she’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Without even the smallest hesitation. 

She swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. A combination of excitement and dread opened up inside her at Arthur’s report that Lizzie and Ruby would be home later that day. She couldn’t wait to see Ruby. But the idea of having to face Lizzie, especially after the fight they’d had and Tommy’s latest comments, left her feeling nothing but anxiousness. 

Tommy started to give Arthur orders for how to handle Michael once he arrived from Liverpool, but she barely heard him. 

She knew that Tommy cared for Lizzie. That had never bothered her. She cared for her too. But the idea that he might someday fall in love with her terrified her. Because if he loved her the way that Lizzie so desperately wanted him to, there would be no room for Lucy in his life anymore. No love left for her. 

A part of her had always figured it was an inevitability. How could he not fall in love with Lizzie? She was sweet, beautiful, the mother of his child, and he had known her for years. Even longer than he’d known Lucy. It was impossible that he could spend so much time in such close proximity to her��both emotionally and physically–without certain feelings beginning to bloom. 

Once that happened, she would be done for. Because when Tommy loved someone, really loved them, like he did her and Grace, he would do anything for them. And the first thing that Lizzie would ask of him would be to toss Lucy out onto the street like an unwanted dog. 

Everything she had, she had because of Tommy. She was not naive enough to think otherwise. Without him, she would lose everything. Hell, he was everything to her. Some days, she doubted she would even be alive if it weren’t for him. What would she even have to live for? Without Tommy she was completely and utterly alone. 

“Lucy?” Tommy called, and she started, realizing that he had stood and gone to the Garrison’s doors, waiting for her to follow him.

“Sorry.” Setting aside the broom she was holding, she wiped her hands down on her overcoat and moved to trail him outside, giving a sharp shake of her head to try to dislodge the thoughts banging around uncomfortably inside her mind. 

“You alright?” he asked, once they had made their way to the station and seated themselves in a compartment on the next train headed for London. The floor vibrated under her shiny black boots as they started to pull out of the station, beginning the journey south. She looked away from where she was gazing out the window with her knuckles resting against her lips to find Tommy eyeing her, mild concern shining in his eyes. 

She thought about asking him what he meant by what he’d said in the Garrison. But she didn’t have the courage to open her mouth and let the words come out. Too scared by what his answer might be.  

“Yeah,” she said, instead, shifting so that her temple leaned against the cool glass of the window. “I’m fine.”

∗ ∗ ∗

“Excuse me?”

Lucy looked up from her desk into the face of a bald man with a pointed nose and a dark mustache. He had his hat clutched in his hands, running his fingers along the fine material.  

“Yes?”

“This is the office of Thomas Shelby, correct?”

“It is.” She put down her pen. From his desk across from hers, Adam shot her a nervous look. “How can I help you?”

“My name is Stacker. I need to ask Mr. Shelby some questions. Is he in?”

“What sort of questions?”

The man shifted from foot to foot. “There was a shooting two days ago of a journalist who was in here to meet with Mr. Shelby the night before his death. I’d like to speak with him about it.”

“You’re police?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Police aren’t allowed in here.”

“I’m here in a very…unofficial context.”

“Mm,” she cocked her head, both of them aware that wasn’t truly the case. But flat out sending him away might do more harm than good. “Adam, go find Mr. Shelby and tell him that there’s a policeman here to see him.”

Adam nodded, standing and slipping past Stacker to rush out the door. 

“You can wait in his office,” Lucy said, standing and walking around Stacker to open the double doors, leading him inside. “Who’s your Chief Constable, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Chief Constable Wyatt, Miss.”

She nodded. Good. They knew Wyatt. “Mr. Shelby will be here in a moment. Can I get you something to drink, while you wait?”

“No thank you. I’m alright.”

She went out into the front office, plucking up a folder from her desk and flipping through it to appear busy while waiting for Tommy and keeping one eye on Stacker. The policeman prowled around the office, examining the papers and trinkets spread out on the big desk, then moving to inspect a painting of a white horse surrounded by a golden frame and hung on the wall behind Tommy’s chair. He didn’t touch anything, though Lucy was sure he was making mental notes about all that he was seeing. 

Heavy footfalls announced Tommy’s presence, entering the office with his briefcase in hand and Adam trailing in behind him. 

 “His Chief Constable is Wyatt,” she murmured into his ear. He nodded.

“Five minutes, then come tell me I’ve got an appointment or something that I need to get ready for so he’ll leave.”

She nodded, going to lounge behind her desk while he went in to deal with the officer. 

Just another day in Parliament, she thought to herself as she lit a cigarette, puffing smoke up towards the ceiling, keeping an eye on the clock for when she would need to rise and rescue Tommy from the clutches of the lawman.

The police investigating Levitt’s death wasn’t a particularly unexpected occurrence. Nor was them coming here to talk to Tommy about it, considering that Levitt had died not long after seeing him. Their boys had done good work on the hit, giving it enough flourish to send a message to any other journalists looking to try something, all while ensuring that the police wouldn’t be able to link it to them easily. If at all.  

Didn’t mean that their poking and prodding around wasn’t annoying, though. She had hoped that the police would simply assume that Levitt’s death was a result of conflict caused in his personal life, and they could avoid being pulled into the investigation all together. But apparently not. 

The clock chimed, and she rose from her seat, grabbing up some documents that she needed Tommy to look over anyway, going back into his office just as the last chime sounded. 

“Mr. Shelby, you have a meeting with an MP from Essex in a few minutes.” She reported, placing the documents she’d brought in on his desk. Tommy turned his gaze onto the policeman.

“Your time’s up, Mr. Stacker.”

Stacker said nothing, throat working. Whatever Tommy had said to him before she came in, it had either given him pause, or made him very angry. Perhaps a bit of both. His eyes flickered between them, and then he rose from his seat. 

“Thank you,” Tommy called to his back as he retreated from the room.

“Did it not go well?” Lucy asked, once she heard the door close shut behind Stacker, watching Tommy’s face while he moved around his desk to his chair. 

“He’s suspicious. But I don’t think it’ll stick. If it does, I’ll have a word with Wyatt about him.”

“Alright.”

Tommy’s eyes shifted to the clock. She glanced over her shoulder at it. 

“Arthur was supposed to call me at three,” he huffed, as they watched the minute hand tick over to the right. 

“It’s only two minutes past, love.” She moved around to his side of the desk, touching his shoulder. “Arthur isn’t always the most punctual.”

He just grunted, and she smiled fondly at his grumpiness, rubbing his shoulder a few times to try to massage away some of the tension she felt in his muscles. When she moved to retract her hand, he caught it in his, dipping his face to peck a kiss to the back of it. His eyes squinted at her, assessing. 

“Something’s bothering you.”

She looked down and away. His thumb rubbed back and forth across her hand where it was still clasping it. She glanced anxiously towards the door.

“There’s no one who might see us except for Adam. And he already knows about us,” Tommy said, reading her mind. “Talk to me. You’ve been quiet since we left the Garrison this morning.”

“It’s…it’s nothing, really.”

“Then why don’t you want to tell me?”

She finally looked up at him. The hard wood of his desk was digging into her back where she was leaning against it. She opened her mouth to tell him, then closed it again. It all felt a little ridiculous when she actually tried to put it into words. “Because I’m just being stupid.”

His brows pinched, fingers squeezing a little against hers. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

Her lips pricked upwards. His hand smoothed up her arm, nearly to her shoulder, rubbing a few times before finding its way back to her hand, raising it back to his lips. “Hm?” His head cocked, tempting. “Come on, now, talk to me,” he said, in a voice like a honey. Lucy huffed, trying to stifle a shiver at the warm rumble of his words, struggling to gather her thoughts into coherent sentences.

“I’m happy that Ruby and Lizzie are coming home. Really. I just…” she sighed, glancing away again. Tommy’s thumb massaged across her knuckles encouragingly, his piercing gaze fixed on her patiently while he waited for her to finish her thought. But she found that she couldn’t. She wasn’t strong enough to actually speak the words that rested on the tip of her tongue.

Am I not what you want anymore?

Are you falling in love with her?

Do you still love me?

And yet she didn’t need to. Both of Tommy’s hands landed on her hips. “Come here,” he drew her in closer, head tipping back to peer up at her through his dark fringe, gaze so softened with affection that it nearly stole the breath from her lungs. And she was left suddenly feeling very foolish that she could ever possibly have doubted his feelings for her. 

“I love you.” He laid a quick kiss on her lips. “I love you, not her. That’s never going to change.”

Her hands came to rest on the nape of his neck, skin warm under her fingers. Relief, that he understood what she was trying to say without her actually having to utter it, had tension that she hadn’t even realized had built up in her muscles melting away. A relieved breath released from her lungs. 

She lowered her head to press her lips to his hair, closing her eyes, voice dropping to nearly a whisper. “I know.” And she did. Deep down, she always did. It was just that sometimes the voices in her head screamed so loud that they drowned out everything else. “Sorry. Sometimes…sometimes I just get scared.” 

His eyes grew sad. “Don’t be sorry,” his thumb circled against her hip. “Brains can be stupid, ey?”

A quiet laugh left her. “Yeah. They can, can’t they?”

“Mm,” humming in agreement, he dropped his head to kiss her shoulder.

The phone on his desk started ringing, popping the little bubble of contentment that had formed around them. Tommy let out a soft groan, lifting his head and reaching around her to grab at the receiver. He tilted it just so against his ear so that she could lean in and hear what was being said on the other end. 

“Arthur?”

“Yeah,” the older Shelby’s gravely voice rumbled through the receiver. “Polly says Michael’s telling the truth.”   

“Did you see him?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“He was angry with us.”

Lucy snorted. As if Michael had any reason to be mad after he’d just lost all their fucking money. 

“Got some American girl with him, too,” Arthur continued. “They got married on the ship on the way here. Name’s Gina Gray. Formally Nelson.”

“What’s she like?”

There was a snort. “She’s got an attitude on her, that’s for bloody sure. Got rooms for them at the Midland. Michael’s mad as a swarm of hornets about it, but he agreed to stay there.”

“Good. What did you think of Michael?”

There was a long pause. “Honestly, Tom…I thought he was awfully fucking defensive for someone who supposedly doesn’t have anything to fucking hide.”

Tommy nodded, looking out the window, lips pursing together.

“I have my revolver with me,” Arthur said, after a moment. “I could probably catch up to them before they even get to the hotel…”

“No. I want to speak with him first. Before we make any permanent decisions. Just have our people at the Midland watch him, for now.”

“All right.”

Tommy hung up the phone, and then let out a groan, face falling forward to rest on her chest, arms looping loosely around her waist. Lucy laid her palms on the back of his head, hugging it to her while her chin rested on his soft dark hair. 

“Well, at least we can keep an eye on him here,” she murmured. With a sigh, Tommy raised his head. 

“Yeah.”

“If you change your mind and want him taken care of, just say the word.”

“We have to be absolutely sure.”

She examined his face, understanding. It wasn’t about Michael. Not really. Not anymore. Maybe at some point it would have been, but most of the good will that Tommy had towards his cousin had dried up long ago. 

This was about Polly. 

If he ordered Michael’s death without provable provocation, he would lose Polly forever. Hell, even if they were able to prove that Michael was trying to have Tommy killed, that may not be enough to sway Polly to their side. At the end of the day, Lucy believed that she always would side with him. Even over the other Shelbys, if she had to. And understandably so. Michael was her son. 

But Tommy loved Polly enough that he would not have Michael killed. Not until he either had no other choice, or he was confident that Polly would support him on it.

Delicately, she brushed a few tendrils of hair out of his face. “It’ll be okay.” 

He looked up at her with eyes worn ragged, stress pinching at the edges of his mouth and in his brow. She stroked his face, smoothing away the lines, drawing his head in close to rest on her chest again. He nuzzled into her with a sigh, eyes sliding closed and cheek resting comfortably atop her breasts. 

She wished terribly that there was more that she could do for him. All she wanted was to be able to help him. To help lessen the burdens that he carried. But there wasn’t much more that she could do. Not now, at least.

So instead, she just held him.  

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[impossible-rat-babies]

copying text that I sent a friend, but!

emet reminds eyrie of what they know of their grandfather on their mother’s side.

They never had the chance to meet him, and their mother rarely spoke about him. but he was a kind man—far too kind for the world. And he loved his wife. and the loss of her drove him mad with grief. he treated his children with scorn and distain until he took a long hard look at them, and walked out into the wilderness never to be seen. Their mother said it was the grief that killed him, in the end.

But, this has always been something they’ve known second hand though—they don’t know what it was like. what happened to their grandfather. they can ponder over what grief did to him, but there is no fully understanding what went on inside of a dead man’s head.

And eyrie thinks about that a lot in regards to emet.