#i had feared this would happen but i didn’t think he would really do it.

[astonmartinii]

doing business with family | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem hadjar reader

brother and boyfriend in the same sport? nothing has ever gone wrong when doing business with family... right?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, pepemarti and 307,377 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & isackhadjar

yourusername: max will officially become my second favourite f1 driver this weekend

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user1: watched isack’s f2 radio highlights in preparation for this weekend … yeah they’re defo siblings

user2: i know they’re parents had a HANDFULL with them growing up

user3: lmao just ask george in abu dhabi or lando in austria, y/n knows how to make her point KNOWN

isackhadjar: omg i beat max in something!

yourusername: come on bro have some faith in yourself - you can defo beat max in singapore at least

maxverstappen1: rude?

yourusername: you know i hate singapore in solidarity babe?

isackhadjar: and that’s crazy because she loves the glitter helmets

yourusername: i really do

user4: get you a couple that measures their love by glitter helmets?

user5: y/n is so real for that though, i’d fuck seb’s glitter helmets

yourusername: right well i don’t love them quite THAT much

charles_leclerc: slides £5 across the table isack please take max out, he won’t hate you

isackhadjar: no?

landonorris: WHY NOT

isackhadjar: i want to keep my job and actually score some points

yourusername: you people done harassing my brother?

maxverstappen1: do we have a problem?

isackhadjar: they’re being mean, they’re trying to PEER PRESSURE ME

charles_leclerc: i don’t think i was peer pressuring you

charles_leclerc: it’s bribery, god get it right

maxverstappen1: i think you should watch it

yourusername: say something like that to him again frenchie and your ass is grass

user6: omg romance ❤️‍🔥

redbullracing

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 823,081 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yukitsunoda0511 & liamlawson30

redbullracing: red bull vs rb on pop culture trivia… max and isack were unstoppable - we might have to split them up next time

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user7: now i wonder where max and isack got their real housewives knowledge from …

user8: this has y/n hadjar written all over it

user9: if i remember rightly y/n was asked by some interviewer in the paddock who she’d like to see as a paddock guest and she said LISA RINNA?

user10: i knew i stanned the right queen

isackhadjar: not our fault that liam and yuki aren’t caught up with all the fresh news

maxverstappen1: we’re bonded cats i don’t think they have the power to separate us

redbullracing: it’s a trivia game…

maxverstappen1: THAT’S MY BABY BROTHER

redbullracing: YOU GUYS AREN’T EVEN MARRIED YET?

yourusername: looks like admin just lost their invite to the wedding…

redbullracing: yOU AREN’T ENGAGED?

yourusername: i guess you’ll never know

user11: no way they just teased their engagement in an argument over media duties?

user12: you’re shocked? this is quintessential them

user13: and they’re adding in their little rabid mini-them? i fear f1 is actually not ready

liamlawson30: so when do we get to do cars trivia? or is it all set up for them to win?

yourusername: just say you’re uncultured…

maxverstappen1: get a new personality trait bro

liamlawson30: omg why are you guys on my neck so hard?

maxverstappen1: funny

liamlawson30: this is so not fair why didn’t you guys defend me like this last season?

yourusername: that’s my flesh and blood dude

isackhadjar: duh!

maxverstappen1: i am so in love with y/n i just do what she says, do let it be known that if isack was not related to y/n he would be just another stray cat to me

isackhadjar: sure i’ll take it!

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, isackhadjar and 839,023 others

maxverstappen1: we had the chance to extend our championship lead but with two optimists behind you anything can happen…

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user21: LMAO THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THIS AND THE LAST POST

user22: isack probably teared up in the stewards room and max crumbled

user23: i mean on his radio as soon as GP said it was isack max was immediately like ‘is he okay?’

isackhadjar: sorry max!

maxverstappen1: no worries buddy, you can pay me back with room service

isackhadjar: so our move marathon is still on?

maxverstappen1: don’t be dumb - obviously!

maxverstappen1: i need my second in command to help defend my snacks from y/n

yourusername: you guys aren’t supposed to have those snacks i’m doing you a favour !!!

isackhadjar: sureeeee

yourusername: i can call your trainers up if you want?

maxverstappen1: NO WE’RE OKAY

user24: esteban ocon is not okay seeing this tomfoolery

user25: yeah yeah yeah it’s all fun and games but that’s legit his baby brother of course he wasn’t going to cuss him out

user26: exactly! he’s been with y/n for like four years? of course he was concerned about isack’s safety than his race

landonorris: i’m not surprised, just disappointed

maxverstappen1: why?

landonorris: I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND AND YOU STILL AIRED ME OUT ONLINE?

maxverstappen1: first of all y/n is my best friend

maxverstappen1: second of all isack is my baby brother

maxverstappen1: third of all you’re annoying

yourusername: heavy on number three

landonorris: i GIVE UP WITH YOU PEOPLE

user27: i love watching max and y/n making people crash out in instagram comments

user28: couples that terrorise together, stay together

georgerussell63: interesting ….

yourusername: you wanna say something

georgerussell63: suddenly not anymore

maxverstappen1: LMAO

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 459,034 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, isackhadjar & pepemarti

yourusername: bond a little bit stronger than a lil crash in a formula one race

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user29: if they don’t get married and live happily ever after i might just sue them

user30: so real

user31: they’re my parents and i can’t go up to four christmasses

redbullracing: that was millions in damage

yourusername: you gonna invoice me for it?

redbullracing: no?

yourusername: then get the fuck out of my comments this is a wholesome post

user32: why is pepe here?

pepemarti: i am just as much part of the hadjar family as max

maxverstappen1: well that’s just factually incorrect

pepemarti: nuh uh

maxverstappen1: ??? i’m marrying in? what are you doing?

pepemarti: i’m mama hadjar and y/n’s favourite so divine intervention

maxverstappen1: @yourusername please dispell this nonsense

yourusername: look at his lil face …

pepemarti: :p

isackhadjar: i’ll be clear i am not marrying pepe

pepemarti: that’s not what you told me the other day :(

user33: can someone make a chart this is all a bit confusing now

user34: i don’t think anything is helping with this chaos

maxverstappen1: i love you forever and ever, even if your brother puts me in the wall <3

yourusername: awww i love you too bubs

maxverstappen1: but i am your favourite though?

yourusername: don’t tell them but yes!

isackhadjar: these are public comments?

pepemarti: i’m legally blind now

fin.

note: a quicky i wrote during the super bowl lol - hope you enjoy xx

[bloatedandalone04]

Kiwi

Summary: You’re pregnant with Rafe’s baby, and he’s more stressed out about it than you are (and rightfully so).

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, swearing, protective rafe, soon to be dad rafe, smut, angst if you squint, unprotected sex, pregnancy.

You were steadily entering your second trimester, which was shaping out to be a little easier than your first. You were still craving the weirdest food combinations, but Rafe would never complain about needing to go out and buy them for you since the grateful smile you always gave him made his heart feel so full. 

Seven years with you, and he was still as crazy about you as he’d been since the first date. 

With that being said, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend to like your weird (and sometimes really fucking gross) pregnancy cravings. But he would have to, since you’re carrying his baby like a fucking champ, and you looked so stunning while doing so. 

Rafe had just gotten back from a grocery store run, sporting a bag full of odd food choices for you, and he set it down on the counter before leaving the kitchen to go find you. 

You were in the living room, your feet planted on the couch as you scrolled through your phone. Why you were standing on the couch, he had no idea, but the thought of you accidentally falling was the first thing that flashed through his head, and he was not about to let that happen. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he rasped, quickly walking over to you and grabbing your waist. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You’re four months pregnant, babygirl, you need to be careful. Jesus Christ.”

“I am being careful,” you defended yourself, holding your phone in one hand while your other ran through his hair. You looked around the living room, your eyes flickering between every corner as you stayed standing on the couch. “I saw a spider, and I don’t know where it went. And you know how much I hate spiders. I had to make sure it didn’t crawl on me or something. Then I would’ve been the one having a heart attack.”

You sounded so unserious, but Rafe knew you were being completely genuine. Your fear of anything that had more than two legs was no joke, and he couldn’t count the times he’s killed something for you on both hands. 

“Plus, I’ve only been standing here for, like, five minutes,” you added, looking down at him and shrugging casually, as if you didn’t feel the way his grip tightened on you at your words. 

“Five minutes is too fucking long,” Rafe muttered, shaking his head afterwards as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against your belly. “You’re not thinking straight right now, are you? That’s the only logical explanation for this.”

His big hands stayed planted on your waist, keeping you steady as he pulled away and looked up at you, his blue eyes wide and full of nothing but adoration for you and the little life growing inside of you. 

“You’re going to give me gray hairs, you know that right?” he grunted, a smile forming on his lips when you let out a soft laugh. 

“Ooh, silver fox Rafe,” you teased, draping your arms around his neck as he helped you off the couch. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. You’d look so fucking hot with gray hair, baby. Like, so fucking sexy. So don’t tempt me.”

Rafe scoffed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Silver fox? I’m twenty nine, baby, not forty,” he mumbled, “But, I guess if you like that sorta thing…who am I to judge?”

You laughed, leaning into his touch as you pressed your lips to his jaw. “I like anything that involves you,”

He smiled down at you, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I like anything that involves you too, babygirl,” he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed against yours. “Actually, I love everything that involves you.”

Then he was leaning all the way in and kissing you deeply and slowly, his hands sliding down your body until they grazed your ass, and then he was full on groping you through your leggings. 

You whined against his mouth, your lips pressing more firmly against his as you pulled him impossibly closer to you until your bump was pushing against his abs. “You always have to one up me, don’t you?” you muttered, “And what’s with you always grabbing my ass? You’ve been obsessed with it since we got together.”

Rafe smirked down at you. “Of course I’m obsessed with it, it’s part of you,” he replied, and you pressed your lips together. 

“You are so fucking sweet and sexy and I think we should go to our bedroom before I-” you cut yourself off by screaming directly into your husband’s face as you practically jumped back up onto the couch with wide eyes. 

Rafe didn’t even need to turn around to know that the eight legged creature who scared you before had made its big return. “What did I tell you?” he muttered, taking you into his arms as he lifted you from the couch. 

“Rafe! Stop, it’s literally right there and it’s so fucking big,” you protested as he carried you out of the living room and into the kitchen. Once he had you sitting safely at the breakfast bar, he slid the bag of food over for you to inspect as he grabbed a piece of paper towel. 

“Stay here, okay? Eat something,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he walked back into the living room to find the harmless insect that had been tormenting you during the entire time he was gone. 

-

You were pulling Rafe along with you towards the bedroom, your lips all over his neck and jaw, but he was moving so slowly. You were now six months pregnant, and Rafe had become more and more protective of you, if that was even possible at this point. 

And while you loved him for it, his hesitation every time you initiated sex was making you go crazy. You were so turned on, and you needed your husband. 

“Rafe,” you moaned, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you walked backwards. “I need you. I need you so bad. Please? I promise, I won’t break.” you whined, nearly stumbling as you pulled him along with you. 

Rafe’s hands instantly tightened on your waist, his thumbs brushing along the underside of your belly as it pressed against his abs through his shirt. “Easy, babygirl,” he cooed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.” 

While you knew he wanted to be gentle and sweet with you, you also knew exactly how to rile him up and get him going. Rafe had been obsessed with your body since the second he first saw you completely bare, and his obsession had only intensified once your body began to change due to your pregnancy. 

You stepped back and pulled your shirt over your head, revealing your breasts that had grown so much, they were nearly spilling out of your bra. You watched Rafe bite his lip before you moved onto your leggings, and you stepped out of them and kicked them aside as well. 

Rafe groaned as he pulled off his own shirt and jeans, his hands finding your waist again as he moved to sit on the bed. “Come here,” he murmured, sliding your panties down your legs before he guided you onto his lap. 

You willingly went, a needy whine leaving your lips as you settled on top of him and pulled down his boxers, freeing his hard cock. “I love you,” you moaned, kissing him as you began to rub yourself along his dick. “I love you so much.”

He gripped your hips, guiding the slow rolls of your body. “I love you too, baby,” he groaned, “More than my next fucking breath.”

His words made your head feel all fuzzy, and he lifted you slightly to position himself at your soaked core. When he eased you back down onto his cock, you both let out a sound of relief as you came together as one, and you reveled in the feeling of his big hands on your body. 

“Fucking perfect,” he praised, his eyes hooded as his hands slid around to grip your ass gently.

You moaned loudly, holding onto his shoulders as you rolled your hips against his as best as you could with your bump persistently brushing against his stomach. “Fuck,” you whimpered, arching your back a bit and making your chest press right up against his. “Oh fuck, Rafe, you feel so good.” 

He felt so good, you were powerless to stop the loud moans from leaving your mouth as you rode him. Rafe’s hands slid up your back and fumbled with the clasp of your bra before he pulled the fabric away from your body, his palms immediately roaming over the newly exposed skin. “Fuck, babygirl, you’re so tight and wet for me. Sweet pussy was made for my cock,” he grunted, rolling your nipples between his fingers until they pebbled under his touch. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Then he was leaning in and kissing you deeply, his tongue brushing against yours as he met your bounces with upward thrusts of his hips. You moaned against his mouth, his words making your body heat up in a blush. You’d never get tired of hearing him say things like that. 

His hands moved to your belly, and he caressed it as he broke the kiss and buried his face against your shoulder. “God, you feel so good,” he moaned, making your blush deepen as you moved a little faster and a bit harder.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair as you felt your thighs start to burn from over-exertion. “Oh, fuck…I’m gonna cum.” you warned, feeling the knot that had been steadily building up inside you start to tighten. 

Rafe grunted, reaching in between your bodies until the heel of his hand was pressed firmly against the underside of your belly and his fingers were brushing against your clit. “Yeah, cum for me, baby,” he murmured, his other hand moving to your hip as he guided you to take him a little harder. “I’m close too.”

His fingers pushed you over the edge, and your head fell forward onto his shoulder as you came for him. A cry left your lips as you weakly bounced on his lap, your legs shaking a bit as you pulled on his hair. “Fuck,” you gasped, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders as you felt him thrust a few more times before he stilled.

A deep groan left the back of his throat as he held you close to him, his warmth filling you up from the inside out as he let out harsh pants against the side of your neck. “I’ll never get over that,” he muttered, placing soft kisses along your shoulder as he ran his hands up and down your back. “I’ll never get over you.”

You grinned as he gently eased you off him and moved back on the bed, taking you with him as he leaned back against the pillows. “Good,” you hummed as he turned you around and spooned you from behind. “Because I think you’re stuck with me for life.”

When you guided his big palm to rest on your belly, Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head as his thumb rubbed along your swollen skin. “Good,” he echoed. “Because you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. You’re all I want in the world.”

A lazy smile formed on your lips as you snuggled back against him, and only a few seconds later, you had fallen asleep.

-

Not me working on my birthday again...thanks for reading x

[short-honey-badger]

Hi dear mera💕🫂 how are you? I have an ask hehe if you are still taking them if not it's alrighty 🥰 could you make a shamrock ABO Soulmate au? Pretty please ❤️ have marvelous day💕

My dear, I really hope I did your request justice. It got a little out of hand and will most likely have a part 2, lol. It's just kind of evolved into something more than just a one-shot, I think 🤷‍♀️. I do hope you enjoy it, though!

Sandalwood and Rose

Pairings! Figarland Shamrock x Female Reader

Warnings! Slavery and slave auctions! Reader has a bit of a dark past. Shamrock is trying his best, okay?

Masterlist for Shamrock-> HERE

It doesn’t happen very often, but on the occasion that Figarland Shamrock does have some free time, his usual haunt is the Sabaody Archipelago. The string of connected islands always had something interesting happening, and even the alpha became curious about the different going-ons that surrounded him. So, as to not draw attention to himself, Shamrock would dress down into common clothes, toss his red hair up into a proper ponytail, and shove his feet into a pair of sandals.

He looked even more like his twin like this and was occasionally confused with Shanks, but it gave him some form of anonymity, so the alpha usually didn’t mind. People were more comfortable with his younger brother, so it allowed Shamrock to experience the world without the stink of fear permeating around him. Today, he had wandered close to the auction house, sharp ears, and sensitive nose picking up a scent that broke through the sour smell of terrified people being sold as slaves.

Curious, Shamrock made his way inside and sat near the back, shrouded in shadow and unnoticed by the patrons inside. He breathes deeply, sorting through the amalgamation of different smells until he latches on to the one that had brought him inside in the first place. Whoever it belonged to hadn’t made it on the stage yet, so he settled into his chair and waited.

He had an inkling about why this particular scent had drawn him in. It didn’t happen often, and it only happened between alpha and omega, but if the two parties were compatible, a dyad would form a connection between the sexes that was near impossible to break. Many equated the phenomenon to that of a soulbond, Shamrock just didn’t think such a rare thing would ever happen to him.

He had to wait a while, but eventually, another set of unfortunate civilians and captured pirates were brought out on the stage. The scent of soft sandalwood and rose hit him square in the face, and Shamrock zeroed in on the omega who stood at the end of the line, hands bound in chains. He could tell when you noticed him, head jerking up and meeting his gaze over the heads of the countless alphas and betas that separated the two of you. A sudden need overtook the alpha, a feeling of rage alighting in his breast at the sight of you shackled and vulnerable in front of so many people.

Shamrock stands without thinking, loping forward and down the stairs, heedless of the whispering that suddenly erupted at his sudden appearance. Disco was still rambling away on stage, informing the patrons about each omega and their talents. He halts to a stop when he notices the approaching redhead, eyes going wide as he scrambles back away from the edge of the stage.

“And what a surprise this is! Red-Haired Shanks in my auction house! Even someone like yourself must be interested in one of the healthy omegas on stage. Hmm?”

Shamrock came to a stop just in front of you, burgundy eyes taking you in. You met his gaze head on, something desperate and pleading in the depths of your eyes that made his instincts scream at him to tuck you away somewhere safe and sound. Unbidden, his own scent of clean leather and steel curled forward, and he watched your shoulders relax just a fraction when it reached you.

“This one,” He demands without taking his eyes off of you. Disco huffed and peacocked at his words, but Shamrock’s patience had run thin, and he cut his eyes at the beta, a snarl pulling his lips back to show off his impressive set of teeth, “Now.”

“Fine, fine!” Disco crowed and produced a key, unlocking the chain connected to the other omegas lined up on stage and dropping the length of it into Shamrock’s waiting hands, “Just don’t forget to pay.”

The redhead ignored the auctioneer, far too focused on striding forward to the edge of the stage where he beckoned you near with a jerk of his head. You scrambled closer, a look of intense relief on your face when Shamrock opened his arms for you to throw yourself against him. He catches you with ease, tucking the omega closer and shoving his nose into the crook of your neck to breathe in your scent.

The rose is so much stronger now that he has you close, and he feels his shoulders loosen now that he has you pressed up against him. Without a word, Shamrock spins on his heel and marches out of the auction house, mind set on a mission to get you out of sight of the other alphas who dared to wolf whistle and leer at you. Shamrock would not describe himself as a nice man, but even he was above that kind of behavior.

Shamrock marches on without a real destination in mind, simply content for now to have you pressed so close to him where he knows that you will be safe. He only slows to a stop when he can’t sense anyone else around him, deep in the thick trucks of the mangroves of the archipelago. You have yet to lift your head, but Shamrock doesn’t mind, not when it allows him to check you over.

You are littered with small scars, the rags you have been put in easily showing off the thin lines of scars that criss cross your back. He shoves down the rage that bubbles up in his chest at the sight and continues his examination. You are far too thin for his like, ribs poking out and arms willowy and weak. Your hair is an unwashed, tangled mess that smells of old sweat and the sour stink of fear. He clutches you that much closer, nose nudging against your jaw as he wraps his own scent around you.

“Thank you.”

Your voice is rough, scratchy from crying. You lift your head, eyes meeting the alpha that holds you so tightly, and give him a tiny wobbly smile. You breathe deeply, feeling better when that warm leather and sharp steel scent pours into your lungs, the alpha’s calming pheromones making you relax further in his hold.

Shamrock tries for a smile his brother might give, small and reassuring, and it feels odd painting his lips, but it must do this trick, for his omega blushes and ducks her head, “You don’t have to thank me for saving you.”

You shrug, eyes going glassy for a moment, “I wanted to.”

Shamrock just hums and shifts your weight in his arms. He needed to get back to Mariejois. He’s already been gone far longer than he usually allows himself, and now he has you to take care of. However, he finds himself reluctant to do so, knowing that his father would be the first to know that he had found his mate, and would be furious at you for being a commoner, a slave. He did not want to subject you to Garling, not now, not yet.

“What is your name?” he asks and settles on the ground instead, his back pressed up against one of the trees as he moves you so that you are settled on his lap. The shirt you wear slides down a shoulder and reaches forward to fix it back into place without a second thought.

“_.” You murmur, and feel your heart flutter in your chest at the kind gesture. It was rare for you to be around an alpha who didn’t immediately want to tear your rags off, but this red-haired man was your kindred, your dyad, your mate.

“Disco called you Shanks, but I know that you aren’t him,” you say in soft curiosity. You’d never seen the emperor in person, but you have seen his bounty poster, and the man who held you so gently certainly looked like Shanks, but there were a few key differences there. The additional arm and lack of facial scarring.

“You’re right,” he agrees with a weary smile, “He is my twin brother.”

Shamrock once again finds himself reluctant. This time to share with you the knowledge of just who he was. His people, the royal family, are the reason that you wore the marks on your back, why you had been chained up in line with other omegas, waiting to be sold off to the highest bidder. Shamrock may have not bought you, but he was still a celestial dragon. He did not wish to frighten you now that he had you.

“And your name?” You ask him and then frown down at your shackled wrists when you move your hands. You want to touch your alpha to make sure that this was real and not some dream your mind has conjured up.

To give himself some time, Shamrock focuses on the cuffs around your wrists. He snaps the weak iron with a flare of his strength, pulling the thick metal from your wrists and dropping them to his side. He takes your hands in his own, fingers gently massaging the red skin that’s been left behind.

You shiver at the touch, eyes going half-lidded in pleasure at having this powerful alpha touch you so gently. You look up, face burning hot again when you catch those burgundy eyes with your own.

“You may not like who I am.”

His quiet words make you tense slightly before his scent catches up with you again, and you relax once more. You suck it up greedily, eyes shuttered and tongue sweeping out to wet your lips, “Tell me.”

The alpha shifts under you, looking nervous for a split second before the emotion clears up into determination, “I am the leader of the God Knights, Figarland Shamrock.”

Dread and fear well up inside of you at his admission, your scent of soft sandalwood and rose turning sour like old wine. You tense in his hold, back going rigid as you stare down at the alpha. You would never be able to escape them, would you?

A wet laugh escapes you, the sound a bit hysterical, but you make no move to try and escape him, for what would be the point?

“Darling?” Shamrock murmurs, and his hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding you gently as you laugh, tears welling up and sliding down your cheeks to drip and stain the shirt he wears. He isn’t prepared for this kind of reaction, had tensed in preparation for you to try and run from him, for you to yell and snarl and bare those omega teeth in threat, not whatever this was.

“I’ll always be a slave, won’t I?” You say between, voice turning into a hiccuping mess. You grip his shoulders, eyes turning a bit wild at the edges. His scent attempts to calm you, but you are far too worked up now, “I’ll never be free.”

Shamrock feels stricken. He wasn’t good at providing comfort, and that familiar rage began to climb up his throat again. Not at you, how could he be angry with you over being so broken, but at his own people, at himself, even indirectly, for being the cause of your fear. How could you believe him when he was a slaver himself?

“Darling, I-,” He cuts himself off, face turning into a dark scowl. Shamrock doesn’t know what to tell you. He would be expected to show you to his father the moment he arrived back at the household, and he knew it would send you right back over the edge. He would not be able to hide you, not when he knows that his own scent has changed already, his warm leather and steel already entwined with your own sandalwood and rose.

Were you some omega he had just met. His mate, his dyad - his alpha screamed at him, is it more important than the life he has dedicated himself to? Would he bring himself to leave the only life he has ever known just so that you would know freedom?

They would be hunted down by the god knights if they left, the punishment unimaginable if they were to be caught. Could Shamrock take that risk? For himself, for you?

When he looks at you and sees that resigned horror in your eyes, sees the way that you seem to have already given up, Shamrock finds that he could. He did not wish for you to live a life sequestered away, hidden like some terrible secret just because of where you came from. You wanted to be free so he would make it happen, regardless of the consequences.

“We will run,” he says, and now that it’s been said out loud, the more the decision solidifies in his mind. The god knight lifts his hands, holding your face between his palms as he meets your eyes. They are full of disbelief and tentative hope, “We will run, and you will be free.”

The omega in his hold keens and throws herself at him, hands sliding up to cup just under his ears, lips meeting his own in a kiss of desperate relief. Shamrock kisses you back with ease, matching your frantic pace. The touch of his mate’s lips against his own makes all the pain and stress that would inevitably crash around them worth it, and he knew just who could help the two of them.

@mit-suri @sanjisleggy @nocturnalrorobin @mfreedomstuff

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: The chaos surrounding the death of Macrinus keeps Letha and Geta apart much longer than either of them expected. Geta has an urgent question for Letha.

Warnings: make-up sex, and a shitty understanding of ancient Roman procedures around rule, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 15 of 15!

[ Part XIV ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I would like to preface this by saying thank you for reading this self-indulgent slop. I hope you got some small amount of enjoyment out of it. Your comments along the way kept me engaged enough to actually finish this. It's the first thing I've ever started writing that I actually feel like I finished. There's so much I could've added to this post-reunion that this would've never been done. I could always embellish at a later date if anyone wanted it. I'm also a bit sad to finish this because I don't have anything to look forward to now. Thank you for your time and attention. It means a lot.

Also, mea lux is 'my light' I believe.

Almost two weeks passed before Letha laid eyes on Geta again.

It was prevented by a combination of things. There had been so much to deal with after the incident in the gardens. Geta had been embroiled in meetings, debating things Letha wasn’t privy to. There was a ceremony for Ancus, to honor him for his efforts to protect his Emperors. And at every party, everyone was so desperate to show face to their Emperors, to remind them of their loyalty in wake of the exposure of Macrinus’s plot. 

Though she wasn’t invited to any official meetings or ceremonies, there were situations where she could’ve sought Geta out at these fetes and events. But she didn’t. She was scared to have that conversation that needed to happen. 

She knew she was still treated as a guest in the palace. More like a fixture, really, available to distract Caracalla whenever the burden of rule grew too tiresome with more poetry, read under the shade of a tree in the gardens, Ancus always nearby. But aside from that, she felt quite restless. 

It’s not as if she expected things to go back to how they were, but she didn’t think it would be this hard to put her thoughts together. Leaving the gardens that evening, neck still sore, she was imagining how she’d look over at Geta the next morning and fervently apologize, for all of it. She’d tell him she would understand if he sent her away, and he would assure her that he wouldn’t dream of it.

But the next morning she couldn’t leave her bed, paralyzed by this new fear. She’d gotten a chance to see what her relationship with Geta could be, she didn’t know what she would do if it was not that. And the possibilities he’d promised her most certainly couldn’t and wouldn’t happen anymore. She stewed in the hesitance, the uncertainty, until she became convinced that it absolutely would be different. No matter what different meant, she was sure it wouldn’t be good.

And so it continued, Letha skipping mealtimes that used to be routine, bumping into servants gossiping on her way into the kitchens to eat. Occasionally she heard her name on their tongues, her appearance causing them to freeze as if Letha were Medusa herself. Not wanting to make a scene, she’d just duck right back out, resolving to return later.

Caracalla assured her his brother was just being kept very, very busy in the wake of the subterfuge and death of Macrinus, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was a little intentional. 

What did you expect, honestly?

She didn’t know why she was still allowed to wander the palace, as if she were back to being a guest. There were no guards posted outside her room, and for the last week she spent her evenings in the gardens, observing the moon, asking no one in particular what happens next.

She wasn’t naive, she knew Tegula didn’t trust her. And nothing spread faster than a salacious rumor. They weren’t so foolish as to speak poorly of their Emperor, so they resorted to tarnishing her reputation instead. She was a witch, had steered Macrinus to his end, was desperate to attach herself to the divinity the Emperors were entitled to.

It was ridiculous. If she had such powers, she sure wouldn’t have suffered all this. 

It was all just more fuel for her suppositions, perpetuating her unhappy cycle until she felt like it would be better if she just snuck out one night. She could become a ghost story. But against all odds, she still carried hope that the next day would be different. 

As for Geta, well, Geta was trying to prevent an economic collapse. Some part of him thought Letha might think poorly of him if he let the empire fall around them because he would rather be locked up in his rooms, curled up in her. Because that was what he wanted. But he had a duty, a responsibility to steer this monstrous empire in a direction he could have heirs in. Perhaps the danger had put things into perspective.

Listening to the senators describe just how involved Macrinus had been in arming their voracious armies became more and more painful as they dove into the minutiae of complex accounts and processes he never bothered to pay attention to before. It was overwhelming. But he knew their efforts were working. Still, there were moments where he’d trade it all for those eyes on him again. 

What little free time he had was spent trying to avoid Letha, because he needed hours, days, uninterrupted, for him to spill his heart to her. A few minutes here and there wouldn’t be enough to relay any of the complex emotions he felt. He couldn’t avoid her forever, though, because there was a certain conversation that had to happen. He needed to know where he stood with her before he picked a particular path to tread down.

So that was why he stalked the gardens that evening, waiting for her to appear for her nightly stargazing. And as he watched her spread out the emerald-dyed linen on the grass, he felt calm. Almost peaceful. He let himself forget the weight of all that had happened, the guilt, too. Everything they’d all been through. 

Well, not everything.

“You should have run far away from here,” Geta spoke, disturbing her peace. 

Letha looked over her shoulder, her breath held in her lungs as she appraised him. It almost felt like the first time. The first time she saw him and admitted against her better judgment that he was beautiful.

The moonlight glinted off the laurels and the golden chestplate he still wore, though the ceremony had long been over. His hair was shiny, neat, framing his fair face. His deep, dark eyes, still lined in crimson, were locked on her.

He looked close to divine standing there in the golden armor, easily one of the most opulent things she’d ever seen. He somehow looked taller, broader, in the armor. Untouchable, too. 

It was so late in the evening, he should’ve changed. He should be in bed. Anywhere but here.

No more hiding. 

“I was locked in a cell, I wasn’t running anywhere.”

He surprised her by sitting beside her on the blanket, the ceremonial armor quite uncomfortable to lay down in. He kept his arms slung around his knees, the bindings of the tall sandals flexing over his shins as he joined her in staring up at the large moon.

“What about after?” After Macrinus. “You’ve had no chaperone for well over a week now.”

Letha felt her stomach twist. “I’ve thought about it.”

“But?” Geta supplied, turning his head away from the splendor of the night sky to peer down at her where she laid out beside him. A challenger to the celestial might hanging above.

“You know there would be no point.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

She rolled her eyes, a treasonous activity if done by any other, but it filled Geta with warmth, bringing the beginnings of a smile to his lips. It all felt so familiar.

“There’s something that is keeping me here. Besides the fact I wouldn’t last a day out there with nowhere to go.”

“I dared to hope,” he admitted, taking her own admission and shoving it into the cracks that were slowly mending, a makeshift mortar.

She looked over at him, a line forming between her brows as she studied him, thinking very hard about what to say next. He reached down with a finger, gently pressing at the center of her brows, pushing away the line.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, the pressure of his closeness becoming overwhelming. 

“No,” he shook his head, moving his finger lower to press to her lips, silencing any further unnecessary apologies. “It is forgiven.”

Letha felt relief, could feel a tear forming at the corner of her eye. But she didn’t want to cry, not now. She recalled her apology muttered into his hair that day. He’d told her ‘no’ then too. 

“Do you still care for me?” he asked, his voice low.

“Of course I do,” she whispered, feeling the tear slide down the side of her face. 

He noticed it, moving his fingertip to wipe away the trail before resting his hand on the ground beside her head. He licked his lips, staring at her, all his weight bearing down, as if daring himself to collapse onto her. 

As much as he might have enjoyed frolicking beneath the stars, removing this armor was not a graceful job, even for two. 

“I want to show you something.” He pushed off the ground and sat up, the haze of him dispersed. She made herself sit up, kept her eyes on him as he stood up. He could feel a swarm of bees in his stomach moving angrily as he held a hand out for her to help her to her feet.

There was a split second of indecision and he nearly faltered, but her tight grip on his hand was a balm, immediately settling his nerves. As she leaned down to gather up the blanket, he tugged her hand, urging her to leave it. 

Geta  lifted the small chest off his desk and carried it over to where Letha sat on the side of the chaise in his room. It sank into the plush seat and she looked up at him, surprised. 

“It’s quite heavy.”

“I can manage just fine,” he smiled, his teasing tone returning.

It was so easy to get caught up in his magnetism. She wondered if he knew he possessed such a thing.

“Go on,” he urged. “Open it.”

She obeyed, pushing up the lid, exposing a rich ruby interior, the box created to house this one ornate bauble. Laurels, golden and sparkling. There were small, dazzling red gems hidden among the leaves here and there.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, reaching in to run a finger along one of the gilded leaves. “Seems a bit small for you,” she admitted.

“It is,” he confirmed. 

“Well I think Caracalla will love it,” she smiled, lowering the lid. “It’s a thoughtful gift.”

Geta reached down, pulling it back open. There was a look in her eyes that gave him pause, all the smiles and teasing forgotten. As if she knew already what he was about to say. To ask.

“It’s not for my brother.”

His words sent an icy chill down the center of her back, forcing her to sit up a bit straighter. He was already moving away, pacing.

“I have been busy, Letha,” he admitted. “I’ve spent more time with the senators than I can possibly stand. And in exchange for those long hours, I got this.”

“Geta, I—”

“Don’t feel like you need to say yes right now. Just promise me you will think on it. I know these last couple of weeks have been difficult, we’ve had a hell of a time trying to navigate—”

Letha stood and walked over to him as he rambled. She reached up and curled her fingers around the collar of the chestplate, pulling him down by it, pressing her lips to his. 

Geta recognized the action immediately, bringing one of his hands up to cover hers where she held the armor, moaning against her lips. He pulled her in by the small of her back with his free hand. Her necklace clattered against the metal plate until it was muffled by the press of her against him. 

He could not get near enough air into his lungs. He felt dizzy, incoherent, his blood at once diluted but also thickened, leaving his limbs feeling heavy with a honeyed sludge passing through his veins. The pressure of her hauling him down to her eager mouth by the bronze plate persisted in his brain, in his gut, and he suspected he would relive it for the rest of time. 

“Letha,” he breathed, his palm pressing to her heated cheek. “You can take time,” he offered, though he would be lying if he said he was satisfied with this and nothing more.

“I’ve taken it,” she replied quickly, releasing the armor. 

Before the dissatisfaction crept in, he felt her fingers at his side, brushing the underside of his arm that he immediately lifted. She worked at the buckle, pulling the leather free before moving down to the woven golden string keeping both halves together. 

Once his brain caught up to hers, he pulled at the cords holding the pauldrons over his shoulders, the both of them picking up speed as an unspoken sense of urgency grew in the silence. It all hit the floor with a loud clattering, the pteruges joining it not long after. 

Free from the weight of the heavy armor, Geta reached for Letha’s neck, pulling her into him, groaning against her lips as he attempted to make up for lost time.

As he held her, he realized she was working herself out of her dress. It was bunched up on her shoulders by the time he looked down. The next chance she got, the two of them needing air, she threw it off over her head. 

“I would have gotten to that,” he breathed, allowing himself to look her over. 

“Like I said, I’ve taken it.” she spoke with intention. He felt it low in his belly.

She got to spend only a moment more on her feet before he collected her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She let out a laugh as she sank into the plush arrangement of silks and pillows. He stared down at her, feeling that blooming of warmth in his chest that only she gave him.

 “What are you waiting for?”

As the words left her lips, Geta threw off the white tunic and joined her, crawling up her body to seal his lips to hers, finally allowing the weight of him to press her down into the bed. He had missed this. Her skin, already hot beneath his hands, her movements only drawing him in further, seeking his touch, his lips.

It had been a long couple of weeks.

He felt her bring a leg up around his hip and he reached for it, fingers digging into her thigh as he rutted against her. The ragged moan that left his throat said more about his desperation than anything else.

The tension in his arm trying to hold him up off of her was too much to ignore. He turned onto his side, clinging to her thigh, slowly bringing her with him until he was on his back. As she settled in this new position, she looked down where they met, a bashful smile on her face.

He couldn’t deny the wonder that overtook him at the sight of her above him, the way her mussed hair hung around her face, a few strands now loose. She was radiant, even in the night. Her nervous smile took hold in his chest, and he knew then that he would make it his goal to continue to find ways to draw that same smile from her. 

“I missed you,” she admitted, eyes cast down to the expanse of his torso beneath her hands. “I thought we might never…”

“Letha, you possess me.” Her eyes widened, her body frozen in his hands. “I think that was why it hurt so much to be separated from you.” He shifted his hips, forcing heat into her cheeks. “And I owe you an apology.”

“It is forgiven,” she insisted.

He shot her a look. “I could have lost you. It was cruel and impulsive.”

“We are fortunate your brother had the good sense to intervene, then.”

“Please, do not speak of my brother right now,” he pleaded, squeezing her thighs. 

She laughed at him, covering his hands with hers. “Let me distract you,” she offered, bringing his hands up higher, his fingers skimming her belly before she pressed his palms into her breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, his hands squeezing her soft skin. 

She ground herself down on him, using him, the sight filling him with desire for her. How he ever got pleasure from anyone else, he could never know. This was all he ever needed. He could only thank the gods, the fates, whoever brought her to him. 

She surprised him as she swung her leg over him, leaving him there in the bed, a pathetic whine leaving his throat as the air hit his slick-wet cock.

Letha felt a bit unsteady on her feet as she walked through his room. She was ready to show him that she would take on the mantle, the responsibility of keeping him sated and happy. 

Possessed him? She would never get over it. 

She found the chest and lifted the lid, reaching down for the delicate crown. Even in the dim light it sparkled. Her prize in hand, she set it on her head and nearly sprinted back to Geta.

He still laid in the middle of his bed, a vision of long limbs and pale flesh. At the sound of her feet padding on the floor he craned his neck, his large brown eyes passing over her, lingering on her head, where the crown sat precariously.

His full lips parted in a grin. “Eager to fulfill your duty, Empress?” he questioned, his voice low with desire. He held his hands out for her, helping her return to her place astride his hips. 

“Do you like it?” she asked a bit bashfully, her hands leaving his to steady the crown in her hair.

He let out a deep breath. “Mea lux,” he smiled, reaching up to pull her down to his chest, “you spoil me.” He stole a kiss from her lips before he reached up to adjust the crown so it would sit more securely on her head. She leaned into every touch, relishing the sensation of his large hands on her skin, skimming, gripping, squeezing.

She was so overwhelmed by him that she didn’t notice him preparing to shove into her, her only warning a quick swipe of him through her slick. They let out matching sighs as he filled her, like this was all they needed. Letha sat up, a hand pressed against his abdomen for support as she reacclimated to him. 

“W-What exactly are the duties of an Empress, Geta?” she asked. His hips snapping up forcing a wanton moan to leave her lips. 

His flush extended from his face and ears down to his chest. “Besides the obvious?”

She nodded, shifting her hips, moving on instinct, eager for relief. 

He grunted, letting his head fall back. “Well,” he began, bucking his own hips up slightly to reward her. “You will sit with me in all the boring meetings. We will suffer together.” 

“Mhmm,” she moaned, nodding. “I can do that.”

“You will advise me, keep me in line,” he grunted. “Tell me when I’m being a fool.”

“I will relish every chance I get,” she grinned, chasing her pleasure.

“Don’t look so excited,” he chuckled, biting his lip. 

She felt her thighs burning, but she didn’t dare stop, the coil pulling ever tighter. “What else?”

“You will guard my heart, Letha,” he breathed, his eyes meeting hers.

Her hips stilled. 

Geta flipped them, bringing his face down to hers. She ran her hands up his sides, over his shoulders, tangling in his hair as he kissed her. She relaxed beneath him, her legs wrapping around his hips as he drove into her at a steady pace. 

“Can you do that?” he asked, meeting her eyes. 

“Haven’t I been already?” 

He blinked down at her, absorbing her words. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoed, pulling his face down to hers.

In the kiss, he quickened his pace. She felt like she was falling apart in his hands, unable to form more words. He reached down between them, his fingers finding home in the apex of her thighs, his nose brushing against hers as he urged her to her release.

She clung to him desperately, choked gasps leaving her throat as he pressed his lips against it. She clenched around him, the coil finally snapping and giving way for her hard-earned release. He pushed her through it, her hands squeezing his hips in an effort to slow him down, too sensitive. 

He sat up, pulling her to him by her hips, grunting as he pounded into her.

“Is giving you an heir part of my duties as well?”

He laughed. “Not a requirement, but–” He cut himself off, burying himself in her as he fell on top of her, pulsing into her. “–a perk.”

He settled on top of her, his lips pressing to hers before he buried his face in the side of her neck. She held him close, running fingers up and down his back, enjoying the warmth of him despite all the sweat. 

“I would stay like this forever,” she sighed, trying to fight off the exhaustion she felt. The last thing she wanted to do was sleep now that she had him back.

“I have no pressing business for two days, mea lux. You’re not leaving this room,” he spoke into her skin. “And when we do, we will be wed.”

She felt nervous, but optimistic. “Should we not have waited until after for this then?”

He lifted his head, his warm eyes settling on hers. Full of love and mirth. “Oh, no, dear Letha. I believe you said you have already taken your time to think,” he winked, “and I would not deprive my Empress of anything.”

[ fin ]

Thank you for reading!

[certifiedsexed]

Hi,

I think I’ve experienced CoSA but when I first opened up about it to my then psychologist, she said what happened to me is a normal part of childhood sexual development and the sooner I understand and internalize that, the better. That it was only my own shame that made it feel like it was traumatic. She made me feel like I’ve overreacted and I shouldn’t even have brought it up in therapy. I almost felt scolded by her. She didn’t even let me finish the story, she just cut me off and started ranting. I’ve been very ashamed of the whole situation ever since and sometimes it feels like I must have made up the whole thing and even when I told my partner I felt like I was “appropriating serious trauma” and “faking”. Is that even possible?

The things he did also don’t feel “enough” to count as sexual abuse. Even if I’d never tell that to anybody else.

I’m so lost on how to move on from this situation, since I haven’t been able to bring this up to other mental health professionals because I don’t think I can take the situation with her repeating and it’s so difficult to find good providers to begin with.

Hi!

I'm so, so sorry you had to experience that, Anon. Your psychologist's response sounds inappropriate on several different levels (interrupting you, dismissing your feelings, ranting to you about it), that's awful. 💕

I know its so hard to open up about things like that and for her to not even let you finish and use what sounds like victim-blaming rhetoric to shut you down is devastating.

I'll say upfront, I don't know what happened to you specifically. But I do know people who went through trauma, especially sexual trauma, often feel like they're faking and/or their trauma isn't real/serious. That doesn't mean it isn't real or "enough" to actually be traumatic.

I'll also say, it's not "faking" or "appropriation" to be upset or feel traumatized by something and its definitely not faking to tell your partner about something that happened to you. You did not make it up, which means you are not faking shit.

Treat yourself as if you are someone else.

If someone else, let's say your partner, told you they experienced exactly what you experienced and that they were worried they'd been sexually assaulted, what would you say? What would you think?

I don't know you, but I suspect you wouldn't react as aggressively as your psychologist did. I suspect you would have an entirely different perspective and you would, at the very least, be respectful and kind about it.

I understand the fear of talking to another therapist/psychologist about it. The struggle to find good mental health professionals is dire, tbh.

(I hope you are no longer with the psychologist who treated you like that because that's unacceptable.)

I don't know if you want advice on that front but I would suggest while you obviously don't have to talk about it again if you're not comfortable, if you find someone that you think you might be able to discuss it with, I'd ask some questions first!

Tell them you're scared to tell them something that happened to you because people have reacted badly before. Ask them what they'd do if you told them something that you felt traumatized/hurt you and they thought "wasn't really traumatizing".

Ask them if they have patients/experience with sexual abuse, childhood in particular.

Hell, if it helps, see if your partner can stick with you when/if you ever decide to discuss it with someone else again. Whatever helps.

Hope this helps, Anon. Let me know if you have any other questions. <33

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 30- 'Pretty Girl's All Good' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 13.4 k

“T’s coming over.” You mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, curled up in the corner of the sectional in the living room. The oversized blanket you’d wrapped around yourself felt thin compared to the comfort you craved. Your knees were tucked tightly to your chest, your phone held like a lifeline. The words felt like reassurance—if you said them aloud, maybe the ache in your chest would ease. Jack sat across from you, his jaw clenched, his leg bouncing slightly. He’d been patient, more patient than most would be, but something inside him snapped—not with anger, but with fear masked as frustration.

“Y/N, enough…” he said firmly, his voice steady but low, trying not to shatter you more than you already were. “You need some space.” You blinked, stunned by the sudden break in his usual gentle approach. The words stung like ice water against raw skin. Your throat tightened as you swallowed the lump rising, your defenses kicking in before your heart could catch up.

“No… fuck off, Jack,” you shot back, your voice brittle, trembling under the weight of hurt and exhaustion. It wasn’t loud or sharp—it was fragile, like a glass about to crack. You weren’t angry. You were terrified. “He’s coming over, so if you have an issue then say that in front of him.” Your words were meant to sound defiant, but they wobbled, your voice betraying you, thick with unshed tears. Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. 

“Y/N… You’ve gotta stop. You’re building your self-esteem around him. He’s not who you are.” The words were heavy, but his eyes were soft, glassy even, like he hated every syllable as it left his mouth. Tears broke free, streaming silently down your face, hot against your cold skin. 

“Tell him that,” you snapped, your voice crumbling like the rest of you. “Say that in front of him.” You tried to threaten Jack thinking maybe he only had the gall to say it to you. And that’s when Trent walked in. The sound of the front door shutting behind him cutting through the room.

“Yo, bro—” His voice was light, casual, like it always was when he entered a room with you in it. But the second his eyes landed on you—your tear-streaked face, the tension thick enough to choke on—his words died mid-breath. His eyes darted to Jack, confusion flashing before morphing into panic. What happened? His mind raced. Did I do something? Was I gone too long?

“Tell him,” you whispered aloud, your voice broken, a plea hidden beneath the challenge. Trent didn’t waste a second. He crossed the room in quick strides, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands found your face, thumbs brushing away the tears with the gentlest touch, like you might shatter if he pressed too hard. His forehead rested against yours for a brief, grounding second.

“Please…” He quietly whispered, begging you to not cry anymore. His heart couldn’t take it anymore. “Can you wait right here for me, pretty girl?” His voice was soft, a balm against the sting of Jack’s words. “Save me some space under that blanket, yeah?” You nodded, your bottom lip trembling, clutching the blanket tighter like it could keep you from falling apart completely. Trent pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering a second longer than necessary, as if trying to pour all his comfort into you through that one touch. Then he stood, his jaw tightening as he turned to Jack. “Bro, c’mere for a sec.” His tone was calm, but there was a current of something deeper beneath it—controlled, but coiled tight. He nodded toward the hallway, silently asking for space, for privacy. Jack hesitated, glancing back at you, then got up and followed. It wasn’t far—just a few steps separating them from you—but far enough that their words wouldn’t reach your ears. The muffled hum of the television you’d left on for background noise faded under the weight of unspoken tension pressing between them. Once they were out of sight but mildly out of earshot, Trent’s posture shifted. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp. “What’s going on, Jack?” he asked quietly, but his voice held an edge. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose. 

“I’m worried, man. She’s not… she’s not okay. And I get it, I do. But she leans on you like if you’re not there, she’ll fall apart.” Jack blurted out his honest answer. Trent’s jaw clenched, his mind flashing with every night you’d fallen asleep tangled in his arms, every time you’d reached for him like he was the only thing keeping you afloat. Trent ran a hand over his hair, rocking slightly, his jaw tight. His heart was still racing from seeing you like that, tears streaking your face, clinging to your blanket like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground but he also hated that Jack wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Bro… I know. I see it,” Trent started, his voice low but thick with frustration, not at Jack, but at himself—for not noticing sooner, for letting it get this far. “But I’m not doing anything but being a shoulder right now. I’m just listening to her. Being there for her, I swear.” He exhaled sharply, like admitting it out loud made it more real. “I’m very aware of what this could morph into. It’s not, though.” The words tumbled out in a rush, like he’d only just realized them himself. Dianne’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, soft but pointed, making him see things differently now. Jack crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the opposite wall with a skeptical expression etched into his face. 

“T… come on, mate. You’re all over her just the same.” Jack replied. Trent’s composure cracked. His hands shot up in frustration before dropping to his sides, clenched into fists. His voice rose slightly, not in anger, but in desperation.

“I am all over her because I’m fucking scared, mate!” he burst out, his chest heaving with the force of the words. “I don’t feel okay leaving her. If she wants me there, I’m going to be there. I have to be there.” The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished. Trent’s breathing was heavy, his emotions barely contained. Jack didn’t flinch. His voice remained steady, calm—anchoring Trent’s storm. 

“I don’t want her to need you.” Jack said earnestly. It wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t jealousy. It was fear—the kind of fear that seeps into your bones when you watch someone you love disappear into their pain, gripping onto someone else like a life raft. Jack didn’t want you to drown if that raft drifted away. But Trent shook his head, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, urgent tone.

“She does need me though, Jack.” His eyes burned with conviction, but underneath that—guilt. “I understand it’s been really intense lately, but I promise I’m working on it. I won’t let her slip, but I’ll do it the right way. I’m not trying to push. But she needs someone to hold her up so she doesn’t collapse.” The words spilled out in a rush, fast and uneven, like he was afraid if he didn’t get them out, they’d choke him. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his eyes pleading for Jack to understand—not for himself, but for you. Jack sighed heavily, his back pressing harder against the wall as if it could absorb the weight he was carrying. He tilted his head back, eyes closing for a brief moment, letting the silence stretch between them. “And maybe I’m part of the problem,” Trent admitted quietly, surprising even himself at the admission. “But I’m also the only thing that makes her feel safe right now. You think I don’t know how heavy that is? You think I don’t lie awake wondering if I’m helping her heal or just helping her hide?” Trent confessed. Jack looked at him, the anger in his face softening into something closer to understanding. “I love her,” Trent continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, like the words were sacred. “But if I have to be the wall she leans on until she can stand on her own, then I’ll be that wall. Because I’d rather be too much than not enough for her.” Jack swallowed hard, his shoulders deflating. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, worn thin by worry but threaded with understanding. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out, his shoulders slumping. Trent stepped back slightly, his own exhaustion catching up with him. 

“Jack, please.” His voice cracked just a little, the vulnerability bleeding through. Jack rolled his head to the side, opening his eyes to meet Trent’s gaze. There was no judgment left, only the shared ache of two people desperate to keep someone they loved from falling apart.

“I just don’t want to lose her.” Jack muttered. He’d spoken to Dianne about you but there was an additional undercurrent. The one that had coursed through him since he found out about you and Trent, since he asked Megan to be his girlfriend, it wasn’t in his control… it was the tide of your mother, losing another important woman in his life wasn’t an option. 

“You won’t,” Trent said, his voice steady now. “Neither will I. But we’ve got to meet her where she’s at, not where we wish she was.” Trent explained. Silence settled between them, heavy but less suffocating.

“I know. I know,” Jack murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He straightened up, stepping closer, his face serious but kind. “Can we just… Trent, I need to make sure she’s okay. And I know you want that too. So can we do it together and not like…”Jack sighed unsure how to say it. Trent’s eyes narrowed waiting for his words. In reality, Trent had been blinded by love and fear and protection. He hadn’t realized how reclusive you two had been. “Like just not lock yourselves away for days at a time, yeah?” The sincerity in his voice was disarming, breaking down the invisible wall Trent had been bracing against. Trent nodded slowly, his throat tight. “And, bro,” Jack added, his tone softening with a small, crooked smile, “it’s not lost on me that this has to be hard on you too. I just need you two to be okay. So please… just let me in a little. Come up for air every once in a while, yeah? There’s oxygen elsewhere.”  The words hit Trent harder than he expected, like a lifeline thrown into waters he didn’t even realize he was drowning in. He gave a breathy chuckle, shaking his head, then reached out, gripping Jack’s shoulder firmly—a silent thank you wrapped in the gesture.

“Thanks, Jacky.” His voice was rough but honest. “Trust me… I’m struggling, mate but we’re all coming out of this.” Jack nodded, his hand patting Trent’s back briefly as they turned to head back to you. Because despite everything, they were in this together. It was the only option and you were waiting, the one thing tethering them both to hope. Trent pushed off the wall, heading back toward you, but not before glancing back at Jack one last time. “We’ll figure it out. For her.” Jack nodded again, his chest tight, but his heart a little lighter. And Trent? He went back to you, because that’s where he belonged.

---

“C’mon, move over for me,” Trent smirked as he stood beside the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. His tone was playful, but the warmth in his eyes softened the teasing edge. You barely looked up, curled up in the corner of the sectional, wrapped in a thick blanket like it was the only thing holding you together. The minutes apart since he’d gone to Dianne’s till now had felt like an eternity, and though you wouldn’t admit it, your body still buzzed with the residual unease of his absence. Instead of moving, you just blinked at him, hesitant. Trent’s smirk faded slightly.  “Pretty girl… ” he murmured, immediately picking up on your hesitation. His expression shifted to one of quiet understanding, and instead of waiting for you to move, he simply settled into the space beside you, pulling you into him with ease. His arms wrapped around you, a steady and familiar embrace. He kissed your temple gently. “Baby, he just wants you all good, yeah?” His voice was soft, meant only for you, each word laced with reassurance. Another kiss, this time to your forehead. Jack sighed heavily from his seat across the room, shifting slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. 

“Just looking out for you, Y/N.” His voice was steady, but the weight of it was unmistakable.

“Okay…” you mumbled, but your tone was dismissive, your face still buried against Trent’s chest, unwilling to engage in the conversation any further. Trent let out a quiet hum, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back. 

“C’mon, gonna watch the game,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair. With one arm still wrapped around you, he attempted to adjust you, trying to turn your body so you could see the TV instead of burrowing into him. But you resisted, gripping onto him tighter. 

“No.” The pout in your voice made him chuckle, but he didn’t cave this time. Instead, he maneuvered you carefully, positioning you so you were settled between his legs, your back pressed against his chest, his arms still locked securely around your stomach.

“Yeah, sorry, pretty girl,” he cooed, pressing another kiss to your temple, amusement laced in his voice. He wasn’t giving in this time. Jack, watching silently, exhaled a quiet breath of relief. His eyes met Trent’s, and he gave him a small nod, mouthing “better.” Trent didn’t respond, but the flicker of acknowledgment in his expression was enough. For a moment, you stayed like that, nestled against Trent, your body finally relaxing as the quiet murmur of the TV filled the space. But soon, the discomfort of being apart, even by just a few inches, became too much. Without thinking, you turned fully into him, shifting so that your body curled over his, your cheek pressed against his heartbeat. Trent let out a small breath of amusement, unsurprised by your need to be closer. His arms instinctively tightened around you, his hand smoothing up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. Your foot dragged up his toned leg, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing against the warmth of his skin. The contact was necessary, grounding. His body had become your safe haven, the only place where you felt truly at ease. Jack watched silently from across the room, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t judgment, nor was it frustration—it was concern, laced with something softer. He didn’t fully understand the weight of what you were carrying, but he knew you were holding on to Trent like he was the last solid thing in your world. Trent, for his part, simply held you. He didn’t push you away, didn’t tell you to move, didn’t tell you that you were clinging too much. He just kept rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, his other hand resting protectively on your thigh. The game continued on the TV, but neither of you were watching. The rise and fall of Trent’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the gentle brush of his lips against your hair—it was enough to lull you into a sleepy haze. “Go to sleep, baby,” Trent eventually murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He pressed another soft kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “I got you.” And for the first time that day, you allowed yourself to fully believe it.

---

Trent had promised Jack he’d help, that he’d be mindful, that he wouldn’t let things spiral. But that was easier said than done when every day, he saw you like this—fragile, weary, sinking deeper into him as if he were the only thing tethering you down. Every time he saw you clinging to him like he was the only thing you knew, he felt that promise slipping through his fingers. And maybe he was. How was he supposed to pull away when you needed him so much? When he needed you just the same? 

Dianne’s Sunday roasts were tradition, a staple in the Alexander-Arnold household, and today was no different. The garden was alive with laughter, plates clinking, the scent of spices from inside seeping outside into the air. The whole family was there, sprawled out in the back garden, chatting away, the summer heat melting into the kind of warmth only home could bring. His brothers were chatting, his cousin fussing over the family dog, and his mum was flitting between guests, ensuring everyone had what they needed and then back to the kitchen. The house was full of love, warmth, and normalcy-something you hadn't felt in a long time. But you barely registered it. You were sitting in Trent’s lap, tucked against his chest, your body draped over his like a second skin. His hands rested on your waist, fingers lazily grazing under the sheer fabric of your top, tracing the soft skin of your stomach absentmindedly.  Every touch was slow, deliberate, his presence wrapped around you like a shield. Your back rolled into him as his nose brushed against the curve of your neck, his lips finding the soft skin just below your ear. Your head rolled to the side, exposing more of your neck, and Trent didn't hesitate to nuzzle into the space. He whispered, ‘I love yous’ quietly and just for you. It wasn't the first time he'd said it today. In fact, he'd been murmuring it to you all afternoon, as if afraid you'd slip away if he stopped reminding you. You let out a slow exhale, and hummed softly in response, your hands moving over his forearms in front of you, fingertips tracing over the muscles and veins beneath his skin. You weren't really here. You were with him, yes, but the rest of the world barely existed. The laughter, the voices, the chatter-it was all just background noise. The only thing you could feel, hear, breathe, was Trent. He was comfort. He was safety. 

“Hun, come help me, yeah?” Dianne’s voice cut through the quiet bubble you and Trent had wrapped yourselves in. Your eyes fluttered open, barely processing the request before turning to her. She stood just a few steps away, nodding toward the house, an easy smile on her lips. You always helped Dianne. In fact, you usually offered. But today? Today, you just wanted to stay right where you were. Your body stiffened slightly, the thought of leaving Trent—even for a few minutes—causing unease to bloom in your chest. Trent felt it instantly before you even had to say anything.. His hands gripped your waist a little tighter, his own muscles tensing beneath you. The way your body stiffened, the subtle hitch in your breath, the way your hands instinctively gripped his forearms tighter. His fingers pressed against your stomach, rubbing soothing circles, silently reassuring you that you didn't have to move if you didn't want to.

“Mum, I don’t think—” Trent started, already intervening, already ready to reject the request on your behalf, ready to make an excuse for you before you even had to answer. But Dianne didn’t budge.

“Yeah, I need this gorgeous girl,” she cooed, her voice soft but unwavering. Her eyes met yours, her meaning clear, patient but expectant. Trent’s arms curled around you a little tighter, a silent plea to stay. But you knew Dianne. This wasn’t just about getting help in the kitchen. You let out a breath before shifting slightly, preparing to move. Trent hesitated, then hugged you against him for a moment longer, as if to imprint the feeling of you there before finally standing with you. You exhaled slowly before shifting, preparing to move. Trent's hold lingered for just a second longer before he reluctantly let go, his hands trailing down your waist as he helped you stand. You adjusted the hem of your tiny knit shorts, smoothing them down, but Trent’s hands never fully left you. They hovered, warm and familiar, settling on the small of your back as he dipped his head down, lips brushing against your ear. His hands lingered on the small of your back, warm and grounding, his fingertips lightly pressing into your skin. 

“Just for a little bit, yeah? I’ll be right here, waiting for you.” He kissed the top of your shoulder, lips brushing against the ribbing of your top, before trailing up to press another against your temple. Jack, who had been watching the entire thing unfold, shot Dianne a knowing look from across the garden. She simply winked at him, her patience unwavering. She was giving you space, gently forcing you to take a breath of air outside of Trent’s hold, even if just for a moment. Trent hesitated before finally pulling away completely, but even then, his fingers trailed down your arm, as if reluctant to break contact entirely. You nodded softly, stepping away, but not before Trent reached out again, fingertips grazing your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I’ll be here," he whispered. It took everything in you to turn away and follow Dianne into the house. Jack exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he watched you disappear inside. Dianne had done what he couldn't-pried you away from Trent's grip, even if just for a few minutes. And Trent? Trent was still standing there, his eyes fixed on the door you had just walked through, already waiting for you to come back.

---

“Hun, how are you doing?” Dianne asked you softly in the empty kitchen. You shrugged continuing to slice vegetables she’d given you on the cutting board. She sighed at your response. “Sweetie, I’ve never seen you like this…”She spoke again. Dianne was being patient, she wasn’t going to push you further than needed, she knew how sensitive you were but she also wanted to help. Dianne waited but you didn’t speak so she did again instead. “You know, I’ve talked to two boys who love you very much….” In that moment your heart sank… she knew. “Talk to me, hun, please. I’m here.” She encouraged you. Dianne turned to you fully now, her warm eyes softening as she reached out, placing both hands gently on your shoulders. She gave you a slight squeeze, her touch firm yet soothing, grounding you in the moment. Dianne’s heart ached watching you. She could see how fragile you were, the way your hands trembled slightly as you wiped your face, the way your breath hitched as you fought against the sobs threatening to spill out. Without hesitation, she pulled you into her embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around you, cradling the back of your head as if you were a child again. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” she murmured. The moment your body pressed against hers, it was as if the weight of the past weeks broke free from inside you, shattering the fragile composure you’d been holding onto.  The tears came freely now, silent at first, your shoulders shaking as she ran a soothing hand over your back. Your arms wrapped around her, fingers gripping at the fabric of her blouse as a choked sob left your lips. Dianne held you tighter, one hand stroking your hair, the other smoothing comforting circles down your back. “It’s okay, darling,” she whispered, her voice steady, a rock in the storm of your emotions. “You’ve been holding so much inside, haven’t you? A lot’s been going on, hmm?” You nodded into her shoulder, your entire frame trembling. The pressure in your chest, the one that had been suffocating you, finally gave way. Tears streamed freely now, soaking into her shirt, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just kept holding you, humming softly under her breath, a mother’s instinct taking over. “You are so loved, sweet girl,” she murmured, her voice filled with conviction. “I know it feels safe with him. I know he makes it all feel okay, like the world is a little less heavy when he’s there. But sweetheart, you need to be okay even when he’s not.” Her words cut through you like a blade you were just using, sharp but true. You tried to shake your head, to deny it, but she pulled back slightly, cupping your tear-streaked face in her hands, her thumbs wiping at your damp cheeks. “You are strong,” she insisted, her voice firm but tender. “Even if you don’t feel it right now, even if it’s buried under all this pain, it’s there.” Your lips wobbled as more tears spilled over.

 “I—I don’t that way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Dianne sighed, her thumbs still brushing over your cheeks, her gaze unwavering. 

“I know, hun. And that’s okay. Strength isn’t about feeling unbreakable all the time. It’s about taking even the tiniest steps forward, even when it hurts.” Her voice was calm and it made your heart ache. A sob wracked your chest, and she pulled you in again, holding you as if she could stitch your broken pieces back together just with the force of her love. “It’s going to take time, sweetie. No one expects you to just wake up one day and be fine. But you have to start finding yourself again—little by little.” Your breath hitched as you clung to her. 

“I just need to be with T, Di. I’m scared. I don’t feel like myself without him.” You whimpered a confession, your voice fragile, barely there.

“No one can make you more yourself than you can. Hun, that boy…” She paused with a sigh. “The one that hurt you, he doesn’t define you. And as much as he brings out the best in you, Trenty doesn’t either.” She explained. You sniffled reluctantly listening to her.

“Sorry, Di.” You whimpered as you wiped your face, stepping back from her feeling guilty like you were burdening her but she reached out to you again.

“Sweetie, not one apology needed.” Dianne exhaled, pressing a kiss to your hair. Let’s figure it out together, yeah?” she whispered. “You’re not alone in this, hun.” She swayed slightly, rocking you in place like she used to do with her own children when they were small, letting the warmth of the kitchen, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the quiet love she poured into you fill the space. And for the first time in a long time, even without Trent there, you felt a little less lost. And then in a moment of vulnerability you heard the words come from your mouth like someone else was speaking them. 

“Di…. I miss her,” you choked out suddenly, the words tasting foreign in your mouth, but feeling so deeply true. “I miss my mum so much.” Dianne inhaled sharply, her own eyes glistening as she held you tighter. 

“Oh, hun. I know you do,” she whispered. “And I know she would be so proud of you. She would be holding you just like this if she could.” You nodded against her shoulder, the warmth of her comfort breaking down something in you.

“I just don’t know who I am. And without her I felt like I didn’t know where home was anymore, what that felt like anymore but with T, he gives me that. Without—without Trent. I feel like I’ll fall apart.” You muttered in between shaky breaths. Dianne pulled back just enough to cup your face, her thumbs wiping away the endless stream of tears.

“Listen to me. I know you feel lost right now. And I know Trent is your safe place, but you need to remember that you are still here. You are strong. You are still you, even without them right next to you.” You sniffled, shaking your head. 

“I don’t feel strong.” You tried to tell her once again. Dianne smiled sadly, brushing a piece of hair from your face. 

“That’s the thing about strength, hun. It doesn’t always feel like it. Sometimes it feels like just waking up and getting through the day. Sometimes it’s crying and still standing after. And sometimes, strength is knowing when to hold on, and when to let yourself breathe.” You swallowed hard, her words settling deep in your chest. You wanted to believe them. You wanted to trust that you could be okay, even if you weren’t wrapped up in Trent’s arms every second.

“I’m scared,” you admitted in a whisper. Dianne kissed the top of your head gently.  

“I know, sweetheart. But you’re not alone. And you never will be. We’ll figure this out, together, promise. I’m here. We’re all with you.” And you let yourself believe it as you nodded.

---

The house carried the familiar, comforting scent of home-cooked food, mingling with the low hum of conversation drifting in from the back garden. The warmth of the kitchen should’ve been soothing, but you felt restless, your mind tangled in too many emotions to focus on something as simple as cooking. Your hands moved mechanically, slicing vegetables, stirring sauces, going through the motions without truly being present. You were trying to be there but your emotional conversation with Dianne moments earlier lingered. Trent and Jack stepped inside, their presence filling the space instantly. Trent’s eyes found yours immediately, scanning your face with that quiet, searching intensity he always had when he was worried about you. You knew why he was here. It wasn’t really about the food.

“Food ready?” he asked, voice casual, but the question held a deeper meaning.  A lame excuse in an effort to make sure you were okay. Dianne’s hands brushed your arms as she passed, her touch gentle but grounding. She didn’t miss anything—never had, never would.

“Almost…” she cooed, before adding with a knowing softness, “Takes time, hun.” You knew she wasn’t just talking about the food. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken understanding. Trent hesitated, lingering for a moment like he was debating whether to say more, but instead, he exhaled, giving you one last glance before following Jack back outside.

By the time the meal was finally finished, the back garden had settled into the kind of easy, familiar atmosphere that always came with these family gatherings. The sun had started breaking through the thick English clouds, casting golden streaks across the table. There was a light breeze, the kind that made the trees rustle lazily, the sound mixing with the distant laughter of Trent’s brothers. You sat beside him, close but not quite close enough, resisting the urge that had become second nature—to curl into him, to let his warmth swallow you whole. You wanted to, so badly, but Dianne’s words still echoed in your mind. Maybe Jack’s did, too. But resisting Trent was like trying to fight gravity. Mid-sentence, as he spoke to Tyler and Noah, Trent’s hand moved instinctively. His fingers dipped into the waistband of your knit shorts, his touch slow, deliberate. Before you even had the chance to react, he pulled you into him with quiet certainty, his arm winding around your waist as if reminding you there was no use in fighting it. The second your body met his, it was like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. The tension in your shoulders melted, your muscles softened. You belonged here. Noah, ever the comic relief, threw out a joke that had the whole table chuckling. The sound of it nudged something loose in your chest, and before you knew it, you were giggling too—light, breathy, real. Trent stilled for just a moment, as if soaking in the sound, as if letting it seep into his skin. Then, ever so subtly, he exhaled, his body finally relaxing, his hand squeezing your waist in quiet acknowledgment. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, murmuring something against your skin that you couldn’t quite make out, but you felt it all the same. And suddenly, everything seemed… clearer. The food you had cooked no longer felt like a chore; its rich scent curled around you, grounding you in the moment. The sun’s rays warming your skin didn’t just feel like another passing part of the day—it felt like something to lean into. The familiar voices around you, the laughter, the ease of it all—it was a reminder. You were safe. You were here. And maybe, just maybe, the haze was beginning to lift.

---

The back garden of your house was alive in a different way days later with the rhythmic thud of the ball against the ground, the occasional smack of it colliding with the crossbar, and the relentless banter between Jack and Trent. It was a competition neither would admit to taking too seriously, but the way Trent’s brows furrowed and Jack’s smirk grew every time he landed a shot told a different story.

“Bro, just fucking hit it!” Trent whined, his frustration bleeding through as Jack took his time setting up his strike. They were deep into a game, who could hit the crossbar the most given 50 tries. They were nearing the fiftieth strike and Jack was trailing behind.  

“Gimme a minute, mate!” Jack shot back, eyeing the ball like he was lining up the perfect shot in a World Cup final rather than a backyard challenge. Trent groaned, shifting impatiently, but Jack ignored him, reassessing his stance before finally letting the ball fly. The crisp sound of leather meeting metal rang out as the ball ricocheted off the bar with precision. Jack’s lips curled into a barely-there smirk, pleased but refusing to show just how much he’d surprised himself. Trent, on the other hand, scowled. Jack wasn’t a professional footballer, nowhere near his level—but moments like this, when Trent could actually lose, were golden. It wasn’t about talent or skill. It was about how hilariously terrible Trent was at losing. Jack, now fully embracing the moment, plopped down onto the grass with a dramatic sigh, rocking onto his back, feet briefly in the air. He stretched out leisurely, basking in the satisfaction of having a shot at beating Trent at his own game. “Trenty, you got two more… gotta hit both, win by two…” Jack taunted, a teasing chuckle in his voice. He was finally… relaxed. Trent exhaled sharply, shaking out his shoulders as if preparing for a match-winning free kick in stoppage time. Jack and Trent didn’t need to speak more about you. It was obvious, out in the open, what needed to happen, what had happened so instead they did what they did best… laugh. Just lads being lads 

“Yeah, yeah, mate, I got it. I got it,” he muttered, his expression shifting into one of razor-sharp focus. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and stepped up. His leg pulled back in a perfect stride, ready to strike—but then, the unmistakable sound of the back door sliding open cut through the air. Even without looking, he felt you.  Trent’s focus lapsed. Your presence was as real to him as the ball at his feet. The way the air changed when you walked into a space, the way his body instinctively reacted, drawn to you before his brain even caught up. His focus flickered for the briefest moment—but it was enough. The ball flew off his boot, but the precision was gone. The strike was sloppy, mistimed. The ball sailed wide, nowhere near the target. Jack, seeing the perfect opportunity, didn’t let it slide. 

“Wayyyy!” he bellowed, mimicking an English football crowd heckling a poor attempt. He clapped his hands together, grinning wildly as he stood up and dusted his palms off on his shorts. “Sorry, lad… we keep going then. You lost it, bro.” Trent, stunned for a second, spun around in protest.

“Nah, nah, nah! I get a redo! No way, she distracted me. That’s not—” He stopped himself, gesturing wildly at you as if the mere fact of your existence had cost him the game. It was genuinely ridiculous how bad he was at losing. Delusional, even. But that was Trent—so incredibly competitive, so unwilling to accept defeat in even the silliest of games. And because you loved him, and always had, you found it painfully endearing. You crossed your arms, a knowing smirk creeping onto your lips as you watched him grumble, already gearing up to argue his case.

“Excuses, excuses,” Jack teased, shaking his head. Trent shot you a look, dramatic and wounded, like you’d betrayed him simply by existing in his line of sight. You only laughed, stepping closer, and with that, whatever frustration Trent had was gone. Because at the end of the day, no loss—no matter how much he hated them—mattered when you were there. Jack jogged up to Trent, shoving him roughly, laughter bubbling between them as they wrestled like kids in the schoolyard.

"Hey, c'mere..." Trent called out to you suddenly, swatting at Jack to get him off before jogging in your direction. The way he looked at you, slightly breathless from the game but entirely focused on you now, made your stomach flip. "You distracted me, you know," he smirked, reaching for your waist and pulling you flush against him. The movement was so unexpected that you let out a surprised giggle, tilting your head just out of reach of his kisses—not to reject them, but just to tease. In truth, you loved the feeling of his hands splayed over your bare skin, his warmth pressing into you, the way his scent mixed with the summer air, fresh-cut grass, and whatever faint cologne lingered on his shirt. His laugh, so genuine and perfect, sent your heart into overdrive. You hadn't even realized he was here. From inside, all you heard was their whining back and forth, the sounds of a game in progress. It had been a small surprise seeing him, but as he held you close, it felt... good. Normal. "Sorry, baby... I should've told you-" Trent muttered, suddenly realizing that he wasn't just at Jack's house; he was at yours. He hadn't told you he was coming, and there was an awkward flicker in his voice like he was afraid he'd overstepped.

"It's okay," you whispered, pressing your nose against his in reassurance. "It's good." Trent's breath hitched slightly. He had expected hesitation, maybe a flicker of hurt that he hadn't called ahead. Not anger, but something... instead, you just looked at him with soft eyes, your lips pursing slightly, silently asking for a kiss. He obliged instantly, cupping your face as he pressed his lips to yours, slow and warm, melting into the moment.

"Hey!" Jack's voice rang out, exaggeratedly impatient, feigned annoyance. "We're in the middle of a game!" His arms flew up dramatically, as if the fate of the world depended on their crossbar challenge. Trent pulled back with a grin, his lips curling into the most beautiful, mischievous smile you'd ever seen. Without warning, he bent low and tossed you over his shoulder with ease. You shrieked in laughter, gripping onto his back as he took off running toward Jack, your giggles filling the air. He kissed your thigh in front of Jack's face, smirking at his best mate's dramatic sigh, before carefully setting you down on the grass with such tenderness that it made your heart flutter. In that moment, everything felt light-like the weight you'd been carrying had momentarily lifted, leaving just the warmth of the sun, the sound of laughter, and the feeling of being wrapped in him.

“Alright, alright, game’s back on. I got distracted,” Trent announced, but not without shooting you a cheeky wink. You giggled again, your chest rising and falling with the remnants of laughter, still coming down from the sheer lightness of the moment. Jack scoffed, shaking his head as he nudged Trent toward the ball.

“Yeah, she’s been distracting you for years. Play the game, mate.” Jack complained but not without a tease. You curled your legs beneath you, settling comfortably onto the grass, watching the two most important people in your life go back and forth, their bond evident in every jab and shove. There was something mesmerizing about it—the way they could argue, tease, and compete, yet the love and loyalty between them never wavered. Trent refocused, rolling his shoulders back before hitting the ball with precision. The sharp crack of his foot against the leather was effortless, the ball soaring toward the crossbar and bouncing off with a satisfying clink. Another point to him. But just as he was about to take his next strike, he did something unexpected. Instead of immediately stepping up, he turned to you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, something playful and adoring dancing in them. He kissed his fingers, then pointed directly at you, his signature smirk tugging at his lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, he swung his leg back and struck the ball—smooth, confident, no hesitation. He barely turned to track its trajectory, his attention back fixed on you, his grin widening by the second. And then— Whack! The ball smacked the post with pinpoint accuracy. He didn’t even need to see it. The game set, finished, won.

“Oh, fuck you!” Jack whined, throwing his hands up in frustration, while you burst into laughter. Trent was at the end of the day a very very good footballer and equally pompous about it. 

“I’m a big game player, bro!” Trent laughed obnoxiously, basking in his win. He strutted towards you, brimming with triumph, before cupping your face between his hands and pressing a firm, eager kiss to your lips.

“Trying to impress me?” you murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough to tease him. Trent hummed smugly in response, his nose brushing against yours. Not wanting to leave Jack out, considering how much he always included you, you reached for Trent’s wrists, using them as leverage to pull yourself up.

“Okay, okay, my turn, Jacky!” you yelped, moving past Trent toward a loose ball. Jack grinned, passing it to you as you set it down near the edge of the 18-yard box. “If I hit it, you have to get dinner,” you challenged with a playful smirk. Jack chuckled, tilting his head with an exaggeratedly skeptical hum. 

“Yeah? Go on…” He rolled his eyes. Just as you prepared to take your shot, Trent leaned in and gave your ass a teasing slap. Jack was immediately on it, throwing a hand in the air as if holding an invisible card, his referee instincts kicking in. Trent lifted his hands in mock innocence, raising an eyebrow as if he had no idea what Jack was accusing him of.

“That’s a yellow…” Jack insisted, shaking his head with faux seriousness and gestured again giving him the imaginary card. You just laughed, shaking them both off as you focused on the ball. Taking a deep breath, you swung your foot through. It wasn’t perfect, not as effortless as Trent’s, but it floated just enough—clipping the top bar with a soft ting. You were beaming.

“Come on!!!!” Trent’s voice rang out across the garden, pure elation laced in every syllable. His excitement was so infectious you couldn’t help but giggle, heat rushing to your cheeks as he sprinted toward you. His arms wrapped around your waist seamlessly, lifting you off your feet like you weighed nothing, spinning you around in wild celebration.

“Fuck you both!” Jack yelped from behind, feigning annoyance, but the laughter bubbling in his voice betrayed him. Jack exhaled through his nose, giving you a slow, approving nod. 

“It’s what we do, bro!” Trent shot back through his grin, still twirling you in his arms like you were some sort of trophy. “My girl’s got tek you know!” His grip adjusted—one arm sliding down your back, the other hooking under your legs—before he scooped you up entirely, carrying you around the grass like he’d just won the Champions League.

“Dinner’s on you, Jacky lad!” you teased, your voice a mix of giggles and breathless excitement. Trent pressed frantic kisses along your cheek, his stubble tickling your skin, making you squirm in his hold. You squealed in protest, but he only laughed harder, dropping to the ground with you still in his grasp, landing in a dramatic sprawl on the grass. His arms tightened around you, refusing to let you go as you caught your breath, your body molded into his like a missing puzzle piece. Jack shook his head, hands on his hips as he watched the two of you tangled together. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no shadows lingering around you, no weight pressing down, no tension knotting shoulders. Just light. Just love. You and Trent finally happy, finally safe, no tears, no anger, no fights, just you two doused in the setting sun, love and permanent smiles.

“Honestly…” Jack sighed, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He saw it now—how natural you and Trent were together, how safe you finally felt. “What do you lot want to eat then?” He asked.

“Mmm, pizza please,” you hummed, nuzzling your face into Trent’s neck, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of him as his fingers traced gentle patterns against your skin. Jack sauntered over to the edge of the grass where their belongings were scattered—phones, water bottles, and, conveniently for him, Trent’s Prada wallet. He plucked it up, flipping it open with exaggerated ease, fingers rummaging through its contents.

“And the Amex Centurion is fine, yeah?” Jack quipped, holding up Trent’s sleek black card with an impish grin. Trent’s head snapped up immediately, his brows furrowing before his jaw slacked in realization.

“Huh?…. Nah, wait, mate. Fuck right off—” he started, but before he could finish, Jack was already making a break for it.  Trent barely had time to place one last kiss against your temple before he was springing to his feet, launching into a full sprint after Jack, their laughter echoing through the garden. They barreled toward the house, limbs flailing, their rivalry turning into something straight out of a slapstick comedy as Jack fumbled with the sliding door, trying to shield himself. You sighed, a slow, contented exhale, and let yourself sink back into the grass. The sky stretched above you, painted in soft hues of pink, orange, and lilac, melting together at the edges like a watercolor. The clouds drifted lazily, moving at the same steady pace as your own heartbeat. The sun’s warmth seeped into your skin, a golden glow settling over everything. And then you felt it—really felt it. You were okay. For the first time in a long, long time, you were okay.

---

“I’ve been keeping a secret…” Layla’s voice was barely above a whisper as she tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie, pulling you into the hallway off the kitchen. Her eyes were wide, almost mischievous, but there was something serious beneath the playfulness. Her eyes darted around, checking for eavesdroppers, her whole demeanor screaming mischief.

“Another one? No thanks,” You smirked, your brows shooting up as you folded your arms across your chest. “What could you possibly be hiding?” You asked her at a normal volume, narrowing your eyes in suspicion, Layla took a deep breath, her lips twitching like she was trying to suppress a smile. Then she dropped the bomb she couldn’t hold onto anymore.

“Y/N…” Layla took a breath, her grip tightening on your wrist as if to steady herself. Then, with a look so grave it sent a shiver up your spine, she said it— “I slept at Noah’s.” Your jaw dropped. Your heart pounded so hard you were sure she could hear it.

“EXCUSE ME?!” You shrieked, voice bouncing off the walls of the hallway like an echo in a canyon.

“Shh! Shhh!” Layla panicked, her hands flying to your mouth as she glanced back toward the kitchen, dragging you further into the corridor. You could still hear Noah and Jack’s laughter mixing in the distance, the faint sound of the front door opening—Trent just arriving at the house. “We didn’t have sex,” she rushed to clarify, her expression dead serious. You cocked your head to the side, giving her a slow, knowing smirk. 

“Mmhmm, sure,” you teased, popping your lips before letting a wicked grin spread across your face. 

“I swear we didn’t!” she squealed, half defending herself, half laughing at her own situation.

“I just don’t believe you.”  You popped your lips, tilting your head with an infuriatingly knowing smirk. Layla let out a dramatic groan, but her cheeks flushing as she tried to double down. 

“I swear… Trust me, I—” She started to finish her sentence but suddenly dissolved into a fit of giggles, shaking her head like she couldn’t even process what she was saying or what happened. “No, but seriously, we didn’t,” she reiterated, though it was entirely unnecessary at this point. You raised a hand, gesturing for her to spill everything, and she did. Layla told you everything—every little detail you never needed (or wanted) to know about Noah. The way he looked at her, the way he held her, the way he made her feel. She took the bait, launching into every intimate detail about her night with Noah all the things she’d been dying to tell you—how he was charming, how he somehow managed to make her feel safe but turned on, how he pulled some kind of witchcraft on her, making her feel so sexy, yet so at ease.  “Like, I don’t know what juju that man has, but good lord…” Layla whispered, shaking her head with a dreamy sort of daze before she burst into laughter, hands flailing as she dramatically recounted the way Noah had completely bewitched her. You couldn’t help but laugh too, wrapping her in a playful hug as you both dissolved into giggles, the two of you stumbling slightly in the narrow hallway, barely able to contain your giddy energy.

“Jack really has great friends,” you mused teasingly, still giggling as you started walking back toward the kitchen, Layla beside you.

“Don’t say it like that.” She groaned but fell into a cheeky laugh. You shot her a wink, still grinning as you linked arms and continued walking. The boys’ voices grew louder—Jack laughing at something, Noah’s unmistakable banter in response—and then… Trent. You didn’t have to see him to feel him. The air shifted, that familiar pull settling deep in your stomach before your eyes even landed on him. The way he occupied a room, effortlessly magnetic, like some invisible string tying him to you no matter how much distance you tried to put between you. Jack had great friends, sure. But one of them had you utterly, helplessly in love—had for years. The distant sound of Trent’s voice carried through the house, and suddenly, your heart did something ridiculous—it skipped. Because if Noah had some sort of juju over Layla, then Trent… Trent had spent years casting a spell on you. One you had no intention of ever breaking.

“Y/N, you can’t meddle though, yeah?” Layla’s voice was hushed but firm as you both stepped into the kitchen, where all the boys were gathered but still on the other side of the room.She gave you a pointed look, her eyes gleaming with both warning and amusement. You scoffed, eyes widening as if she’d just accused you of a crime. 

“When have I ever meddled?!” you yelped, clutching your chest in mock offense. Layla didn’t even need to say anything—her face alone was enough of a response. “Like, all anyone does is meddle with me. Meddle in my life, my relationships, everything,” you huffed dramatically, crossing your arms. It wasn’t even a lie. Lately, it felt like everyone had something to say about your choices, your love life, Trent. Layla just shook her head at you, her expression unimpressed. 

“Nothing. Not a word.” she warned lightheartedly, her voice quieter now, but the look in her eyes said she meant it. You pursed your lips, sealing them like a vow, and parted ways with her as you moved toward Trent, who was sitting at the kitchen counter. He was busy laughing at something Jack had just said, but the second your hands slid around his waist, dipping under the soft fabric of his jumper, he felt you. Trent shivered slightly at the cold touch of your fingers against his abs, the drag of your nails on his skin, a sharp inhale slipping from his lips. His body instantly relaxed into yours as your head found a home on his shoulder.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he purred, tilting his head back, trying to reach your lips. You met him halfway, letting his mouth brush against yours in the softest, laziest kiss.

“Hi,” you giggled against his lips, the warmth of his breath fanning against your skin as his mouth curled into a perfect pink, pouty smile. Jack less amused by Trent’s lips couldn’t resist a little tease after overhearing you and Layla moments ago. 

“Yeah, well, I just wish you wouldn’t meddle with my mate in my kitchen,” Jack interrupted, his voice laced with teasing disapproval before he picked up a grape and threw it at Trent’s head. The grape bounced off Trent’s temple, and he barely reacted, just chuckled and picked it up, lobbing it with some arch across the room with perfect accuracy. Noah, ever the chaos magnet, opened his mouth and caught it effortlessly in his mouth, chewing with a smug grin.

“Eh, meddling can be a good thing,” Noah added through a mouthful of grape, his words slightly muffled. His eyes flickered toward Layla, and before anyone could react, he winked at her. You felt Layla stiffen across the room. It took everything in you not to react. Not to squeal or poke fun or say something incriminating. Instead, you bit down on your lip so hard you nearly hurt yourself, gripping Trent’s jumper for support as you fought the urge to explode. Nothing. Not a word, just as she said. But God, was it hard.

---

Noah strolled back into the kitchen later that night, his presence easy and familiar as you stood at the counter, halfway through preparing dinner for what felt like an entire army. It wasn’t an official movie night—not really—since no one had agreed on a film, and the TV in the living room was flipping between some rugby games. Jack had a few of his mates over, you had Layla, and somehow, that meant you were now in charge of feeding everyone. You sighed, silently cursing your own generosity.

“Alright?” Noah cooed as he made his way toward the refrigerator, his tone warm and teasing, as if he could feel your exhaustion. You hummed in response, nodding slightly, your focus still on the chopping board in front of you. Your hands moved on autopilot, slicing ingredients, measuring seasonings. But when you caught sight of the butter near your workspace, you hesitated, remembering something.

“You can’t have dairy, right?” you asked, glancing up at him with a soft smile as you cheekily slid the butter away from you. Noah, mid-search in the fridge, looked up in slight surprise before a smirk curved onto his lips. 

“Yeah, sorry… Thank you for remembering.” He answered you. You shook your head as if to say it’s nothing, but then he noticed the olive oil sitting on a lower shelf. Without missing a beat, he grabbed it and slid the non-dairy alternate across the marble countertop toward you. A silent, unspoken exchange. You took it without a second thought, pouring some into the pan.

“So, what’s been up with you?” The question fell from your lips naturally, without much thought. But then, as soon as you asked it, you realized. Shit. Would he mention Layla? Would he talk about his night? Her night? Maybe Layla was right. Maybe you did meddle. Noah, either unaware of your overthinking or simply choosing to ignore it, leaned back against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

“Eh, laying low… looking out after you.” That stupid, knowing smirk of his made you roll your eyes instantly.

“Shut up.” You scoffed, reaching for the salt and sprinkling it into the pot of boiling water. The hiss of the bubbles matched your playful annoyance. Noah chuckled, amused, before pushing off the counter and grabbing a handful of grapes from a bowl nearby. He popped one into his mouth, watching you as if waiting for you to break—to prod him for more information, to slip up and meddle. You wouldn’t. At least… you’d try not to.

“Nah, just chilling though…” Noah’s voice was casual, filling the comfortable silence between you. He popped another grape into his mouth, chewing slowly, but you barely acknowledged him, too focused on stirring the simmering sauce in the pan. You could feel him still standing there, though. He wasn’t just lingering—he was building up to something. “Erm… quick question for ya…” He cleared his throat, the shift in his tone so subtle it might’ve gone unnoticed if you hadn’t known exactly where this was going.

“Shoot.” You finally turned to him, brow raised, curiosity feigned. Noah scratched the back of his neck, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

“Yeah… just curious…Erm… you know if Lays is seeing anyone?” He asked sheepishly. You felt your entire body internally scream, but on the outside, you played it smooth. Too smooth. You let out a slow, measured breath, forcing your expression into something casual, as if the question didn’t make you want to combust.

“No, she’s just chilling, laying low, I think,” you replied, your voice laced with an effortless, knowing smile, borrowing his words. There was no indication that you knew anything more than what he was asking. Noah, however, was suspicious. His head tilted slightly, his brows furrowing, eyes narrowing on you as if you were some sort of enigma. 

“Not gonna grill me with questions?” He looked at you curiously.  You shrugged, keeping the smile on your lips. 

“No… should I?” You looked back. His eyes narrowed even further. 

“Nah, fuck off—what’d she tell you?” He let out a laugh, shaking his head at you. Your lips curled as you bit back a giggle, but it was no use.

“Noah has a crushhhhh,” you sang, your voice playful and teasing as you reached out to squeeze his arm.

“Nah, see…” He scoffed, laughing as he shook your hand off him, pretending to be unbothered. But the slight redness in his ears gave him away. He turned away from you, making a beeline for the exit, but not before tossing a cheeky, mocking, “Thank you for making dinner, Y/N,” over his shoulder. Like he hadn’t just asked about Layla. Like you hadn’t reacted exactly how he suspected you would. And as he disappeared from the kitchen, you couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face.

---

The low hum of the TV filled the dark cinema room, the glow from the screen casting soft shadows over you and Trent as you crawled up his body, giggling softly after you’d finished cleaning up after dinner.  He let you, his strong arms instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you close, like he always did. His warmth, his scent, the way his fingers ran up and down your back absentmindedly -it all made you feel so safe, so at home. Everyone had gone home, save Noah. And Jack had popped over to Megan’s but said he’d be back tonight. Layla left a bit ago too and so for now, at least until whatever was on tv ended it was just the three of you.

"Guess what?" you whispered, lips brushing against his ear as you pressed a quick kiss there. Trent hummed in response, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, tilting his head to the side so you had more room to kiss his neck. His hands tightened around you, fingers spreading across your back. "He kissed Layla," you murmured, meddling, voice playful, teasing. Trent tensed beneath you, his body stiffening in surprise as he suddenly gripped your waist and pulled you back to look at you properly. His jaw slacked, his lips parting before pulling into the most amused, stunned grin. His eyes were wide, flickering between you and where Noah sat across the room, completely unaware.

"No," Trent whispered, like he couldn't quite believe it. His eyes lit up, Trent loved some gossip. You grinned, biting your lip, nodding as you snuggled back into his chest. Trent's wide eyes darted to Noah, watching him lounge in the chair, his face relaxed, completely unbothered. Noah must have caught the look from the corner of his eye because he sighed, shaking his head, still not bothering to turn around. 

"Stop," he muttered, his tone flat, already knowing exactly what was being said and going through Trent's head. You burst into giggles, burying your face against Trent's chest, your whole body shaking from the effort of keeping quiet. Trent raised his brows at you, biting back his own grin, but decided to leave it. He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Noah didn't say anything else, just carried on watching the game like nothing had happened. And eventually, he called it a night, grabbing his things and heading out, leaving just you and Trent alone in the house. The second the front door shut, Trent pulled you completely on top of him with a mischievous smirk.

"Been waiting to get you alone… " he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, the only thing separating you from another long night of trouble. You leaned forward with a whimper and sentences full of sin. Trent's hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was grounding himself in the moment, like he couldn't believe you were actually here-straddling him, whispering sinful promises into his ear. His dark eyes flickered with something primal, something possessive.

"T..." You whispered, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of his neck, leaving featherlight kisses that had him exhaling a sharp breath. He hummed, his hands sliding up your back, fingertips teasing beneath your shirt. 

"What do you need, pretty girl?" He asked smugly, his voice thick with desire.

"You. Please." You murmured, sitting up fully on his lap, locking your eyes with his. Trent's smirk widened. 

"Yeah?" He tilted his head, his hands sliding lower to grip your ass, kneading it in his palms like he'd been dying to do it all day, dying to do it for years. You nodded, your lips parting as you watched him take in the sight of you, the way his eyes darkened, how his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

"Do you know how long l've wanted you in here?" His voice was low, rough, like he was holding himself back. 

"Tell me..." You swallowed, biting your lip as heat pooled in your stomach. 

"The amount of times l've sat in here and thought about you-" He exhaled, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your thighs. "Fuck, you don't even wanna know." Your stomach tightened at his admission, and your hands slid up his chest, gripping his shoulders.

"Baby," you whispered, leaning in so your lips ghosted over his, teasing. "Tell me all the places you've wanted me..." You dragged your nails lightly down his back, loving the way his breath hitched. "I want you to fuck me everywhere you've ever thought about..." Trent groaned, his hands squeezing your ass again, harder this time. His smirk turned lazy, dangerous.

"That's a lot of places..." He murmured, his voice thick with promise, his hands gripping your hips, pressing you down against him so you could feel exactly how much he wanted you. Your stomach flipped, your heart raced.

"Good," you whispered, dragging your lips over his jaw. "We have time." The cinema room was dark, the soft glow of whatever was on the telly casting just enough light to illuminate Trent's face as he looked up at you, his pupils blown wide with desire. His hands roamed your body, gripping, teasing, exploring like he couldn't get enough-like he never would. You straddled him, your thighs wrapped around his waist, completely lost in the way his mouth moved against yours-hungry, demanding, possessive. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing a breathy moan from you as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up beneath your shirt, fingers trailing over your skin, making you shiver but you were desperate and he was moving too slow, so you took control, peeling your top off over your head leaving you completely bare, completely on display just for him.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," he groaned, his lips moving down to your jaw, then lower, his teeth grazing your neck before sucking lightly, knowing exactly how to make you fall apart. Your fingers tangled in his short curls, tugging slightly as you rocked against him, feeling the heat between you intensify. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, his breathing growing heavier, more erratic.

"T..." You whimpered, pressing your forehead to his, your lips brushing

"I got you, baby," he whispered, his hands sliding down your back, gripping your ass as he shifted beneath you, making you gasp. Everything was a blur of heat, of whispered names and desperate touches, of breathless moans swallowed by deep kisses. His hands worshipped your body, his touch electric, igniting every nerve as he pulled you closer, as he took you apart piece by piece. And when it was over, when you were spent and tangled up in his arms, your head resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you sighed in pure contentment. Trent pressed a lazy kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles on your bare back.

"So good for me," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“What you wanted?”You whispered, nuzzling into his warmth, feeling completely safe, completely his.

“Mmmhmm.” He hummed. After a few moments of blissful silence, you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. 

"So... where's next on the list?" You asked. Trent chuckled, the sound deep and full of mischief. He shook his head with a grin before gripping your thighs.

"List is fucking pages, pretty girl" he teased, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. You giggled, wrapping yourself around him as he stood up with ease. "C’mon," he murmured, carrying you out of the cinema room. "We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” He whispered into your ear and you felt yourself fall a little bit more with him  and maybe a little bit more in lust.

---

When Jack came back to the house that night, the silence immediately put him on edge. It was too quiet—unnaturally quiet. Noah’s car was gone, but Trent’s was still parked outside, which wasn’t unusual. He figured you two were probably just watching something or maybe gone upstairs. Nothing alarming. But then he heard it. A breathy sound he didn’t recognize. A soft, muffled noise that made his brow furrow. His lips twisted in confusion. He took a few more steps, rounding the corner—

“Oh my fucking god!” Jack yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls. His entire body jolted back as if he’d been physically slapped by the sight in front of him. “Nah! I'm gonna be sick. I changed my mind! You can’t be together! Oh my fucking god!” Sheer horror plastered itself across his face as he smacked a hand over his eyes, his entire existence now dedicated to unseeing what he had just seen. You gasped, mortified, your body collapsing against Trent’s chest in sheer panic on the sofa in the living room. The third location on Trent’s list, although maybe the laziest and arguably the stupidest considering Jack had said he was coming home. 

“Shit, sorry, mate…” Trent muttered, his voice shaking with amusement as he scrambled for a blanket, tossing it over your half-dressed torso in a poor attempt at damage control.But then—he laughed. Jack whipped around, absolutely appalled. 

“It’s not funny, bro!” he shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of trauma. His hands rubbed aggressively over his face like he was trying to scrub the memory out of existence. Meanwhile, Trent’s bare chest shook beneath you as he tried (and failed) to contain his laughter. You, on the other hand, wanted the earth to swallow you whole. “Y/N!” Jack practically yelled again, voice strained with disgust. “That’s so gross! Put your fucking clothes on!” He let out a loud, exaggerated grunt, facing away so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

“Oh my god,” you whispered into Trent’s skin, too mortified to lift your head. It was dark enough, but still—the silhouettes alone were scarring. Jack continued, pacing aggressively as if sheer movement could shake this nightmare from his brain. You groaned against Trent’s chest while he laughed like this was the funniest thing to ever happen to him. And maybe it was. He was just genuinely so in shock and mildly disinterested in Jack considering he had you on top of him without a top on. For Jack, though? It was a fucking tragedy. He left without another word.

"You may have to move," Trent murmured against your neck, his voice thick with laughter, warm breath ghosting over your skin. One arm remained splayed across your lower back, securing the blanket over you both, while the other reached blindly along the sofa in search of your discarded shirt.

"I know..." you groaned softly, pressing your forehead to his bare shoulder, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. Jack had walked in. Jack. Your brother. You squeezed your eyes shut at the memory, a mortified laugh bubbling in your throat. Trent felt it-the way your body tensed slightly against him. And for once, he didn't tease. He just kissed your temple gently, the weight of his lips lingering for a second too long.

"I just wanna be able to fuck you whenever I want," he whispered against your skin, voice tinged with playfulness, but beneath that, something deeper, something real. Your breath hitched as his lips moved lower, his teeth grazing just below your jaw. The warmth of his body, the scent of him surrounding you-it made your stomach flip.

"T," you giggled, shaking your head, fingers absently tracing over his ribs, feeling the way his chest vibrated with quiet laughter. His hand continued searching for your shirt, but when his fingers finally closed around fabric, he realized it wasn't yours. He gave a little huff of frustration before handing you his own instead.

"Here, pretty girl, as much as I hate it, think should put something on" he muttered, pressing it into your hands. You sat up slightly, shifting against his lap as you pulled the shirt over your head. It was soft, oversized, and smelled exactly like him-clean, musky, safe. You curled your fingers into the hem, glancing up at him through your lashes.

"Yeah?" Your voice was soft, a little shy. Trent's gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes, something unreadable settling over his features.

"Yeah," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, without hesitation, "I think you should move in with me." The words fell so effortlessly from his lips that for a second, you weren't sure if he even realized what he'd just said. Your body stilled, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

"Really?" Your voice came out quieter than expected, unsure, as if you were waiting for him to backtrack. Trent's brows furrowed slightly at your hesitation.

"Yeah, really," he repeated, tilting his head, studying your reaction. You swallowed hard, licking your lips.

"T... you don't have to say that." you replied worrying this offer was circumstantial.  His lips parted slightly, realization dawning in his dark eyes. 

"Pretty girl," he sighed, his voice softer now. "I want to say it. I mean it." Your breath caught in your throat. "I think it'd be good for us," he continued, his fingers finding your chin, tilting it up just slightly. "Good for you. When the season kicks off, I want to come home to you. No use in being apart when we don't have to be." Your lips parted slightly, heart pounding as he searched your face for anything-doubt, hesitation, uncertainty. But all he found was soft eyes, an even softer smile. "I just always thought..." He paused, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "That's where we were going." Your chest rose and fell a little harder, your fingers curling around his wrist, holding him there.

"We are," you whispered, voice barely above a breath. Then, a giggle slipped from your lips, your nose scrunching slightly. "I'd like that." Trent let out a small, relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing. His expression softened into something completely smitten as he leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your nose.

"Good."

---

“Jack, I’m so sorry.” Your voice was small, hesitant, as you stepped into the  cinema room. Jack had holed himself up in here since yesterday, ever since you’d scarred him for life by getting caught on top of Trent. He hadn’t even gone up to his room last night—he’d slept here instead, fully unwilling to risk hearing anything from upstairs. Now, in the quiet morning light, you finally had a chance to talk, just the two of you. Jack didn’t even look at you at first. His eyes stayed locked on the TV, the remote balanced lazily in his hand. 

“Gross…” he muttered flatly, before finally glancing at you. “Fine, but gross.” His expression was smug, but there was no real malice behind it, and you exhaled with a relieved smile.

“I’m sorry! I forgot you said you were coming back,” you whined, plopping down onto the sofa beside him, tucking your feet up beneath you. Jack scoffed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand, chuckling slightly. It was equal parts acceptance and tease. Still, you couldn’t shake the lingering guilt that gnawed at you. You imagined moments like this, well maybe not exactly like this, you didn’t want to relive this embarrassment but moments of comfort and familiarity with your brother. If you moved out, you wouldn’t have that. You wouldn’t be able to walk to the next room and find him. 

“I am really sorry,” you mumbled, your voice quieter now. Jack must’ve picked up on the shift, because he turned his head to look at you properly, his brows furrowing slightly.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he said, but the usual bite in his voice was gone. Now, there was something softer, something more concerned. “You alright?” You hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the edge of your sleeve.

“Yeah, just… yesterday Trent said something… I don’t know how legitimate it is, but I just don’t know,” you rambled, half-talking to yourself, half-talking to Jack. Jack’s posture stiffened just slightly. His caution was obvious.

“What did he say…?” He asked and your stomach twisted, a lump forming in your throat. You suddenly felt young—like his little sister all over again, sitting beside him, looking to him for reassurance. You swallowed. 

“Erm…” You hesitated for a second longer, then finally forced the words out, barely above a whisper. “He asked me to move in with him.” Jack didn’t react at first. His face didn’t give anything away. You watched him anxiously, waiting for some kind of response—something, anything. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Oh.” Just oh. Your heart sank.

“I don’t have to… because, Jack, you’ve taken care of me my entire life,” you blurted, speaking a mile a minute, terrified he’d be upset. “I know that, and I’m so grateful for everything you do for me. And I know—even if it’s little things—I help out here, so if you want me to—” Jack cut you off, his voice calm but firm. 

“You want to though, yeah?” He asked. His eyes were serious, searching yours. You swallowed hard, nodding sheepishly, lips pouting slightly. Jack sighed, his face softening. 

“Y/N, you’re my little sister… but you’re also an adult. I know that. And you don’t owe me anything.” His lips curled into a small smile, his voice reassuring. “I’d do everything I’ve ever done for you a hundred times over, no questions asked.” It was comforting, but you caught it—the flicker of sadness in his eyes. It was so subtle that no one else would’ve noticed, but you did. The kind of sadness Jack would never put into words.

“Thank you, Jacky,” you murmured, voice quiet as you tried to fight the lump in your throat. You glanced down, then back up at him with wide, hesitant eyes. “I know you’re my big brother, but you do know you’re, like, my best friend too, right?” Jack’s lips twitched into a smirk, but he let you finish. “So if he actually wants me to move in… and if I do… can we still do our things?” You hated how small your voice sounded, but Jack understood instantly.

“’Course,” he said immediately, nudging your ankle playfully. “Always. My best friend too, yeah?” You nodded, lips curling into a small, sad smile. Jack exhaled, leaning back into the sofa. 

“It’ll be good… about time he took you off my hands.” You let out a breathy giggle, but there was a weight to it. A bittersweetness.

“Yeah… about time,” you muttered under your breath. Jack glanced at you, then turned back to the screen. 

“Love you, alright? Where you live doesn’t change that.” You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. Jack’s voice was so steady, but you felt the weight behind it. Then he added, softer this time, “Mum would be really happy. She’d want this for you.” Your heart ached. “She knew you loved him. And he loved you.” You sucked in a breath, eyes welling up. Jack’s jaw flexed as he stared straight at the TV, refusing to look at you. He wasn’t stoic about Mum—not really. He just didn’t let himself show it. But right now, his voice was full of quiet emotion. “I knew too…” he admitted, his tone a little lighter. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t the best cheerleader from the jump, but if you two are happy, I’m happy. She’d be happy. Dad will be too, Y/N.” That was it. That was what broke you. Without a word, you shifted across the sofa, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Jack let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding and instinctively pulled you closer, draping an arm around you. He pressed a firm, warm kiss to the top of your head. “All good,” he murmured. You sniffled, tucking yourself against him. Jack just held you there, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against your arm, neither of you in any rush to move. 

Eventually you settled back into your own seats, You and Jack sat in comfortable silence for a long while, the TV playing in the background though neither of you were really watching.

“Think T’s having a movie night tonight if you’re interested,” Jack muttered eventually, his eyes focused on his phone as he typed out a text.

“I know.” You replied, unphased. Jack’s body tensed for a brief second—just a subtle, unconscious reaction—but you caught it. He still wasn’t used to this. You knew that. But he was trying, and you knew that too. He’d told you as much an hour ago, but you still couldn’t help yourself. “Jack… are you actually okay with this?” You mumbled, voice hesitant. Jack didn’t look at you right away, just let out a slow breath before nodding.

“Yeah. I am.” He confirmed, his tone even, honest. Then, after a beat, his lips twitched into a smirk. “Just don’t hook up with him on the sofa in front of me again and we’ve got no problems.” 

“Oh my God, shut up.” You let out a groan, rolling your eyes as a smile tugged at your lips. Jack just chuckled, shaking his head, clearly pleased with himself.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - okay, now actually The Final Chapter xx

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "Promises in the Dark"

Part 4

Whitney had fallen asleep curled up against your chest, her small breaths warm against your skin. You didn’t dare move, even though your legs were going numb from sitting so long on the couch. Marshall sat beside you, watching you both, his face unreadable.

The house was quiet now, but the weight of the night still pressed down on your chest.

"I meant what I said," you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Marshall’s brow furrowed. "What part?"

You swallowed. "That I can get better."

He exhaled, rubbing his hands together. "You don’t sound sure."

"I’m not."

His jaw tensed, but he nodded. "Then we’ll figure it out."

You glanced at him, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. "It’s not that easy, Marshall."

"I know that." His voice was quiet but firm. "I know it’s not just some switch you can flip. But, baby, you—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "You gotta let me help you. You gotta let us help you."

You looked down at Whitney, her tiny hand still clinging to your shirt even in sleep.

You thought about Hailie and Alaina, their cautious glances, the fear they tried to hide.

You thought about the moment Marshall pulled you from the pool, the way his hands had shaken as he held you, the raw panic in his voice when he begged you to stay.

They were all terrified.

And that—more than anything—was what made your chest tighten.

"I don’t know how to do this," you admitted.

Marshall’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing between yours. "Then let’s start small."

You hesitated. "Small how?"

"Talk to me." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Tell me when it’s bad. When it’s too much. Don’t keep that shit locked up, baby. You don’t have to carry it alone."

Your throat felt tight. "And if I can’t?"

"Then I’ll keep asking until you do."

You let out a slow, shaky breath.

Maybe it wasn’t enough.

Maybe you would slip again.

Maybe the road ahead was long and fucking impossible.

But Marshall wasn’t going anywhere.

And maybe—for tonight—that had to be enough.

The house was quiet in the early morning, the kind of stillness that only came after too many restless nights. You weren’t sure what woke you up, but when you glanced to the other side of the bed, Marshall was gone.

You stretched, feeling the stiffness in your bones, the weight still heavy in your chest. But you got up anyway, pulling on a hoodie before quietly making your way down the hall.

That’s when you heard them.

The girls.

Their voices were hushed, barely above whispers, but the closer you got to the living room, the clearer the words became.

And it felt like someone had taken a bat to your ribs.

"We just have to be ready," Hailie was saying, her voice steady but thick. "If something happens, we can’t let Dad fall apart."

"But what if—" Whitney’s small voice cut in, unsure.

"Don’t say it," Alaina interrupted. "We’re not thinking like that."

A silence stretched between them before Whitney spoke again, softer this time. "But Daddy was really sad before. What if—what if Mommy—" She didn’t finish.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, your stomach twisting.

They were scared.

Not just for you.

For him.

For what losing you might do to him.

And that hurt more than anything.

"He won’t," Hailie said firmly. "We won’t let him. If she—if she gets bad again, we’ll help him. We’ll help her. We just have to be ready."

You backed away before you could hear anything else, heart pounding.

They shouldn’t have had to talk like that.

They shouldn’t have had to plan for something like that.

You had thought your pain was yours alone.

You were wrong.

And now, it was ripping through the people you loved most.

You turned and walked back toward your room, your vision blurred, your breath unsteady.

You had to fix this.

Somehow.

---

The next morning, you woke up with a plan.

You were going to fix this.

You were going to be okay.

Maybe not actually, maybe not deep down, but they didn’t need to know that. They just needed to see you trying. They needed to believe you were getting better.

So you got up before Marshall.

You showered. You put on real clothes. You even brushed your hair and put on a little makeup—not enough to be obvious, but just enough to hide the tired circles under your eyes.

By the time the kids came downstairs for breakfast, you were already at the stove, making pancakes.

"Whoa," Alaina said, stopping in the doorway. "Are we celebrating something?"

"Nope." You flashed her a smile, bright and easy. "Just felt like cooking. Figured everyone could use a good morning for once."

Whitney beamed, immediately pulling herself onto a stool at the counter. "Pancakes!"

"With chocolate chips," you added, winking. "But only if you don’t tell Daddy, ‘cause he’s gonna say it’s too much sugar this early."

"Deal!"

Alaina and Hailie exchanged a glance, quiet for a beat too long. But then Hailie smiled, small but real. "Thanks, Mom."

You nodded, flipping another pancake. "Of course, baby."

Marshall noticed the change immediately.

At first, he didn’t say anything. He just watched.

Watched the way you smiled more. The way you filled the space instead of shrinking into it. The way you kissed his cheek as you passed by, fingers brushing his shoulder.

It should’ve made him feel better.

It did—for a little while.

But then he noticed the little things.

The way your smile never quite reached your eyes.

The way you laughed just a little too easily, like you were forcing it.

The way you were always doing something—cleaning, cooking, fussing over the kids—never sitting still long enough to let your guard drop.

Like if you slowed down, even for a second, it would all come crashing down again.

And that’s when he realized—

You weren’t better.

You were faking it.

And fuck, if that didn’t scare him more than anything.

Marshall didn’t call you out on it. Not right away.

Instead, he watched.

And the longer he watched, the more it ate at him.

You were doing everything you were supposed to do. Smiling, laughing, talking to the kids, even touching him more—lingering kisses, hands brushing against his, soft reassurances that you were okay.

But none of it felt right.

It was too perfect, too carefully curated, like you had rehearsed it in your head before stepping into the room.

It was an act.

And it was killing him to see it.

You should’ve known Marshall would catch on eventually.

You saw it in the way he looked at you, eyes dark with something unreadable. He wasn’t fooled, not really.

But as long as he didn’t say anything, you could keep pretending.

Because you had to.

For him. For the kids.

For yourself.

So when he came up behind you in the kitchen that evening, arms wrapping around your waist, you leaned into him, tilting your head back against his chest. "Hey, baby."

"Hey," he murmured against your hair.

His grip was firm, grounding.

You exhaled, letting your eyes close for just a second.

But then his voice cut through the quiet, soft but heavy—

"How long are you gonna do this?"

Your stomach dropped.

You forced a laugh. "Do what?"

"Pretend."

Your whole body tensed. "I’m not pretending, Marshall."

"Yeah?" His arms tightened slightly, keeping you there, keeping you still. "Then look me in the eye and tell me you’re really okay."

You hesitated—just for a second. But it was long enough.

"That’s what I thought," he muttered, voice rough with something close to frustration.

You turned in his hold, pressing your hands against his chest. "I just—I need to be okay. For you. For them."

"Baby." He shook his head, looking at you like you were breaking his heart. "We don’t need you to act okay. We just need you."

You swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t know how to do that."

Marshall exhaled, hand cupping the back of your head as he pulled you against him. "Then let me help."

And just for a moment, you let yourself lean into him, let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to do this alone.

---

It started slowly.

Late at night, when the house was quiet, when the weight of the day wasn’t pressing down on your chest quite as hard, you let yourself talk.

To Marshall.

Just him.

Because he was the only one who could handle it.

You started with small things. Admitting when you were feeling off, when the weight felt too heavy. Letting him hold you when you felt like you were sinking. Telling him about the bad days instead of burying them.

And Marshall listened.

He never pushed. Never rushed you. He just listened.

And when you couldn’t talk, when the words got stuck in your throat, he still knew. He would hold you, pull you against his chest, and murmur, "I got you, baby. I got you."

And for the first time in a long time, you started to believe it.

But with the kids?

You still faked it.

You still smiled in the mornings, made pancakes with Whitney, helped Hailie with schoolwork, and laughed at Alaina’s sarcastic comments. You still kissed Marshall in front of them, still cracked jokes at the dinner table.

Because they needed that.

They needed to see you happy.

They needed to believe you were getting better.

So you gave them that.

Even when it felt like you were holding it together with nothing but duct tape and a forced smile.

Marshall wasn’t blind to it.

He saw the way you lit up around the kids—how effortlessly you wore the mask. But he also saw the way your shoulders slumped the second they left the room. How your smile dropped the second you thought no one was looking.

And it fucking hurt.

One night, after the kids had gone to bed, he found you sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the TV.

He sat beside you, his arm draping over your shoulders. "You know you don’t have to fake it with them, right?"

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look at him. "I do, though."

"Baby—"

"They need me to be okay, Marshall." You finally looked at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I can’t let them see me like this. They’re already so scared."

His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around your arm. "So you just carry it all on your own?"

You swallowed. "I have you."

Marshall exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Yeah, you do," he murmured. "But I wish you’d let them help too."

You didn’t answer.

Because deep down, you knew he was right.

But you weren’t ready for that yet.

So for now, you’d keep faking.

At least until you figured out how to really be okay.

[nerosukehiro]

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

Levi Ackerman x Female Reader

(Smut)

A/N… all I can say is I’m on my period rn, and I’m going fucking feral for this man.

(Not proof read)

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▄▀▄▀▄▀ ▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Everyday was always the same routine. Eat, train, eat again, train more, eat again then go to bed. Life as a soldier wasn’t so bad. I mean you get a bed, 3 meals a day, form friendships with amazing people and if you’re really lucky you’d get to be Captain Levi’s fuck buddy.

As first it was an accident. We had lost so many people during the mission and I just happened to be there for Levi in that moment. He was frustrated and needed some relief, so I offered a helping hand.

What I didn’t think was that meant he would push me on his desk and rearrange my insides. Instead of my hand it was my pussy, not that I mind though.

The captain may be on the short side but this dude literally has a fucking third leg hidden. Lucky for me I’m shorter so I have to constantly look up to him. Anytime I do he smirks at me which just makes the butterflies in my stomach do dances.

It has been a few months since my first sexual encounter with Humanities Strongest. I assumed it was a one time thing and never again, however, Levi had other plans.

So for the last 4 months we had been screwing around together. It’s a secret neither of us tell other people.

“Cadet Y/N, will you meet me in my office in 10 minutes.” Levi not really asking but commanded. As I was finishing cleaning I looked at him for a second then my eyes shot to Sasha. I quickly looked back at the Captain and he shot me a quick wink and a small smirk.

“Uh yes sir!” I saluted and he walked off making me feel a bit nervous.

“Should I go ahead and plan for your funeral?” Sasha asked me causing me to laugh but also still have fear.

Is he wanting to call it off, did I do something that upset him? Surely not since he winked and smirked at me. But we always wait until everyone is asleep, wonder why he’s wanting to see me now?

“Hey you better get going, wouldn’t want scary man to get mad would we?” Sasha says this making me laugh. She so good, I love her so much.

“Okay, I’ll come find you when I’m done with him.” She nodded and smiled.

“Bye bestie!”

__________________________________________________

Before I could knock on the door, it opened and a hand grabbed my wrist pulling me inside with my body getting pushed up against the wall.

“God I fucking missed you.” Levi grips my face and smashes his lips against mine. “But I thought we agreed to wait until everyone was asleep?” My heart is literally pounding out of my chest.

“About that, I want to change our terms. Come sit with me.” He started walking me toward the couch that was in his office. Before I could sit down he gripped my hips and made sure I sat on his lap.

He looked in my eyes and smiled. This caused me to gasp, I have never seen this man actually smile before.

“Are you okay? You’re acting different.” He started laughing. I tried to get up from his lap but his arms wrapped around my waist pulling me even closer to him making my ass sit right on top of his crotch.

“I’m tired of hiding our relationship, I want everyone to know that you belong to me. I can’t keep watching these pubescent boys stare at what’s mine.”

Is he serious?

“Levi, I thought you said relationships were a waste of time. That was the first thing you said before you fucked me the first time and now you’re jealous of other people looking my way. Why do you care?”

He picked me up bridal style and carried me to his bedroom, gently putting me down on the bed he stayed on his knees at the end. He let out a sigh and looked up at me.

“Because… I- fuck this harder than I thought. I want you. Not just for one night, I want you all the time. I want to wake up to you in the morning or in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. I wanna be able to hold you, kiss you, fuck you whenever I want. I wanna one day marry you and have kids with you if that’s something you’d want. These last 4 months have been the best of my life. Please let me make you mine.”

To say I was at a loss for words was an understatement. So he does feel the same way I do, after all this time? I could tell that he nervous, he was staring into my eyes waiting for me to say something back.

“If you don’t-“ I stopped him from finishing his sentence by giving him a big kiss. “I’ve been waiting to hear this. All I want it you Levi.”

__________________________________________________

“Fuck that’s a good girl, taking my cock so well baby.” Levi praises me. We’ve been going at it for a few hours now. Pretty sure it’s night time since it’s pitch black outside.

“L-Levi I- fuck I’m gonna cum!” This is probably the 8th time I’ve said that sentence. He was deep inside of me, his tip literally kissing my cervix. He was giving me everything and I was loving every second of it.

After we confessed our feelings his face went straight to my pussy making me cum on his tongue 4 times. This man is a hater for dirtiness but loved to make a mess out of me. In fact he took pride in making me squirt with just his tongue alone.

“So deep! So fucking deep baby!”

My throat was so sore from all of the moaning I had been doing. He loved hearing it. It let him know how he was making me feel which was pure pleasure.

“I wanna hear you say who’s owns this pussy.” He demanded and if I wasn’t so cock drunk I would have done as he asked but no. He just has to have a big cock and knows how to use it. He has my eyes crossing, my tongue sticking out. The sound of skin slapping against each other. His heavy balls smacking against my ass and the noises my pussy was making was lewd. Anyone who could walk by Levi’s quarters would be an idiot if they couldn’t figure out what was going on.

As he got tired of waiting, he wrapped his hand around my neck and started to squeeze. “Fu-ck! Yours! MY PUSSY IS YOURS! PLEASE LEVI I NEED TO COME SO SO BAD!!!”

I literally fucking screamed. The way he was hitting spots only he has ever been managed to reach on top of rubbing my clit has me seeing stars. As he kept going I could feeling myself getting ready to squirt again.

Of course I warn him whenever so he has time to stop and not cause a mess to happen. But for some reason Levi did not give a fuck.

“Squirt on this dick baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up so good.” I’ve lost it. Whenever he calls himself that it always makes my pussy 10xs more wet than usual. He knows this, we’ve fucked countless times so of course he does. Drenched his thighs, my bottom half, pretty sure it’s all over his bed too. But yet again he does not fucking care.

“I’m gonna fucking cum in this tight little pussy, maybe get you pregnant, put a ring on the finger and then everyone will know who you belong to. I bet you’d like that huh? Me making you a mommy? Fuck just saying that and your pussy clenched around me.”

The only thing I could say was “Please Daddy! Make me a mommy. I want your cum so bad. Wanna. Feel. Full.”

And just like that he lost it painting my insides white with thick ropes of cum. He smiled at me and gave me a big kiss on the lips before pulling out and getting up to get something to clean me off with.

“So… trying to get me pregnant?” I said as Levi finished cleaning himself and I up. He looked at me and chuckled. “And gonna put a ring on your finger, just you wait. Soon you’ll be Mrs. Y/N Ackerman.”

I gripped his jaw and gave him an another big kiss before saying.

“One step at a time.”

[i-have-anxiety-and-i-write]

1. My headcanon is that my Rook joined the Inquisition as a stupid teenager who lied on their resume (like they were even checking) and did a lot of groundwork. Nothing super important, just work. He and his group found a tear in the Veil near a village and were sitting on it trying to keep people away when a mage fancied they could stabilize it and against everyone’s wishes, tried. The backlash and veil ripping caught Rook square in the face and he hasn’t had good, working eyes since.

2. Rook was always a sickly kid, but once between the cold and dust of the Grand Necropolis he came down with a chest infection that sent his mother into a panic. Luckily she took him to others who could help but the effects lingered for some years after and he’s more prone to respiratory problems.

3. A fellow Mourn Watcher that Rook had a crush on but who only saw Rook as some casual fun and a funny story given Rook is a trans foundling raised by a skeleton. “You could barely notice if you did it from behind.” Needless to say getting sent away was a 50/50 split between relief and missing his mother.

4. For Rook? That’s a tough one. His biggest fear is losing his sight as a most realistic fear but there’s also being alone though he’s pretty self sabotaging there.

5. Definitely the injury to his eyes. It was suddenly a lot more real and a lot less fantasy when the Veil slaps you in the face. He left the Inquisition after that. He went home to the Grand Necropolis and for a while hoped he would never see the sky again. His mother helped nudge him more into the Mourn Watch but it was a rough few years.

6. Yep, see their first love. Mostly he didn’t want to see the red flags or listen to his friend remind him that this guy was bad news. He was just happy someone seemed to be accepting him, until he knew otherwise.

7. Physically Rook can take as much pain as they’re able to compartmentalize. If he can keep it away from his thoughts, he should be okay, until someone mentions it. Then it’s all right there. Granted certain injuries that remind him of his eyes or lungs are harder to ignore. Mentally, he isn’t great though. Again, ignore it, but it cycles more often than not. He’s frightened and anxious, but tries to keep that behind his name. Da’Elgar is frightened, not Rook.

8. A demon of hopelessness

9. Being a rabbit running from a veil tear, trying to dodge everything like a frightened cat with no grace, running on empty but if you slip or slow it will catch you, so run rabbit, run.

10. Oh their Mum. Everytime they visit the Necropolis he has flowers and ties them into her ribcage.

11. Again, sight. He hasn’t done much work towards accepting it and really, he works really hard on everything else to avoid thinking about it.

12. Just about everything. They were dropped in the Necropolis as an infant. They love their mother but I doubt other kids were kind about it. Their first love was an ass. Their work in the Mourn Watch got them sent away. Then stopping Solas’ ritual released two gods. …This isn’t going well.

13. On themselves, eye injury. On others? Anything life threatening.

14. I would say he could choose but if it came down to it, his Mum would choose for him. So, it would be Emmrich which would work out in the end. And he would keep her remains regardless.

15. Losing everyone. The Fade Prison could do it. Cut off with only his own thoughts would drag him under. Make him stop running and let himself be overtaken.

16. Not sure but any demon that could promise to protect his loved ones better than he could.

17. Always.

18. Honestly, prove them right. Prove to them that they’re insignificant, remind them their mother is in the Necropolis sweeping and waiting for a man-child that might not return, tell them everything they did will amount to dust and that’s all the resistance they can muster. Prove them right.

19. Emmrich, Bellara, their Mum, Manfred, Taash, Lucanis… Anyone, it’s the same. Make sure it can’t happen again. Make sure that person, enemy, or group can’t get to them again. There may be a stint where Rook doesn’t even want that person out on the ground anymore, but he can’t reasonably lock them up so he hovers, goes with them, does what he can to keep them safe so he can’t fail again.

20. No. He’d have been ready to stop running. Stop running, let it all catch up because in a way that’s a relief. You failed, it’s time to rest now. But Varric, or his memory of Varric, was there. Then his whole found family team was there. And he didn’t have to keep running but that time it was because others could run for or with him.

21. I don’t think he’d have any, but if he did, probably, “About time.”

Put your Rook Through The Horrors™

Feel free to answer some of these for pre-game as well! :)

What is the worst they've ever been injured?

What is the worst they've ever been sick?

What is the worst heartbreak they've ever experienced?

What would fearlings look like to them?

What event brought them to their lowest, mentally? How did they act during this time?

Have they ever been in any unhealthy relationships? This doesn't necessarily have to be romantic.

How high is their physical pain tolerance? Do they ever show if they're in pain? What about their mental pain tolerance? How easy would it be to break them down?

What kind of demon would emerge from them had they been subject to Zara's experiments?

What would a nightmare tailored to their worst fears look like?

Who do they miss the most?

Which one of their senses would they fear losing the most?

What do they doubt most about themselves? Why? Where did this come from?

What kind of injury scares them the most?

Think of the two people they are closest to. They can only save one. Who are they choosing?

What is the one thing that would make them lose all hope?

What kind of demon would be most successful in tempting them? What offer would it have given them?

Have they ever felt insignificant? To the world? To their faction? To their loved ones?

Which one of their insecurities would be the easiest to take advantage of?

One of their loved ones just got grievously injured by their enemies. Who was it? How do they react?

Deep down, did they truly believe they'd be able to get out when they were trapped in the Fade?

What would their last words be?

[autism-alley]

HI DONT READ THIS IF YOU DONT WANT PJO FINALE SPOILERS

SALLY DOESNT KILL GABE???????? SALLY DOESNT KILL GABE!!!!!! RICHARD RUSSELL RIORDAN JUNIOR. IM COMING FOR UR ASS, BOY

[kacievvbbbb]

Truly from the depths of my struggling heart. Viva La Vida by Coldplay belongs to one Toshinori Yagi aka the one and only All Might.

Coldplay should just sign over the rights of the song at this point promptly too.

[loderlied]

i need you all to know that the main reason (besides a general hunger for attention) niles even accepts aldori’s call is because he got caught stealing his student’s work and passing it off as his own and his reputation as a teacher was obviously ruined. lmao

[moonglowmagic]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Really cause I thought jokes were suppose to be funny.” She shot back sarcastically as well. “Yes, but you never know how well the floor was cleaned or who was here before us. “Yep us pixies are valuable I guess.” Shrugging at his words before letting the subject drop. 

She hated when he called her Dilan, it always made her feel like she was in trouble with the principle rather than just using her name because he could. “I thought you wanted to pretend it didn’t happen, Song. So why would I bring it up?” She explained back with a soft voice. “Yeah I did, because you didn’t seem the least bit enthusiastic to be kissing me. I don’t want it to be some fucking chore you just do because you’re obligated or fear it’ll turn things awkward if you don’t.” Feeling frustrated at his words and she let out a sigh. “You honest to god don’t get why I feel so rejected do you?” Maybe it was a boy thing or her just reading into it all too much. “How could you not?” Letting her hands drop to her sides before she looked away from him and stared at the wall. “I don’t want to have to ask you Song. I want you to kiss me because you want too, but I’m the one making all the moves here.” She complained, it was frustrating for her that it felt like she had to do everything between them. “Yes, with a less than enthusiastic yes. Song I don’t want to just kiss you to kiss you and you treat it like a chore. I want you to want to kiss me back. I don’t think that’s asking too much here.” Sighing heavily, she finally brought her eyes back to his.

“Then how do you feel? Because right now I’m getting no signals and feel crazy.” She’d spent so much time trying to read into everything that she was tired. “You kissed the ghost back still. I was there. I’m just saying you made it further with a ghost than you ever have me.” She continued on for a long moment until he brushed off her hand, she pulled it to her chest. “No, god no. But—“ She tried to explain but stopped herself from going further. “Fine. I like you. Full stop there.” Shutting up after that and she looked up at him waiting for some kind of response from him. 

“It's called a joke, Princess, even though I highly doubt the floor is that dirty. Isn't this, this place's opening?" He pointed out, rolling his eyes lightly over as he watched her snip at him. "Shit. That's a lot of money for a kiss," He accessed, not that he needed money or pixie luck for that matter, but it seemed like it would be a pretty lucrative business for Kaye if that was the going rate.

He stood there with his brows raised as he waited for Dilan to elaborate and, while he wasn't all that surprised that she said 'you' given how she told him to forget the whole thing before attempting to run off again, he was confused as to what she could possibly be referring to. "Dilan," He blinked over at her as he told her what he had thought had been obvious. "I didn't reject you. You were drunk, I was not. Not to mention I was at work, Todd was there and, you never brought it up again, so I assumed you wanted to pretend it never happened. As for your birthday, you asked me if you could kiss me- not if I could kiss you- to which I said yes, only for you to storm out of the room and, when I tried to follow you, I was jumped and kidnapped. Where was the rejection either of those times? When I drove you home?" He asked forthright, genuinely taken aback as to where all of this was coming from. "I didn't know you liked me. I had an idea you might be attracted to me, but if you want me to kiss you, you could just ask or kiss me? I already told you, you could."

"Oh, are you? Well, thank you for telling me how I feel. That really clear things up for the both of us," The sarcasm slipped from his tongue, only for his eyes to widen once more at the mention of the ghost. "What in the- We both know that when you were possessed, the ghost inhabiting your body, kissed me. I didn't initiate that and-" His words were cut off once more as Dilan admitted to him that she liked him. A moment of vulnerability he would have responded to if she didn't carry on talking about how he should just hurry up and reject her. His brows creased. His eyes falling down to the reassuring hand placed on his arm as he brushed off her touch and asked her point blank, "Do you want me to reject you? Because as far as I can see it, you've already made up your mind as to how this conversation will go."

[itsalwaysforyou]

jay not asking coach about letting lonnie onto the team bc he doesn’t want to do anything coach might disagree with…….

[hobisexually]

x

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference] reacting to someone flirting with their s/o + jealousness

I'll be honest, I had like four headcanons on jealousy (and five on pregnancy, curse on you and your baby fever), so making this headcanon became a priority. Plus, I tried to make it a bit longer. As usual, under the "read more" line, you'll find both my other project for Arcane (a series of vintage-style posters) and my other socials in case you want to follow me because you love me too much.

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky |

poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster 1| | Silco poster 2| |Silco poster 3| | Steb poster |

Jayce:

- He’s not the type to cause a scene, nor is he the aggressive kind.  

- When someone flirts with you in front of him for the first time, he’s confused for a few seconds.  

- The problem begins when the thought starts settling, stagnating, thickening like sediment at the bottom of a bottle. Was the person really hitting on you, or is he just being paranoid?  

- Did they not realize you were together? Or did they do it on purpose?  

- It doesn’t take long for him to start ignoring you, not even on purpose—he suddenly forgets he’s a scientist, a successful adult man, and spirals into a crisis.  

- What if he’s not enough? What if that person realized before him that he wasn’t suited for you?  

- You notice something’s off, but he doesn’t say a word. If it happens again, his fists clench, he feels like the world is collapsing on him, and if it persists, he leaves without even thinking.  

- He doesn’t want to witness that scene; he’s terrified that you might accept the flirtation, that you’ll realize he’s not good enough for you.  

- And if you’re going to leave him, he doesn’t want to see it with his own eyes.  

- Eventually, he’ll be the one to bring up the subject, just to tell you that if you’re tired of him, he won’t hold it against you and that he understands.  

- It’s not true, but he wants to seem mature. He wants to be a good partner until the end and almost breaks down when you reassure him that you don’t want to leave him, that he is enough.

 Viktor:

- Pre-"Arcane s1-tamed" Viktor would snap at the person flirting with you or insult them under his breath.  

- In the wrong moment, with enough alcohol in his system, his reaction could even turn violent.  

- Viktor gets jealous with anger—a mix of fear of being mocked, the lack of control over the situation, and his sense of replaceability set him off.  

- But he’s also an adult. He’ll try to make peace with himself before talking to you about it.  

- Post-"Arcane-tamed" Viktor observes you, tries to read your signals. He’s irritated but keeps calm and even interrupts the situation, pointing out that the two of you have things to do.  

- He doesn’t wait long to bring it up and is straightforward: “Do you like him?”  

- His jealousy is laced with sadness. The thought of losing your warmth, intimacy, and everything he has with you makes him feel empty.  

- He knows he’s often absent because of his research, that it’s hard to be with someone with “special needs” because it can be limiting at times. He’s aware of his unique personality and his background. His anger quickly shifts to resignation, becoming a quiet sorrow.  

- When you try to reassure him, his response is even sadder: “I know I’m hard to love. I don’t blame you.”  

- When someone hits on you, as soon as you’re alone, he holds you closer. During cuddles, he breathes in your scent deeply, as if trying to memorize you in case he will ever have to remember you.

 Ekko:

- At the Tree, it’s pretty normal. They share everything, and everyone is just very friendly. If someone flirts with you at the Firelight hideout, he laughs, jokes, and stays calm.  

- The problem arises outside of that safe space.  

- When someone from outside flirts with you, he’s stunned for a moment, but if it continues, he leaves before you can even respond.  

- He knows that if he stayed, things might escalate.  

- “I didn’t like how that guy was talking to you,” he blurts out when you try to talk to him, but it’s obvious the issue cuts deeper than that. His tone and downcast eyes reveal that it’s more significant than it seems.  

- Living at the Tree has taken your relationship to a deeper level. You take care of the kids together, share everything, and live as part of a big interconnected family.  

- The idea of someone threatening the peace of his home, his family, makes him feel like those things he takes for granted could suddenly change. 

- That tomorrow, you might no longer be his “married” partner but two strangers.

 Vander:

- Vander is too old to be jealous, and has been in enough strange and ambiguous situations not to overreact.  

- If someone flirts with you, maybe at the bar in front of him, he chuckles to himself, commenting only after the person leaves that you’re so attractive no one can resist you.  

- He doesn’t like it, but it often makes him smile to see others recognize what he sees in you.  

- On the night when someone is particularly persistent or you seem to laugh more than usual, he taps his finger on the bar, contemplating what to do. When he catches your eye, he simply mouths, “If you want to go, don’t worry—I’ll close the bar.”  

- It’s not about being open to a polyamorous relationship, don’t misunderstand. He believes that a relationship should be based on the fact that you actively choose to be with him, not on obligation. That’s why he gives you the freedom to back out if you want.  

- When you shake your head, refuse the other person, and stay with him—maybe touching his hand at the bar when he has a moment of peace—he looks at you with an indescribable tenderness.  

- “I’m glad you’re here with me,” he whispers when you’re finally alone, holding you tightly in his arms.  

Silco:

- On one hand, he’s too old to make a scene, but when he sees someone flirting with you right in front of him, something inside him falters.  

- Being able, after so many years, to form such a deep bond with someone put him in a state of comfort he hadn’t realized might one day be taken away.  

- Suddenly, that possibility becomes real, vivid. Outwardly, he shows no emotion and doesn’t lose his composure for even a moment—because if he did, he might lose control. But inside, he feels like he’s dying.  

- If you laugh a little too much or don’t explicitly reject the person, the turmoil inside him intensifies rapidly.  

- He’s been through too much, and his mind is wired to “strike before being struck,” which is why he immediately becomes colder, seeking emotional distance to avoid being vulnerable.  

- He’s not the king of good communication. If you try to ask him what’s wrong, he’ll dodge the question. It’ll take a lot of effort on your part to understand what triggered his behavior, to talk to him and reassure him gently, never too directly.  

- You’ll need to show him, through actions, that you haven’t left and don’t plan to before he starts acting normal again—becoming more physically affectionate when you’re alone.  

 Jinx:

- Jinx is possessive and jealous, living in constant fear of being both not enough and too much at the same time—of losing everything she has and being abandoned by anyone who can still leave her.  

- It’s in those rare moments when the buzzing behind her eyes quiets, when she’s at rest, that for a single second, just one fleeting instant, she allows herself to forget that fear.  

- And then, when you’re together, and someone pays you a compliment that makes you laugh, something snaps in her head.  

- Do you know them? Why are they so friendly? Why don’t you say something? Why did you stop walking? Walk, dammit, walk. Why are they touching your shoulder? Why don’t you stop them? Why don’t you stop them? WHY DON’T YOU STOP THEM.  

- The likelihood that the person who flirted with you ends up found the next day with a broken limb in a dumpster is extremely high.  

- But even that doesn’t calm her. When you get home, she isolates herself, spiraling into thoughts that maybe, if you could, you’d have gone with that person or followed them.  

- She’ll need lots of affirmation and both verbal and physical reassurance before she calms down.  

Vi:

- Her jealousy exists, it’s there, but she expresses it in a very straightforward way.  

- Having been forced to grow up too quickly and unable to throw tantrums because she was responsible for her siblings, her emotions have always been carefully bottled up and dealt with through questionable coping mechanisms.  

- Sure, having someone by her side now means she can’t go brawling in the streets, especially when the reason feels so trivial.  

- Usually, she doesn’t even pay much attention to it, but this time, exhaustion, stress, or a moment of vulnerability probably made the situation unbearable.  

- And as always, if you have questions no one can answer, the solution is probably at the bottom of a glass.  

- She doesn’t want to burden you with how she feels; it’s not even your fault, and she knows it’s stupid to feel this way. But when she’s forced to confront the idea that you may not a constant in her life, that maybe you want something better, something more—at that moment, she needs to get out, to scream, to punch something, with enough alcohol in her system to pass out in an alleyway.  

- She struggles to talk about it, hates making you responsible for her emotions, and hates that she has to make you worry when it’s not your fault.  

- When you bring it up and try to approach her with an attitude that makes her feel reassured, she has moments of being emotionally fragile, more vulnerable than usual.  

 Caitlyn:

- This woman is a lady killer—it’s sadly very normal for people to get jealous of her.  

- At work, during conferences, or noble meetings, she’s used to people flirting with her. That’s why, when she sees someone flirting with you, her first thought is that they might be making you uncomfortable.  

- If she sees you’re actually uncomfortable, she’ll personally step in to ensure the other person leaves.  

- If she doesn’t see you uncomfortable, she’ll observe you for a few minutes, becoming distracted and absent from her own conversations, lost in analyzing what she’s seeing. -However, she dislikes waiting to address issues, so expect her to ask if something is wrong between the two of you as soon as you’re home.  

- Caitlyn’s issue is that her thoughts ferment. If she doesn’t address the matter immediately, each day will make her mood worse, leading to unnecessary tension.  

- She might not shake off that strange feeling immediately and could remain distant until the next day, but it’s not punitive. Her emotions catch her off guard and make her colder unintentionally.  

- She’ll make up for it completely the following day.  

- She’ll also ensure she gets matching rings for both of you, so they can serve as a signal to others.  

 Mel:

- For Mel, jealousy is just bitterness.  

- She doesn’t show it. Her training in always appearing reliable and cordial means she’s adept at masking her feelings. So, when she sees someone flirting with you at a gala, her gaze lingers for just a few moments before she returns to smiling at her conversation partner.  

- A little passive-aggressive, with comments like “I saw you had fun” or “So, tell me about…”—but not meant to provoke you.  

- She’s the first to acknowledge that at meetings and galas, one must be adaptable, charming, smiley, and captivating. She knows that flirting is often part of the façade or just a small piece of a larger strategy, so what may sound like provocation is usually her way of asking what was on your mind.  

- Her bitter jealousy becomes stronger and more genuine when there’s no strategy, no deeper game, but the person continues attending events and spends all their time trying to flirt with you. In these cases, she won’t hesitate to interrupt with a firm, “Excuse us,” and lead you to the balcony.  

- No scene, no lecture—just a curt and slightly sad, “I only ask that you don’t make a fool of me.”  

- When reassured that there was never even the intention of doing so, she becomes almost an accomplice. Have fun (within limits), gather amusing or trivial information, and tell her all about it later when you’re alone under the sheets.  

 Sevika:

- Sorry to disappoint, but she’s the least jealous character here.  

- Her most stable relationships have all been at the brothel. If someone flirts with you, she’ll wait until the person leaves to comment on how slimy they were or how you seem to attract everyone without exception.  

- Zaun is precarious; her job is precarious; even staying alive is extremely precarious. She doesn’t have time for jealousy. To her, it wouldn’t make sense to get angry or even cause a scene just because someone flirts with you when she can’t be around much or offer you stability herself.  

- She knows perfectly well that her mechanical arm, her boss, her boss’s daughter, the drug use, and the dangerous work she does make her someone it’s hard to stay close to. But this doesn’t make her insecure—rather, it makes her grateful.  

- It’s your choice to stay by her side, and if you ever want to leave, she believes you should feel free to do so without fearing any outburst from her.  

- When you reassure her that you’d never betray, replace, or leave her, she pulls you close with one arm, kisses your forehead, and gives the faintest smile.  

- That said, if someone flirts too much and you complain about their persistence, Sevika will handle it diplomatically—by picking them up and slamming them against the wall in front of you, making sure the point sinks in effectively.