#i’ll remember one day stay tuned

[homelanderpilled]

my poor angel i was gonna say something really deep and philosophical about how tragic he is but his stupid eyes captivated me too much i forgot

[whoreforsexymen]

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

[squipa]

the silver lining’s i’ll be there with you

aka hcs about jason, your loyal knight

———

knight!jason who spent years training, honing his abilities and fine tuning every sense so he could be the finest soldier in gotham’s army. he was a weapon, strong and disciplined, a hero in every battle. such intense dedication was why he was personally assigned with the position of your personal knight by the king.

knight!jason who had to fight to remember everything he had worked towards when he laid eyes on you. he was a warrior, forged in fire and steel. but around you? he couldn’t focus. your delicate form, your beauty, your ethereal glow. you who smiled at him like he was a man and not a soldier, who was kind and trusting and spoke to him so freely it made his heart flutter. you, who saw him as a friend, rather than a weapon. he had never been in love, nor had he imagined himself capable of it. he hadn’t realized how easy it had been for you to melt away his hard-shell exterior until you had already wormed your way into his heart.

knight!jason who had no idea how to react to his overwhelming feelings for you. despite your constant proximity to him, his heart couldn’t help but flutter whenever you looked to him with those bright, kind eyes. he couldn’t help the pink that dusted his cheeks (hence why he kept his helmet on as often as you would let him) when you would wipe the sleep from your eyes and ask him to hold you close and protect you from the nightmares that plagued your mind each night. he couldn’t help but turn into a flustered, babbling mess whenever he tried to speak to you, any eloquence he had gone out the window in the days he spent watching over you.

knight!jason who slowly became your best friend. who would stay up late into the night to speak with you, answering any questions you would ask him, for how could he deny you? he’d make sure to stay awake long after you fell asleep, watching over you like you were the most precious thing in the world (to him, you were).

knight!jason who had to conceal his rage when it was announced you were to be betrothed to some beastly prince. he couldn’t let you see how he shook in anger, the last thing he wanted was to frighten you. you did your best to conceal your sorrow, putting on a brave face and spewing nonsense about your duty, but jason heart broke with yours. you shouldn’t be burdened with such a fate, it killed him to see you suffer. he cursed his position, for how could a princess, a woman of such divinity and grace, ever love him back?

knight!jason who wiped your tears, who held you close, and who leaned in for a kiss that never seemed to end, one of such passion and fervor he knew he had found his true love. “i may not offer you title or wealth. i may not offer you stability, or power, or any of the luxuries i wish i could give you. perhaps i am not the man that you deserve. but all i am is my love for you, it burns in my heart and consumes my very being. i may only offer you my affections, true and eternal, and the promise that in my arms you will always be safe and adored.”

knight!jason who sweeps you off of your feet, assures you that you won’t have to worry about a thing, “i’ll take care of everything, my love.” he takes you in the night, holding you against his chest as you ride out of the kingdom on horseback. you settle in a village, and you are no longer a princess and he is no longer a knight, but a man and a woman in love.

———

i’ve been working on a bigger fic but i wanted to keep y’all fed… i wrote this extremely sleep deprived and burnt out </3 not my best work but i hope y’all enjoy!!

[venusalexian]

solet • everything under control

barça femení x teen!reader in which the younger players are worried about a B team player and they make it Alexia’s problem, and you learn that maybe letting people care for you isn’t that bad

When Alexia finishes training, she’s looking forward to quickly showering and rushing home, where her newly-arrived-from-a-work-trip girlfriend and leftovers from dinner at her mami’s house the night before are waiting for her. Her plans are quickly derailed when she enters the locker room. In a corner, a group of the youngest members of the team are huddled, rapidly speaking over each other with concerned expressions. Yeah, she’d definitely have to do damage control before making it home.

Surprisingly, she does not even have to force one of them to confess to whatever mess they had got themselves into this time. Vicky, Jana, Kika and Sydney approach her themselves before she can move to their side.

“Hey Capi, do you have a minute?” Okay, now she really is worried. If Vicky is approaching her so bashfully, something must be really wrong.

“Always. What have you all done now?”

“Nothing! Honestly Ale, so rude to make that assumption.” Jana responds, exasperatedly.

“Okay, let’s focus here, please” redirects Kika quickly.

Alexia waits for one of them to continue, but they all seem suddenly nervous and out of words.

Unexpectedly, it is Sydney, the youngest and shiest of the group, who breaks the silence.

“Do you remember the 15-year-old girl from the B team? She was in the group that joined training on Saturday.” Alexia nods. Of course she does. After their Supercopa win, they had decided to have a joint training with the B team, looking to source for up-and-coming talents. At just a couple months away from turning 16, you had amazed her. You had a great eye for plays, reading the game perfect and providing key pass after key pass. A perfect midfielder, only still slightly too young to transition into the first team. She does not understand why her teammates are bringing you up now, though.

“Well, the girls got worried because she wasn’t there when they came to see our game this weekend.” Sydney continues. “And I told them that she has been more distracted lately and showing up late to training. Our coaching team is more angry than concerned and we all think something is going on but we have no idea what to do.”

“So, um, we were thinking you could use your position as captain to try to find out more from the club? Please, Ale?” Jana finishes Sydney’s speech.

Alexia loves to see that you have already made a mark on the other players, and she feels so proud that they are looking after a younger player like she does for them.

“Okay.” Alexia sighs. “I’m not sure how much I can do, but I’ll keep an eye on it and ask some questions. Now, all of you a la ducha. C’mon kids, you stink!” The younger players roll their eyes at Alexia’s remark, but smile at her promise. They know she means it.

When Saturday comes along, you are surprised to find so many first team players at your match, including all four captains. It makes you even more nervous for today’s game. You had left your home after making sure your grandparents were set for the day and the neighbor was staying around to keep an eye on them. You do not wanna disappoint your team for a second week straight. And you know that another absence would get you benched. You had fought hard for your starting spot during the past year, having to prove yourself twice as much due to your age. You couldn’t give it up now.

You stretch with your team try to ignore the presence of the older players. Once the game starts, though, it is just you and the game. You tune out the yelling from the stands, your worry for your grandparents and your exhaustion after your abuelo’s surgery last week had meant a couple nights of sleeping in uncomfortable hospital chairs and getting up extra early to go to school.

It is a great match, especially for you. Two goals and an assistance later, you are beaming as they declare you player of the game. You are so relieved that such a good performance would quiet the concerns over your commitment to the club in the last couple of weeks.

You rush to the locker room, wanting to make it home as soon as possible and help your grandparents with their evening routine. But before you can run out the grounds to catch the train, you feel a hand tapping your back. Sydney, one of the kindest members of your team, is smiling at you. You also really admire her and the work she had been doing with the first team.

”Hey, congrats on the goals and thanks for the assist! The girls from the first team were telling me to bring you over. You made a mark during the joint training and they wanna congratulate you too. Wanna come?” You cannot believe what you are hearing. You forget all about the train you’re supposed to catch and nod enthusiastically. “Ye-yeah, let’s go!”

She smiles at you and pushes you towards the exit. The girls are waiting around in the parking lot. Vicky and Jana are the first to approach you, as you had attached yourself more to them during the training due to your closer ages. The rest come behind them, and you try not to blush when the older players congratulate you. You probably fail. The conversation moves from talking about your game to their future duels.

By the time you realise, an hour has gone by and the chances of you making it on time for dinner are slim. Your realization must have shown in your face, as Alexia touches your arm and frowns at your expression. “All good?”

“Yeah, I just…” You are unsure whether to share your concern, why would she care? But something in the kindness she has shown during the conversation, asking for your input and making sure you felt integrated, and the openness in her expression when she asks, moves you to respond. “I was supposed to be home already, and I’m not sure when the next train that reaches my town passes.” You worry at your lip.

“Would it be okay if I drive you then? It’ll be faster.” You’re shocked at her offer.

“Ye-yeah, that would be great.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.” You’re both too busy saying your goodbyes to realize your smile has faltered and the pointed glances that Alexia is receiving.

The drive to your home is mostly silent after you give Alexia your address. She is shocked at how far away from the city it is, and you’re uncomfortable at her realization of how much time you spend commuting to training using public transport. The silence is not necessarily awkward though. The soft radio music and the constant thrum of the car settle you into a warm comfort. You feel cared for by an adult, instead of being worried about them, for the first team in a while. Alexia breaks the silence mid-way though.

“What happened last weekend? You weren’t there.” She flinches at her own tactlessness, but isn’t willing to let it go.

You squirm, not sure how much you’re comfortable sharing. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry like this, you barely know me. The girls were worried though, so I asked your coaching team and they also didn’t know. Is everything okay?” It takes you a bit to take in her words. You feel warmth at the girls’ concern, but uncomfortable at the idea of people talking about you and trying to pry about your life. You’re used to doing everything yourself, and having other people involved is weird. Still, the kindness and concern are obvious in her voice and expression, so you decide to give a bit of information in the hopes that she will understand and leave it behind.

“Just some family things. All good though, it’s solved and I’m 110% committed to the team.”

“I never thought you weren’t. Just wanted to make sure you’ve got the support you need.” That leaves you silent again. You do, right? You don’t want to worry anyone because you don’t need it. You’ve got everything under control and things are okay.

“I do! Yeah.”

“Good, good.”

You return to silence for the rest of the drive, but both of you are stuck in the other's words.

When the car comes to a stop outside your home, you’re turning around to thank Alexia for the ride but she’s opening her own door and walking towards your door. The sight spurs you o, and you run to the door to reach her before she has a chance to ring the bell.

“You don’t have to come in!” Alexia raises an eyebrow.

“Thank you for driving me, it was so nice of you but I’m all good to go from here.” You quickly add. She frowns, and looks ready to contradict you but your conversation is interrupted by the door opening.

“Good, you’re here! I heard the car coming and was unsure but I’m glad you got someone to drive you instead of catching the train so late, mi vida.” Your grandma is smiling at you from the door, and you forget about your conversation with Alexia in favor of hugging her. When you, after a few seconds, come out of the hug, Alexia’s eyes are back to a soft expression.

“Both of you, in you go! Dinner is at the table ready.”

“Uh… Grandma, this is…”

“Oh, mi vida. I know perfectly well who she is considering how much you talk about her and her career.”

You’ve already blushed a lot today, but now surely you must be the reddest so far. Alexia practically coos at the statement, proud to be a good role model for young players like you, but she’s reluctant to take your grandma’s offer.

“Thank you for the invitation but I would not want to impose on your dinner.”

“Nonsense. It’ll take too long for you to get back to the city. Stay. Dinner is with your team’s rules on diet for mi nieta so I’m sure it’s suitable for you too.”

Alexia seems to be weighing her options. She doesn’t want to impose but she does want to get a better understanding of your situation so she can give a calming response to the girls.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

As you all walk toward the living room, your grandma must notice your inquisitive looks and reluctance to ask.

“He’s all good, mi vida. We both had dinner an hour ago, and the neighbor came by to help me get him ready for bed. He’s sleeping now, don’t you worry.” You still feel guilty. You should have been here to help make dinner and make sure they took their meds and get them ready for bed.

“Now sit, both of you. I set another plate when I saw you came accompanied by car. I am gonna go to bed myself now. You both have a good night. And a safe trip back home for you Alexia.”

As she takes her leave up the stairs, the room is left silent until Alexia breaks it.

“Alright kid, let’s have dinner then.”

You’re on auto-pilot as you sit down at the table and start to eat, your mind still stuck on all the things you hadn’t been here for.

“So, are your parents out of town for the night?” You swallow audibly. You don’t like to talk about this, but you know she won’t let it go.

“No, um, no. It’s just us three.” You avoid her gaze, not wanting to see the usual look of pity you receive.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that sucks.” You can tell she’s flinching.

“It’s always been the three of us. I was a baby when they passed.” You shrug.

You dare look at her, and her expression surprises you. There’s still the pity you hate, but there’s also an understanding. Right, her dad. Your circumstances might be different, but she does know loss.

“So, um, you help around a lot then?”

“Ye-yeah.” You don’t want her to doubt your commitment to the club though. “But I make it work! I have a good grasp on my schedule and great discipline.”

“I don’t doubt it, you’re such a solet.” (good kid, but also literally little sun)

She smiles so kindly at you it overwhelms you. The conversation shifts to lighter topics, about your play style, both of your future games and even sharing small glimpses of each other’s lives. When you're done, she helps you clean up the table and dishes, it only takes a few minutes with her help.

“I’m gonna go home now, I don’t want my girlfriend to wait until late for me. Please tell your grandma thank you for the meal, it was delicious, and that you have a beautiful home.”

“Yeah, of course.” You smile easily now, her presence comforting.

“And you… you’re doing well. Believe it. But please also let yourself seek help when you need it. You’re not alone. Rely on your team and your coaches. You’re just a kid, let the adults take care of you, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yes, thank you again for driving me home.” You weren’t sure how much you could let go of the tight control you held in your life, but it felt nice to be told that you weren’t alone.

“Of course, my pleasure. I am happy to help. I’ll see you soon, yeah, solet?” 

And as you watch her drive out of your driveway, you cannot imagine how true that is.

~~~~~ an:

yay! thank you for reading!

first work uploaded. kinda nervous to get this out there but excited to start sharing my work. (please be nice to me)

I already have some ideas for this universe but I’ll be super happy to receive requests and asks about it, or any other universes you’d like to see from me :))

xoxo, a.c.

part 2 now up!

[harryslittlefreakk]

recipe for disaster

summary: y/n is a stubborn, clumsy baker and harry is a stubborn, overbearing firefighter

warnings: none!

wordcount: 4k

a/n: hi my friends 💐 this is basically just setting up the story lolll it was meant to be longer but who has the time for that!! stay tuned for part 2 <3

masterlist 🫶🏼

Nothing felt better than a warm shower after a long day. Steam swirled all around you, the hot water pounding away the day’s fatigue - the morning rush, the non-stop hum of the mixers, the relentless work to keep trays filled with gingerbread men and warm cinnamon rolls.

You had always been proud of the bakery. The satisfaction of seeing customers bite into your creations - it was all yours. Every flaky croissant, every gooey cinnamon roll, every crusty loaf bore the unmistakable mark of your hands.

And that’s why, no matter how many times Claire told you to hire some more help, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. “You can’t keep this up alone,” she’d said in mid-October, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while you worked. You were wrist-deep in bread dough, kneading away as though the flour had wronged you.

“I’m fine,” you’d replied, the words curt and clipped. “It’s my kitchen. I’ve got it under control.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. She never did. “Christmas is coming, y/n. Orders are already piling up, and it’s not even December. This is too much for one person.”

You waved her off, refusing to look up. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

But you hadn’t done it like this before. Back then, the bakery wasn’t so popular. There weren’t stacks of orders for holiday cakes, tins of cookies, and towers of Christmas pies. There wasn’t the constant pressure of phone calls and emails asking if you could squeeze in “just one more order.”

By the time December rolled around, you were drowning.

The days started earlier and ended later, the hours slipping away as you raced to keep up. You woke in darkness, stumbling into the bakery before the sun rose. Your hands ached from kneading, your back throbbed from bending over the ovens, and your head buzzed with the endless list of things to do. And yet, you’d refused to admit you needed help.

“I’m worried about you,” Claire had said one night, her voice soft but firm. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen again, watching as you haphazardly piped frosting onto yet another tray of sugar cookies. Your shoulders were slumped, your apron streaked with berry juice and chocolate.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, though even you didn’t believe it.

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted. You’re going to make mistakes.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. The words echoed in the kitchen, the air growing heavy. Claire didn’t reply. She just shook her head and left you to your chaos.

She was right. You knew she was right. And you knew that she’d snitch to your brother, who’d stop by to ask why you weren’t listening to his wife. Only to be followed by your parents, who’d ask why you weren’t listening to your brother.

They only cared for your well-being. They wanted you to succeed as much as you wanted to succeed. But you didn’t remember a time when the bakery wasn’t your baby. It had been your dream, your refuge, and your pride all wrapped into one - a living, breathing extension of yourself. The idea of sharing that, of letting someone else touch what you had built, felt like carving off a piece of your soul.

You squeezed your eyes shut until the screams of voices and thoughts were tiny whispers in the back of your mind, letting the water cascade over you, enveloping you in its warmth. The sound of the spray drowned out the noise in your head, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of orders, burnt loaves, and your own stubborn pride. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the water, the steam curling around you, and the faint rhythm of your breathing as you tried to piece yourself back together.

Every muscle ached, but the heat soothed it all into blissful numbness. It was pure paradise - at least until a rock came flying through your bathroom window, shattered glass crashing all over your tiles. What the fuck?

You turned the shower off with shaking hands, adrenaline coursing through your body. The cold winter air filled the room quickly, the evening wind whistling through the smashed pane.

You slipped your robe on with a groan, the fleece clinging to your damp skin.

That’s when the sound reached you - the incessant wailing of the smoke alarm from downstairs. Your stomach dropped. The bakery.

You’d sworn to be more switched on, to actually check the ovens before you retreated to your apartment. But the days were long, and your brain was goo by the time you waved the last customers out of the door.

The floors were wet beneath your feet as you slipped and skidded down the stairs, your mind cycling through every possibility of what would await you. A burglar who decided to commit arson? Your entire kitchen alight? The flower store next door burned to the ground, your beloved bakery an unfortunate casualty?

You reached for the light switch tentatively, your eyes landing on a curl of dark smoke seeping from the oven door. The entire bakery was dim, your soft lighting no match for the cloud hanging over the room.

That fucking deafening beeping was doing nothing to calm you down. You grabbed the broom, jabbing at the smoke alarm, and of course, missing the button every time, your hands shaking as the panic turned to adrenaline in your veins. Your free hand flapped wildly under the sensor, desperately trying to just Stop. The. Beeping.

“Hello? Let me in!”

A deep, husky man’s voice. The same man who was also pounding on your front door, his face pressed up against the glass.

If good things came in threes, how many bad things were you supposed to get at one time?

Your priorities might have been skewed, as they usually were, but getting rid of the axe murderer at your door was suddenly the most important thing in the world to you.

You charged towards the door, broom still in hand, throwing it open with a noise not too far from a growl. “It’s really not ideal for you to murder me right now! Come back later,” you shouted over the smoke alarm.

“I’m not- what?”

Okay, the murderer had a hot voice. But he was still a murderer. You pushed the door closed with your shoulder, but he wedged his shoe in the doorway, halting your attempt to shut him out. You glared down at the offending foot, your grip on the broom tightening.

"Look, I'm just trying to help," he said, holding his hands up. "I’m a firefighter. Saw smoke pouring out of your oven.”

“Help with what, exactly?” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, or how his green eyes sparkled with the thrill of, presumably, rescuing reckless strangers. “Didn’t know firefighters made house calls.”

“Only the off-duty ones with nothing better to do,” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. "Now, can I come in and shut that alarm off for you, or are you planning to fight it out with your smoke detector all night?"

Reluctantly, you let go of the door, allowing him to step inside. He wasted no time reaching up to the beeping menace, silencing it with a practiced jab at the button. You couldn’t help but notice the sleeves of his t-shirt tighten around his arms as he reached up, the sliver of tattooed skin poking out from above his belt.

"Thanks," you muttered, crossing your arms as he looked back to you, his eyes sweeping over your chaotic kitchen, over your clearly naked body, and then back to your face, as if assessing the full scene. The corners of his lips quirked up as he turned to the oven, waving a hand at the remaining smoke.

You sighed, letting the last of your defenses fall. “You’re really not going to murder me, are you?”

"Not today," he chuckled, a low, warm sound that filled the small space. Your eyes caught on the way his strong hands moved, sure and gentle as he maneuvered around your kitchen. You leaned against the counter, pretending you weren’t staring at the way his arms flexed under the faded fabric.

He caught you looking, and to your utter embarrassment, he gave a small grin. “So… what exactly was this supposed to be?" he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he stepped closer, holding the charred remains of whatever had been inside.

“Oh shit. Mrs Fuller’s birthday cake,” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. “I completely forgot I was baking that.” Great. Just another obstacle in the way of your early night.

“Hey, sorry about the window,” he murmured.

“Hm?” you asked, your voice distant, not really processing his words.

“The window,” he repeated, gesturing upward, your gaze following his hand to the ceiling. “Was only trying to get your attention,” he continued, his voice dipping into something apologetic. “Didn’t mean to break it.”

You shook your head, finally dragging your focus back to the mess in front of you. “It’s whatever,” you muttered, keeping your tone neutral, though your chest ached with the effort. “Just another point on my to-do list. Thanks for…” You gestured vaguely at the bakery, your voice trailing off.

“I can come by and fix it,” he offered, his voice tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite his head off or accept the help.

“I can do it,” you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger, and you could feel your control slipping. You needed him to leave, needed the space to let the tears spill over before they choked you entirely.

When you glanced up, you saw the change in his expression. The slight upturn of his lips faltered and turned into a somber frown. He looked at you like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, the heat of guilt flushing your face. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.”

For a moment, he stood there, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He glanced between you and the broken cake, the smoke still lingering above, and something in his eyes softened. He looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it, nodding instead.

“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you cut in, desperate now. “It’s fine.”

He hesitated, his brow knitting tighter as if he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he nodded. "Alright. If you’re sure."

You nodded back, barely looking at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if holding yourself together. The silence between you stretched until, mercifully, he turned and walked away.

The door creaked slightly as it began to close behind him, the faint sound of his trainers scuffing against the floor fading. You thought that was the end of it, but then the footsteps stopped. For a moment, the room held its breath, the silence pressing down like the weight in your chest.

Then, the door eased back open, just enough for him to lean his head inside. His dark eyes met yours, hesitant but determined, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake but decided to do it anyway.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft but clear as it cut through the stillness. He lingered there in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders tense as though bracing for rejection. “That’s my name. Harry.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it. You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden reappearance, the unexpected vulnerability in the way he said it. He waited, his eyes searching your face for some kind of response.

Your lips curved, just barely, into a weak but genuine smile. “Harry,” you repeated softly, like you were trying the name on for size. Then you added, “I’m…” Your voice faltered for a split second, but you pressed on, offering him your name in return. “Y/n.”

A spark of something warm flickered in his eyes, a hint of relief mingled with curiosity. He nodded once, as if committing it to memory, before straightening up and gripping the edge of the door.

And then he was gone.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the counter. Your knees felt weak, your chest tight, and the dam you’d been holding back began to crack. You stared at the mess around you, the cake you’d worked so hard on reduced to a heap of blackened crumbs, the endless pile of orders still waiting for you, and the tears you’d been fighting finally broke free.

It wasn’t just the window. It wasn’t just the cake. It was everything. The weight of trying to do it all alone, the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin, the constant feeling that no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough.

You slid down to the floor, your back against the counter, letting the sobs come. For a moment, you allowed your emotions to swallow you, the frustration, the helplessness, the crushing loneliness. But even as you cried, part of you knew this couldn’t keep happening. Something had to give.

You pulled out your phone, typing a quick text to Claire. we’ll start looking for help tomorrow. promise.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, slumped against the counter, staring blankly at the mess surrounding you. The tears had stopped at some point, leaving behind a dull ache in your chest and the gritty sensation of salt drying on your cheeks. But soft rapping on the door pulled you out of your misery.

Wiping at your face with unsteady hands, you forced yourself to your feet, every movement feeling heavier than the last. When you opened the door, there he was: Harry, standing in the dim light, his arms full of cardboard, duct tape, and what looked like sheets of plastic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice raw and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged his way past you into the bakery, not waiting for permission, and glanced down at the materials in his arms. “You can’t leave the window broken in this cold,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Harry, it’s fine—” you began, stepping toward him, but he cut you off without looking up.

“It’s not fine,” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute.

You stared at him for a moment, his gaze hard as he looked back at you.

“Come on. Help me with this window,” he murmured, waiting for you to lead the way upstairs. When you didn’t move, he shifted the materials in his arms, freeing up his right hand before reaching out and pulling at your wrist.

It sent a chill straight through you, sharp and unexpected.

You froze for a second, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was fleeting, a playful tug, but it left behind a heat that spread across your skin, unbidden and unwelcome. You pulled your hand back too quickly, clutching it to your side as if it had been burned, though the sensation was far from painful.

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. He kept waiting, his focus unwavering, but you couldn’t say the same.

There was a hum beneath your ribs now, something restless and alive, thrumming just below the surface. Attraction. You recognized it immediately, though you almost wished you didn’t. It didn’t make sense. You barely knew this man. He wasn’t someone you’d invited into your world, not really, and yet here he was - ready to fix your window, trying to fix your life, filling your space, making you feel something you hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to push it down, to smother the thought before it took root. It was nothing. A moment. A reaction to being exhausted, overwhelmed, and vulnerable. But when he turned to look at you, his gaze steady and clear, it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soft, and you swore you could feel it reverberate somewhere deep inside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight and uneven. You cleared your throat, pushing past him to the stairs. “I’ll show you the bathroom, but I need to get started on redoing this cake,” you told him, cocking your head back towards the kitchen.

Harry raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “No.”

His hand pressed into your lower back, pushing you closer to the stairs. “I know better than anyone that being tired in the kitchen is a bad idea. When does Mrs. Fuller need her cake?”

“Tomorrow evening,” you mumbled, hesitating as your toes hovered over the first step. Your voice was low, almost apologetic, but the weariness that gripped you made it impossible to summon anything stronger.

“Then you can deal with it tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, cutting off any protest before it could begin. His tone softened just slightly as he added, “After you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

You turned back to face him, scowling instinctively. You were used to handling things on your own, not being told what to do, no matter how reasonable the suggestion might be. “You’re kind of overbearing, you know that?”

Harry only grinned, his expression as maddeningly charming as ever. “Wouldn’t be doing my duty if I wasn’t.” The hand on your lower back nudged you gently, urging you up the stairs as if you were a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.

You bit down on your lower lip, the indents of your teeth starting to feel like a permanent feature. As much as Harry was overstepping, he was clearly just as stubborn as you were, and it felt good to have someone forcibly taking care of you - not backing off in the hopes that you’d come around to their suggestions.

“In here,” you murmured when you reached the top of the stairs, an icy chill already filling your apartment. “I’m sure you can work out which one it is.”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Harry slipped past you, your heart almost stopping as you realised for the first time that you were still just in your robe, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks, the scarlet heat of embarrassment burning through you just as Harry’s gaze flicked back toward you. His eyes swept over you briefly, lingering for only a moment at the hem of the robe before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said quietly, his voice steady and measured as he moved toward the window. He nudged a shard of glass away from your bare feet before giving you a pointed look. “Go on.”

You hesitated, torn between retreating to your bedroom and stubbornly insisting on staying. Ultimately, the embarrassment won out. You turned quickly, rushing to your room, your mind racing as that small, insistent voice in the back of your head screamed at you to not pull on your ratty old pajamas.

And yet, despite the voice, that’s exactly what you did. A threadbare cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded sweatpants found their way onto your body as you sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling your face in your hands.

There was a man in your bathroom, a man who quite clearly only wanted to help you - the same man you’d practically forcibly removed from the property. The same man that was causing some sort of chemical imbalance within you.

You’d have to grovel if you ever wanted to see him again - as if he’d ever want to see you again. You’d done nothing but snap at him and act like he was inconveniencing you.

Harry had seen you at your worst, your very worst, and you weren’t entirely sure you owed yourself the chance for him to see you at your best.

But you wanted him to.

You shook your head, forced yourself back to your feet and padded toward the bathroom. You stopped in the doorway, stunned, as he worked quickly, fitting cardboard over the shattered glass, layering plastic sheets on top, securing everything with careful strips of tape.

“I could’ve done it,” you muttered after a moment, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He glanced back at you briefly, his strong hands still busy with the repair, a smirk on those taunting lips. “Maybe. But you didn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, staring at the makeshift patch and the man who had put it together. The tightness in your chest eased slightly, though a storm of inner turmoil was brewing.

“Thanks,” you said finally, the word coming out soft and uneven.

He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, glancing at you with a look that felt entirely too knowing. “You should take a break,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Get some rest, maybe. You look... worn out.”

You huffed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. “Gee, thanks,” you said, trying to mask the lump rising in your throat.

He flashed you that dimpled grin, straightening up as he placed the last strip of tape on the window.

“That’ll hold for now. But you’ll need to get it sorted properly before the weather turns,” Harry murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

You followed him back downstairs, reiterating that yes, you’d get it sorted. Yes, you’d stay out of the kitchen that night. Yes, you’d double check how to work your alarms. Yes, you’d double check the ovens before you went upstairs. No, you didn’t want your business and home to burn down.

He turned to you when he reached the door, his green eyes laced with sincerity. “Take care of yourself, y/n. Seriously.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a patched window and an unsettling quiet. But for once, you couldn’t find a reason not to follow the advice given to you. You were exhausted, and suddenly desperate to dream of the firefighter who’d all but swept you off your feet.

thank you so much for reading 🤍

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker r @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever @stylesbrock @harry-nialllover @triski73 @meetmeintheemeraldpool @harryshousewitnessprotection @danaehldy @fairytale07 @storyschanging @wannaliveinparadise e @mrs-anna-styles211994 @mema10 @fangirl509east @devilsqueen722 @harrrrystylesslut @panini @fruity-harry @lorat-o @savannahwendel @carolinaastyles @mads3502

[highdramas]

in terms of your recent post, maybe abbot x professional athlete! reader — (volleyball/gymnastics/swim/soccer etc.) she comes in for a devastating ACL tear or something of the like and he’s the one who treats her? maybe jack recognizes her because robby & him would catch your teams games every now and he’s caught off guard seeing you up close, and afterwards reader stops by a couple days later to drop by some tickets to the next match and perhaps her phone number…

spinning out | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!figure skater!reader warnings: language, angst with a happy ending, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), almost certain medical inaccuracies because i have no idea what i'm talking about but i researched and did my best <3 word count: 3.4k summary: you are pittsburgh's sweetheart, the ice princess, the hometown hero. when you come into the emergency room on the worst day of your life, jack is the one who meets his match. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. i once again took some liberties with this request, but i hope that you enjoy it! i decided to make reader a figure skater! one of my many favorite fixations! not proofread so apologies for errors <3

the screaming that comes from chairs is enough to get the attention of any tuned-in physician or nurse. but it especially gets jack’s attention– because it’s not just screams that indicate pain, or fear. there’s just… general commotion. and that can be a lot more dangerous than anything else.

everyone in the chairs is on their feet– if they can be. jack and dana barrel out, trying to parse out what exactly it is that’s happening. but the second that he lays his eyes on you, he knows why.

you’re the face known all around pittsburgh. your face is on many billboards, definitely in the newspaper, and regularly on the local news. and it’s been this way since jack moved to pittsburgh, back in 2015. at the time, he remembers you looking so fresh faced– only twenty, and you were on track to be one of the best figure skaters in the world. call it morbid curiosity, but jack had kept up with your career, loosely, in the way that most people who lived in pittsburgh is. that's what he told himself, anyway.

“alright, alright, everyone sit the fuck down and stop crowding around her,” jack calls, approaching you and the gaggle of people who surround you. you still wear a dazzling outfit, catching every single light and refracting it back out. your feet are socked but there are no skates to be found, and two people on either side of you helping hold you up right-- barely. you look abysmal, when you finally make eye contact with him– mascara trails down your cheeks, hairs are out of place, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen an expression so… hardened. “come on, we’ll help you. dana– get a wheelchair.”

jack helps the people he learns are your coaches transfer you to the wheelchair. you still haven’t uttered a word– you just look down at your hands, pick the skin around your cuticles. “we think it’s an acl tear,” your coach says to jack. “happened during a competition. a smaller one, thankfully. we don’t need that kind of scrutiny.” this makes jack’s face screw up slightly, but he continues to listen. “we just– we’ve gotta have her back on the ice next week.”

“dana, go ahead and wheel her back to south-9, i’ll be right in.” jack turns his attention to your coach. a stark woman, small eyes, full lips, very obviously tanned. “alright,” he claps his hands together. “you all are going to have to stay out here. we’re very packed in the er, so i can’t have you back. we’ll come out and grab you when we have an update. okay?”

he can tell that this doesn’t please her, but he doesn’t really care. because while she’s bemoaning the possibility of more people bearing witness to what is likely one of the worst moments of your life– not for your sake, but for the sake of image… jack knows himself. he won’t be able to work effectively with that type of squawking in his ear.

when he goes to central, he points at dana. “don’t let coach and company in. feel me?”

“i feel you, boss,” she says without looking up from her computer. “donnie’s in there right now, but she’s ready for you.” she looks up at jack, plucking her readers off. “never a dull moment, huh? we got celebrities now!”

he tries to find it amusing, but then he remembers the look on your face, and he can’t find the humor within the situation. he simply squeezes dana’s shoulder, turns around, and takes a deep breath before he enters south-9.

–

the door opens. click shuts. you hardly hear it– all you hear is the blood in your ears. all you feel is the throbbing in your knee. all you know is that it’s over.

you took pride in what you do. you love ice skating– as an art form, as a way that you have honed your body over many, many years. you’re proud of all of the regional, national, world competitions you’ve won– you’re proud of all of that. and really, you only wanted one more thing. you knew it was a stretch, you knew it was a strain on your body, you knew, at 30, some think you’re too old for your sport… but it didn’t matter.

you just wanted to win gold. once in your life.

you’ve had silver, and bronze, you’ve gotten close to gold the last two olympics– neck and neck with your competitor, who ultimately, worked harder. was better than you. that’s what you tell yourself. that’s what your coaches have told you, to push you. your family doesn’t say it, but you feel it radiating off of them.

you don’t need the doctor to tell you that it’s over. you felt it the second that you landed wrong and crumpled to the ice, a glittering pile of dreams that will never be realized. you cried, not from the pain– you know pain intimately, have walked side by side with pain your entire life. you cried because it was all for nothing.

“hi. i’m dr. abbot.”

you don’t respond.

he sits in one of those spinny stools that all doctors use. you finally glance at him. “you don’t have to say it,” you wipe at your cheeks. “6-8 weeks until i can get back on the ice after an ACL tear. this isn’t my first tear, so i’ll likely need grafting surgery. so who knows how much further that would set me back.”

“wow. you want my job?” he tries to crack the tension but it’s no use. not really.

you’re approaching catatonic.

but it’s like a nail pops a balloon, and suddenly, all that you are is a heaving, sobbing mess.

the doctor– dr. abbot– sits with you. at one point, he offers you a tissue. then, the trash bin to throw it. and then, his hand.

you don’t think twice before you take it. you take it and you squeeze and you use it to tether yourself because everything feels like it’s floating away from you– a career, a dream, a desire.

but other things, too.

pain. being talked down upon. only being useful for one thing.

he doesn’t leave. he doesn’t even move a muscle. others try to come in and swap out and at one point you swear he says, “shen, fuck off, i’m busy.”

you don’t know how long you cry. you’re exhausted after. and itchy, because this stupid outfit clings in every spot that hurts and it feels like a humiliation ritual more than anything else, at this point.

“can i–” your throat is scratchy, and jack hands you a water bottle. you chug at it, greedy. “can i get a gown? and–” you look around, as if scared that they might be there behind you. “tell my coaches to fuck off and go home?”

a small smile creeps onto jack’s features. “yes, i can do that.” he hesitates before he stands up. “we’re gonna get you all checked out. see what we can do for you, and what orthopedic surgery is going to need to do. and we’ll be able to determine how long until you can skate again. alright?”

you nod your head. he finds your eyes. “we got you. alright?” tears are still brimming, hanging off your eyelashes like the saddest dew drops known to man.

–

it doesn’t look good. your assessment of your injury was largely accurate, jack found, when he began his examination of your knee with a delicate touch– being as intune with your body as you are, jack isn’t surprised. he comes back with x-rays and brings in ellis to observe. “you’re smart, i’ll give you that,” he says as he enters the room, and he’s proud of himself when you smile. you’re changed, and he thinks that someone must have given you a makeup wipe, because your face is fresh and beautiful and he has to clear his throat before he continues with his diagnosis and what he’d recommend for treatment.

“you’re looking at, maybe 16 weeks before you can get back out. and that’s entirely dependent on how you heal after the surgery. and even if you do start skating, you’re going to need to take it slow.” he finds your eyes. this is the kind of news that he hates delivering, and he thinks if he has to do it, he can at least look someone in the eye while doing it. they’re beautiful– and they have a depth to them that he doesn’t find in most. you’re not scared off by his eye contact. you maintain it with little effort. “i’m sorry.”

the chuckle that you let out causes a shiver to run down his spine. it’s so humorless, that it creates a chasm inside of him that wants nothing more than to make it better. “yeah, of course it is.” you lean your head back. “the press will be here soon.”

jack and ellis share a glance. “your team is talking to them outside, we believe,” ellis says with a wince.

you smirk. “ah. of course.” you look back to abbot. “thank you for your help. i’m sorry i’m wretched. just…” you shrug. “what a shitty fucking day.”

“yeah, i don’t doubt it.” he chews on his lip. “can we arrange to have someone else pick you up once you’re cleared?”

“there’s no one else,” you say seamlessly. “i’ll call an uber.”

it’s odd, he thinks to himself. seeing you up close and personal, real. he would’ve thought you were entirely delicate, a beautiful flower kept in a box, plucked out, and put onto the ice to entrance everyone who watches you. but you’re so human and alive and he can sense this way that you’ve been treated, and when you say there’s no one else except these people who look at you as a product, a brand, a liability… something snaps.

“we’ll arrange to have someone take you home. it’s a risk to have you take any sort of public transportation where someone can’t assist you into your home.”

you look between the two physicians. your eyes land on jack and he thinks that you might fight it– but then, you concede, and give a meek nod of your head, and he feels that tightening in his chest that he keeps experiencing. he wants to wrap you up and hide you away– far away from those people taking advantage of you.

he’s just starstruck. that's what he decides to chalk it up to.

–

dr. jack abbot does ensure you’re driven home by someone. he is very professional, and polite, as he instructs you on when to return to the hospital for a pre-op appointment, and how to manage your pain in the meantime.

eventually, you do have surgery. eventually, you’re back in PTMC, and your eyes trail on the emergency department as you go past it, wondering if you might be able to sneak a glimpse of him.

you fire your coaches. you tell your team to fuck off. your publicist can hardly get ahold of you, and, naturally, everyone wants a statement. it makes you laugh to think about it. yeah, you’d like a statement too, you think. bitter. always so bitter in those first weeks after.

once you start recovering from surgery, the bitterness dissipates, but you certainly don’t sweeten to what has happened to you. you watch with bloodshot eyes, the footage of it happening. you’re rapt with it, and it’s a little sadistic, you think to yourself– but you can see the exact moment of the tear. the exact moment everything shifts.

that night, you write find a therapist down on a to-do list.

your first session, as you recount the story to her, you get hung up on the portion in the emergency room. you explain it in great detail, and when it gets to your doctor… “i broke,” you admit with a shrug. “i broke in the emergency room. and the doctor, he stayed. you know– sonja, and marci, they were both out there. yes, he asked them to stay back, but it was because even the doctor could see it. that they didn’t care about me. they didn’t care if i was okay. they cared that i wasn’t functional anymore.” you stop yourself. steel yourself. “but he stayed with me. he held my hand when he cried. and i can’t…” you look down at your hands, pick at already raw cuticles. “i couldn’t remember the last time someone was so nice to me, just for the sake of being nice.”

your therapist suggests you go back, and thank dr. abbot. you think this is a good idea, but you’ve spent so much time being an ice skater, you don’t know if you really know how to be a human being anymore. how do you talk about anything that’s not a diet, choreography plans, workout regimine, or regional scores? do you know how to be earnest, and real, and honest?

you hobble towards the emergency room, the brace you wear restricting your mobility, but you’d finally gotten off the crutches, thank god. you hold a box of cookies that you had baked yourself– with all this newfound free time, and with the fact that you could actually eat, freely, in a way that was almost certainly healthier than whatever restrictive nonsense you were doing before, you’d picked up baking as a hobby. you weren’t great. but you weren’t horrible, either.

it felt so good to just be mediocre at something. to not care. to just enjoy it for the sake of enjoying it.

you approach the registration desk. she– lupe, her nametag says– recognizes you instantly, you can tell. you say hello, and introduce yourself by name anyway. “um– dr. abbot treated me here, about five weeks ago. i was wanting to say…” you attempt to slow you breathing, your nervousness. “i was wanting to see if i could say thank you.”

lupe gives you a warm smile. “oh, that’s sweet, honey. we all heard about what happened– i am so sorry.” your lips press into a line. the sentiment is kind– but it strikes you, anyway. “let me go see what i can do.”

–

it’s never good when lupe is coming back.

jack snatches the sterile gown, soaked in blood from a woman that he was unable to save, and shoves it into the proper disposal. he rubs sanitizer into his hands and he eyes lupe, trying to muster up a smile. “can i hold onto hope and a prayer that you’re about to tell me something good, and not bad?”

“yes, actually. for once, right?” lupe laughs and she begins to explain to him that you’re outside. when she says that, jack’s eyes go wide. “she wants to thank you. can i bring her to the family room?”

“uh– yeah. yes, please do.”

you go to central to finish up on a chart when robby approaches jack at his side. “i hear ice princess is back,” he says with a small smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

somehow, a rumor got around that you had cried in jack’s arms in south-9. that he had cradled you and held you and stroked your hair– he’s fairly certain it was princess and perlah. no, he knows it was princess and perlah. all good ER rumors start and end with him.

“don’t call her that,” jack says without looking up from the screen. “not cool.”

“oh, my apologies.” robby’s eyes trail to the family room, where you’re limping in. “she’s walking on that knee.”

jack snorts. “that’s the least surprising thing i’ve ever heard.” after an interaction with you that barely went over an hour, he felt like he understood you. he understood that, of course you were walking. you were determined, and you were used to your body bending to your will– not the other way around. he looks over at the family room as the door shuts with a faint thwick.

“go get ‘em, tiger,” robby says and it makes jack scowl.

he’s a good, professional physician. he doesn’t have crushes on patients.

he opens the door. and you’re sitting there, beautiful, clear eyed– there’s still a storm cloud or two burrowed within you, he knows, but not the same as when he met you the first time.

you go to stand up, but he instantly shakes his head. “oh– no. in fact…” he looks at the couch and grabs a pillow. “elevate.”

you look at him incredulously. “my surgeon said i only needed to elevate for 3-7 days post-op.”

“it’s always good to elevate when resting. especially since you’re walking on it.”

you roll your eyes. “the crutches slowed me down,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“that’s kinda the point, sweetheart.”

–

sweetheart.

your lips curl into a smile and you raise your eyebrows at him. he looks at you like he would like to crawl under this couch, and die, probably. he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “i don’t know why i said that.”

“i do,” your smile is saccharine. “because i’m a sweetheart. obviously.”

“they called you pittsburgh’s sweetheart in the paper, once.”

“oh– so you knew who i was?”

“you can’t go anywhere in this city without seeing your face!” you’ve gotten him exasperated now, riled up, and you’re thoroughly happy with yourself. this is the most fun you’ve had in you don’t even know how long, to be perfectly honest. you’ve begun to recline on the arm of the small loveseat, and jack maneuvers the pillow beneath your knee. his hands are confident, his words are not. it’s a combination that you think you could watch all day.

he takes a seat across from you, once he’s gotten you settled to his liking. and there’s that stare, again– people always said that you had a staring problem, but they must not have met jack abbot before. that man had a staring problem.

you take it almost as a challenge. you maintain the eye contact and slowly slide the box of cookies to him.

he glances down. “what’s this?”

“cookies. i made them.” you run your tongue over your teeth. “to say thank you.”

he hangs his head. looks up just enough to peer at you through eyelashes– long, pretty eyelashes. “you don’t need to thank me. i just–”

“oh, no. i do.” you clear your throat. think over the little script that you had written in your journal, all of the vulnerable and real things that you wanted to say. “i don’t know what i needed, exactly, in that moment. and in don’t know if it would be possible for one person to be exactly what i needed. it was–” you feel that swell of emotion start to rise like a tide in your abdomen, but you push through. “it was the single worst night of my life. but not because of the injury. because i just… i realized how sad my life is. i don’t have friends. my family situation is dysfunctional in a way that is not healthy. my coaches and team and everyone around me just looked at me like a thing. an item. and you looked at me and cared for me like a human being. so.” you have to clear your throat again. “thank you.”

jack’s eyes didn’t leave you, one single time. and he only looks away not to close them, rub at them. when he opens them, they’re misty, and he chuckles. “fuck,” he drags the word out, and you feel it run through the center of you. you move to stand up but he stops you. “you are a human being,” he blurts out. “and fuck anyone who has ever treated you like anything else, or less– fuck. them. seriously.”

“yeah, i fired my team.”

“good.”

“yeah.”

a comfortable quiet takes over and you go back and forth in your mind as you stand up, for real this time. “i know you’re working. and i know this is probably unprofessional, but…” you take a piece of paper from your coat pocket and you hand it to him. “when i get back on the ice, i’d like to do it for myself. but, you know, could be good to have a medical professional there to make sure i’m not fucking myself up even more, so…” you suck in a breath. “that’s my phone number.”

he opens the piece of paper and stares at the string of numbers. looks back to you. “i’ll be there.”

“great.”

“great.”

you sling your purse across your body. “that won’t be for awhile, but…” you brush past him, towards the door. “you know, i can still go out to dinner with a torn acl.”

jack smiles, dimples out. holds the door for you. “sounds like we’ve got a date.”

[matsookawa]

Title: Be Safe

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader

Summary: Mihawk being soft with his wife

Word count: 526

Based on: Person A giving Person B a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

Her husband rummaging through their ensuite bathroom is what wakes Y/N up. Although slightly bitter at first, the fog of sleep clears and she remembers the reason for the constant opening and closing of drawers and cabinets. She recalls a mission Mihawk mentioned a few nights ago during dinner. It’s a particularly dangerous one, however Y/N didn’t retain any of the details as she has full faith in her spouse to return safely.

She rolls over to face the bathroom doorway just as Mihawk is turning out the light. Seeing his lover awake, his face softens. “I was trying not to wake you. It’s still early.” Y/N knows he’s right. The sun hasn’t even come out yet and the only source of light is the moon streaming through their window and illuminating her figure on the bed. She releases a yawn and drapes her arm across the edge of the bed, as if reaching for him. “I would be more angry had I not been able to see you off.” The corner of Mihawk’s lip lifted. A movement so minute and yet Y/N is so in tune with him, it makes the corners of hers do the same.

The man kneels at her bedside and looks at her. Oh, how she wishes he could delay his leave and stay in bed with her for days. The way he takes her hand in his more calloused one makes her heart beat faster in her chest. It rams against her ribcage as if screaming for his own heart to stay with it. His fingers dance along her hand before they intertwine with hers and give one hard squeeze. “It’s too cold to get out of bed. I will send word to you as soon as I reach the island.” His wife appreciates the reassuring words, trusting them completely. “Please be safe. I’m not taking care of Perona and Zoro alone.” Mihawk sighs through his nose. “Truly a terrible fate.” Y/N giggles and Mihawk’s smile widens. “Go back to sleep, my heart. I’ll be back before you know it.” His wife’s eyes begin to grow heavy as she nods slowly. “Bring back some of those pastries I like or you’re not being let in.” Her voice is becoming mumbles and Mihawk knows it’s time to let her sleep.

He stands and waits for her to turn over before pulling the blankets up to her shoulders. He bends over her, supporting himself with one hand on the bed. “Duly noted.” Y/N, almost completely asleep, turns her head to peer up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Dracule?” she whispers. “Yes, my love.” Her breathing evens out and he almost thinks she’s asleep. “I love you.” The great warlord, a man who’s stricken fear into an immeasurable amount of people, who has committed countless murders, leans down and places the softest of kisses on her temple. He whispers against her skin and Y/N barely registers it before he gives her hand one last squeeze, picks up his bags, and silently walks out of their room towards the front door of their estate.

“And I, you.”

[revivemyreverie]

SKETCH SSR: WISHMASTER’S CONCERT 

CREDITS: Wishmaster's Concert Event : @tixdixl, Cyril Zeman (mentioned in story): @ramshacklerumble. I consider following both of them if you haven't already!!!

This event is crazy fun and I cannot believe I finished in under 3 days. anyhow! A short story is under read more :)

Groovification: Such frivolities–this kind voice, warm smile, and upturned brows– none of it has ever been real.

Set to Home Screen: Would you like to hear a tune?

Home Transition 1: Are we moving stages? I’ll follow as you desire. 

Home Transition 2: My past self would “love” being here, I’m sure. Even if I no longer hold the emotions that came with those memories, the knowledge of how many times he used this violin is logical proof. 

Home Transition: 3: These light choices are quite interesting. You usually expect something more refined when it comes to violin performances, but I suppose the inclusion of guitars and death metal muddles that. 

Home, after Login: Ashengrotto said this event is in the best interest for both of us, but I am very sure I heard him saying he’s finally rid of me the other day… Is that what you refer to as “disdain"?

Tap Home 1: These clothes are not very optimal, since I cannot move much except the sleeves. I do not mind any of it, however, since I can still make quick movements with my bowstring. 

Tap Home 2: I’ve heard it's good to deviate music choices every once in a while for experience, so perhaps adding a few songs into my usual classical music may be good for me. 

Tap Home 3: I try to avoid bumping into my bandmates when on stage, as it would be rather terrible if my magic activated mid-performance... A husk might end up singing on stage instead of a person.

Tap Home 4:  I’m quite shocked by the people who enjoyed my performance, seeing that I had failed to remember to smile. Those in the crowd even said I looked mysterious. Emotions are such an odd thing. 

Tap Home 5: Logically, none of this really matters. All these people do is sit through a bunch of flashy lights while listening to sounds mixed and mashed together through ear-damaging speakers. Still, I partake in it, for I want to understand the past “me”’s love for it. 

🎙️.

“I don’t care if it's to show off the school’s music prowess! My Abyssal Lover will not be working with the jerk that broke the head singer's and his boyfriend up!”

Such is the common complaint Allegra has been facing as of late by the head-singer of a little band made in Night Raven College, who the former had the delight of joining thanks to his dorm leader’s so-called recommendation (it was forced, but Allegra's not allowed to sa a word on it). 

In his eyes, he had done nothing of what he had been accused of. All Allegra Mahalath had done was help a client and pull a little bit of an emotional possession with his magic. How was it his fault if he revealed that someone was having second thoughts about their relationship? Logically speaking, the singer should have just discussed this nonsensical problem from the get-go.

He might get a punch for such words, however, so the man stayed silent with his usual smile. Their manager spoke in his place, “YOU’RE the one who said anyone would do for our sick violinist, and I’m already in good-standing with Azul! I’m just taking advantage of the situation, so how about you get over yourself and move on?! Do you really want to throw away the chance to impress THE Cyril Zeman?!!”

The Octavinelle student watched his new nemesis remain silent.

“Then stop complaining and start rehearsing! And Allegra,I know you’re good at the violin, but our set also has some more... dramatic... parts in it. Please try your best.”

The therapist kept his demeanor the same. “As you wish, manager.”

—-----

The singer wondered if Allegra had a best to begin with, or was just trying to piss him off. He was awful at acting entirely, his motions being so stiff and short that he looked like a robot compared to the whisking twirls and light steps everyone else had managed to do. His only saving grace was his violin, which somehow made Allegra look far more graceful than the mannequin he turned into when he wasn't playing. 

“If you can't bother to dance right, then how about taking off that tacky customer-service smile?” He complained after their 5th rehearsal and failure of an act.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Allegra speaks like one of Ignihyde's new robots. “but if it’s not up to par, I’ll change it.”

“Are you a human? I meant to use your real smile.”

Allegra pokes at his own cheeks, “But this is my real smile? It’s the same one I use everyday, even for my clients. I thought you would understand, seeing as you even had a previous session with me–”

The last sentence seemed to have switched something in the young man. With a aggressive yell, he gets up and grabs the spiral-eyed student's shirt

“Say a thing about my stupid session from that day and I’ll break your nose!" 

The other band members ran between them, splitting the two apart to avoid a big fight. The singer clicked his tongue in return, turning to the classroom's door.

“I need a damn break.”

Allegra watched as he walked out, his temporary band mates surrounding him. A silence filled the room, yet the smile on his face remained sweet as always.

—-------

“Do you have an issue with me?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

The vocalist and violinist sat alone in the makeup room, their group having already departed for set preparations and to avoid the ever-growing storm between the two students.

“You’ve shown a great amount of physical hostility towards me.” Allegra spoke with such niceties, “I would love to know why.” 

“Oh I’m sure you would.” Sarcasm came up like vomit. “You’re an ass who ruined my goddamn love life, and now I’m expected to work with you and your weirdo facade.”

“Facade?”

The vocalist slammed his hands on the table, tired of dealing with him for the past 3 weeks. “Yes! Facade! You think everyone just takes your little goody-two-shoes employee act as fact? Everyone in the band knows it's all either a cover for you being a creep or that you just hate everyone in the world!”

Allegra turned away from him, looking outside the door’s window. “I don’t hate anyone.” 

“Cut the crap! That’s a lie itself!”

“Would you like to hear the truth about me then?” Allegra says, his voice suddenly ice cold.

He turns back to the lead-singer, his face lacking all signs of emotion.

“Such frivolities–this kind voice, warm smile, and upturned brows– none of it has ever been real.” 

This is the true Allegra Mahalath, the one who put no effort into any relationships he was expected to care for. The vocalist looked into those empty, spiraling eyes, which grow closer with every step the brunette takes towards him. 

“You’re correct, as I am simply playing the part of a false me. In my eyes, anything and everything holds no meaning; Allegra Mahalath doesn’t care for this event, nor its people, or its problems. The same can be said for my clients and their relationships, especially yours." He stated it all so matter-of-factly, as if there truly was nothing inside his heart. "It's most fitting to say that I can't seem to care about anything.”

A shiver ran down the singer’s spine. “...Then why are you even here?"

“Because I want to understand why the past ‘me’ did.”

The announcer’s voice could be heard through the loudspeaker, cutting off their confrontation with the calling of their band's name.

"Next up, from the dark corners of Night Raven College itself, is My Abyssal Lover!"

Allegra’s monotone demeanor remained as cheers could be heard echoing from the crowd. “It’s officially stage time, I kindly suggest you hurry up.” 

—-----

“Look! We got put in the event’s article!” The team’s manager exclaimed, showing off his phone to the group. “They even got a photo of you, Mahalath!”

The brunette takes a look at the article presented in front of him, reading the text with a feigned interest.

“Oh. Oops.”

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It appears I forgot to smile during the set.”

For the rest of the band, it seemed like a well-timed joke. They laughed at another one of Allegra's supposed oddities. Only the vocalist remained silent in the classroom’s corner, understanding exactly what the Octavinelle student meant.

[hoernypie]

Red Riding Hood

tags: non-con at the beginning (sorry for very big bad Wolf!), public, virgin y/n, hybrid wolf, creamp!e, naive y/n

Once upon a time, there was a charming girl who was loved by everyone. Many boys found themselves captivated by your beauty. Wherever you went, there was always a boy trying to talk to you. One evening, you asked your mother why boys looked at you in that way. Your mother explained that they often had inappropriate thoughts. The next day, mother gifted you a red velvet cloak to cover herself from the lustful gazes, and from that moment on, everyone in the village began to call you Red Riding Hood.

After some time, you asked your mother if you could go to visit your grandmother as it’s been ages since you’ve seen her last time. Your mother agreed, packing a bottle of wine and an apple pie into the basket for your sick grandma. Before going out you kissed her cheek and put on the cloak. 

“Remember, go starting to grandma’s house,” your mother shouted to you “Stay on the path and avoid strangers! The woods aren’t safe, especially now with that feisty Wolf Sukuna living there!” You stopped in your tracks, turning to her and waving with the most precious smile “Don’t worry mommy, I’ll be careful,” and with that, you started your little journey into the forest. Not long after getting into the woods, you’ve noticed a beautiful patch of flowers between trees. You picked a few, watching the petals for a while before walking further into the woods and noticing other flowers covering the ground cover. Excitedly you skipped towards them while humming a tune thinking about how your grandma will feel merry after seeing a bouquet. 

Suddenly, the Wolf appeared behind you, looking at how your dress rode up as you bent to pick the flowers, showing the white panties. “What are you doing here all alone, little girl?” the Wolf asked friendly. “I’m on my way to see my sick granny, she lives through the forest, near the river,” you said putting flowers into the basket. “And what are you hiding in the basket?” he asked leaning down, his big figure making you feel uneasy. “The wine and pie for granny, my mommy packed them for me,” you said quietly, slowly taking a step back. “Is the peach also for a granny?” he said with a devil smile, showing off his fangs while thinking about the thin fabric covering your core. You looked at him tilting your head and frowning, “No, what peach? For granny, there’s only a wine and a pie. Well… And now also flowers for a bouquet.” He chuckled, licking his lips feeling glad that his next victim was so naive, now he was sure that she needed to taste your sweetness but firstly he had to eat the grandma for dinner before he got his dessert. He walked with you for a while before showing you another patch of flowers in the distance, “See those pretty flowers? I bet you could gather them to make a huge bouquet for your sick granny, she would be delighted.” You thought for a while that you still had plenty of time and this wasn’t a bad idea. “Thank you mister, Wolf~,” you said smiling sweetly before starting to pick flowers, Sukuna watching you for a while feeling the tightness of his pants at the sight of your underwear and virgin pussy. And as you started picking one flower the more beautiful one was some steps away, seeing you getting further into the forest Sukuna decided to leave, rushing through the woods into your grandma’s house.

When the Wolf arrived at the grandma’s house he knocked lightly at the door. “Who’s there?” the old lady asked. “Oh, it’s me - Red Riding Hood, open granny! I have a wine and pie for you,” answered Wolf. “Oh! Welcome dear, come in, come in! I’m too sick to open the door so please come inside,” said grandma thinking that her granddaughter knocked on the door. The wolf pressed the handle and rushing inside, stopped seeing the old lady. At first, he wanted to swallow her whole but when he noticed her weak state, the memory of your pretty face talking about her haunted his mind. He grabbed the old lady and locked her in the basement, tying her down before finally tying her mouth. Then he put on her nightgown and cap, lay down in bed, and licked his lips in anticipation of the pleasures with the sweet girl, that awaited him.

Little Red Riding Hood gathered flowers and ran to her grandmother. The door was open, which surprised you. “Good morning, granny!” you called while entering inside. You went into the bedroom and slowly made your way to the bed. “Granny, why do you have such big ears?” you asked surprised. “Oooh, so I could hear you better, my dear,” answered Wolf. “But why are your eyes so big?” you asked stepping closer. “To better see your pretty face, my dear,” said Wolf. “But granny! What is it poking through the covers?” you asked leaning down. “The dick to fuck you with!” and the wolf, pushing aside the covers, jumped out of the bed, rushing at you.

You tried to run away, tripping and falling down, the bad Wolf grabbing your hips and ripping your pure white panties off you before pushing his face between your plushy thighs. With the growing pleasure from his lip and tongue devouring you, the tears stopped coming out of your eyes and cries turned into moans. You felt how his big hands gripped your thighs, making your legs spread further apart as he pushed his tongue inside, lapping the sweet juices that escaped your core. “Please, Mr. Wolf, don’t hurt me,” you mewled out when he pulled away, getting up from the floor and lifting you. You hit his back, screaming to let you go but all he did was a chuckle. A gasp left your mouth when he threw you onto the mattress in the bedroom, quickly getting on the bed and unbuckling his pants. You looked at his big muscular body with a shock mixed with arousal after having a taste of your first ‘adult’ experience. He smirked seeing your expression while your hands were on their own pulling up your skirt, your legs spreading as your mind got hazy, “M-Mr. Wolf…”, you said looking at him getting between your thighs, licking your leaking pussy. When the soft gasp left your mouth he felt his arousal pressing against the fabric of his pants. He wrapped hands around your thighs, pulling you close to his face before burying it between your folds, greedily lapping at your juices as your hands tugged his hair when you tried to pull him away feeling overwhelmed when he gently sucked and bit your clit, making your thighs shake.

After what felt like an eternity for you he pulled his mouth away with a “pop” sound as he finished abusing your clit. He hummed pleased seeing the drool in the corner of your mouth as you panted heavily, your eyes half closed. He slid down his pants and underwear revealing his weeping tip to you, you squeaked when he gripped your hips, pulling you down as he teased your entrance with it. “Such pretty lips,” he said squeezing your cheeks with his hand before leaving a bruising kiss on your lips, pushing his tongue between your lips, letting you taste yourself. You mewled, patting his shoulders before he pulled away, leaving you coughing and gasping for air. “Now, relax as much as you can, Sweetie,” he said looking into your eyes. Your heart hammered as you gripped his big upper arms, not knowing what he wanted to do before you felt pain as he pushed deep inside you, groaning at your tightness and pain when you dug your nails deep into his skin. The tears rolled off your cheeks as you sobbed loudly at the feeling. “A big girl and she cries like that?” he asked mockingly, reaching a hand to your clit, gently rubbing it as he waited for your body to adjust to his size. “See? It wasn’t that bad,” he said leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead before slowly moving his hips, you nodded while sniffing feeling the pain combined with pleasure.

“You’re a brave girl, huh?” he chuckled amused, grabbing your wrists and holding them tightly while quickening his pace and looking at the mess you’ve started to become. “Yes, Mr. Wolf,” you moaned out to his surprise, he looked at how you tried to move your hands to grab at least his finger. He released your wrists, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pinned your hands to the mattress, leaning down and kissing you less harshly. 

You looked at him before sloppily returning his kisses as you squeezed his hands as muscles in your body started tensing up, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as his moves started getting quicker, “Feels weird…” you mewled out. “God, Sunshine, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned out before pushing his hips for the last time before emptying himself in you, as your body squirmed under his, feeling your pussy squeeze him tightly, milking him out.

He fell onto you, crushing your body with his weight as you both breathed heavily. After a couple of minutes, you started dozing off, for some reason feeling weirdly safe and comfortable in his arms, but before you could completely fall asleep you noticed his ears getting perked before he got up to listen to the sounds outside. You sat up seeing how he quickly put on his pants and pulled you up, fixing your hair and clothes. “Uhm… What’s happening?” you asked when he wiped your thighs from his cum that slowly leaked out of you. He didn’t even bother looking at you before rushing to the basement, untying your grandma before getting back up, gently cupping your cheeks and kissing you goodbye, before rushing out. You wanted to go after him and ask what happened before you noticed the woodsman walking inside the house through the open door, hearing your grandmother's screams as you stood still shocked after the whole situation.

A couple of days later you walked through the woods to take care of your grandma, again bringing her food prepared by your mother. “Oh, no~” you said loudly as you got deep into the woods, “I hope there isn’t any bad Mr. Wolf who’d attack me.~”

You looked around and huffed disappointed, craving him from the moment he gave you a taste of being ‘adult’. As you walked further you looked at the patch of flowers, and you thought about how your granny loved them. You put the basket on the ground and got on all fours, making sure that your skirt rode high up showing the bare ass underneath as you waited, and started feeling impatient. You signed annoyed reaching for a flower before you noticed the big shadow on the ground, “I hope it’s a nice stranger,” you giggled before getting up and turning to face him. “Isn’t it the sweet girl that takes care of her sick granny?” he asked with a smirk as his eyes roamed at every inch of your body before returning to your face, “And what are you doing here, sweetie?” he asked, gently patting your head. “Collecting flowers for the granny,” you said while looking confused about how he sat under the tree, sliding how pants off, and freeing his dick. “Mr. Wolf-” you started before he stopped you, “Go ahead and collect them, I’ll just watch you.” You nodded before getting back to picking flowers, peeking at him when you heard weird slapping sounds. When you’ve noticed as he stroked himself the slick started wetting your thighs. After a while you threw the flowers onto the ground and walked over to him, looking at him and mumbling something under your nose. “I can’t hear you, speak louder,” he said amused, slowing down his moves. You looked down at the ground before asking quietly, “Could you make me feel good like the last time…?”, your whole body burning feeling ashamed asking him that. You looked at his tail wagging right and ears perking as you walked closer. “Come on my lap, you can do that, right?” You nodded getting onto him, taking a deep breath as you lowered your hips, gripping his shoulders as his tail quickly wagged. 

You bit your bottom lip feeling how he stretched you out, his arms wrapping around you as he helped you move before you got it. You hid your face in the crook of his neck while slowly going up and down, feeling how his pulsing vein grazed against your walls. “Feels good,” you moaned out before wetting his neck with your tears. As he embraced you, you began moving a bit faster, the sweet moans echoing through the glade.

With each bounce on his lap, you grew bolder in your movements, your hips rolling in a steady rhythm as you lost yourself in the pleasure. Sukuna’s strong arms supported you, his fingers gently digging into the soft flesh of your waist as he guided your pace. Your breath grew ragged, and your movements more urgent as the tension built, the sweet release looming closer with every bounce. The sound of his thick cock sliding in and out of you filled the air, mingling with your moans and his grunts and soft gasps. 

His eyes sparkled with excitement as he watched you take charge, your innocence and being inexperienced only made the experience more exciting for him. The sight of your breasts bouncing and the way your pussy clenched around his cock, was more than he could handle. With a groan, he grabbed your hips, pulling you down hard as he thrust upwards. Your eyes widened in surprise and delight, and you threw your head back, letting out a whine. The sensation of his cock filling you completely, his pubes tickling against your clit, pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm rushed through your veins, making your body convulse in his tight embrace. He continued to pound into you, his strokes becoming more feral and intense, as he chased his own climax. 

You held on tightly, your nails digging into his shoulders as your muscles milked him, eager for every drop of his hot pearly cum. The forest around you seemed to freeze, the only sounds being your muffled cries and the slapping of flesh against flesh. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, Sukuna came into you, his cock pulsing with the force of his release. You collapsed onto his chest, panting and trembling, your heart racing. His arms tightened around you, and for a brief moment, you felt truly cared for, as if he were your protector and lover all rolled into one. But as the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, reality began to seep back in, and you both knew that your secret meeting would have to remain hidden from the prying eyes of the village.

Sukuna planted a gentle kiss on the top of your head, his tail wrapping around you protectively. "You're such a good girl," he murmured into your ear, his voice thick with satisfaction. You couldn't help but feel your heart race at the praise, feeling a strange mix of happiness and guilt for enjoying something so forbidden. As you slid off his lap, he tucked himself back into his pants with a sigh. "You should get back to your grandma before she starts to worry," he reminded you, his tone slightly more serious. You nodded, quickly collecting the scattered flowers and placing them back into the basket. He watched you with a knowing smile, his eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to contradict the taboo nature of what had just occurred. "I'll be here waiting for you next time, little Sunshine," he whispered, patting your bottom as you straightened up. With a final lingering glance, you gathered your composure and made your way to the grandma's house, the scent of sex and the sticky warmth between your legs serving as a silent testament to your secret. As you approached the clearing, the sounds of the woods grew distant, and the reality of your life with your grandmother came back into focus. But deep down, you knew you would be back, unable to resist the allure of Mr. Wolf's embrace and the thrilling world of passion he had introduced you to.

[gentaro-kinniecom]

New Beginnings

Characters: Zayne/fem!reader

C/w: 1.4k! (Read at your own risk, meant for +18) mentions of breeding, married life, somewhat graphic descriptions of sex. Zayne wants to be a father although he doesn't admit it..he just wants to get you knocked up.

A/n: Finished writing this instead of my english essay because... There's also a Rafayel fanfic in the making so stay tuned for more <33

“Zayne? It’s 1am, you still haven’t come back to bed..” I said, leaning against the door frame as he sighed, typing away on his computer while passing a hand across his hair, trying to calm himself down. 

“I know. I’m sorry, I’ll be there”

“That’s what you said an hour ago..you’re tiring and exhausting yourself to the point of death at this point” Zayne sighed, closing his laptop and getting up from his desk chair, walking towards me with a soft grin trying to comfort me. 

“Are you satisfied now?” He asked, hugging my waist as we walked towards our shared bedroom. Ever since we got married, Zayne has gotten more work than usual piled up on his desk every time I go to visit him at work. It worries me that he’s overworking himself because of money, which hasn’t been an issue at all given he’s a doctor and works in a very respected hospital. But what other reason might it be? I laid in our shared bed, feeling myself drift away to sleep when suddenly, Zayne wrapped his arms around my waist. 

“Mhm, thank you” I replied, snuggling up to him while caressing his soft dark strands of hair that fell on his face, smiling. He muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite grasp as Zayne kissed me goodnight. I couldn’t help but stay awake for a few minutes, looking at the city lights by the window and back at Zayne’s sleeping form beside me.

Woken up by the sound of something crashing from the kitchen, I got out of bed with a small yawn, walking down the corridor of our lovely home to see Zayne had a mess of pancake batter all over his “kiss the cook” apron while sighing in annoyance before turning towards me.

“There’s shards of glass on the floor..please, be careful” I nod, grabbing a broom from the closet room and coming back to see Zayne was picking up the broken pieces from the floor. I suddenly stepped in one while trying to hand him the broom which made him look at me with worry, I try not to cry as he can clearly see the tears pricking my eyes.

“I’m fine I swear..” Without a second thought, he quickly lifted me onto the kitchen counter, carefully yet skillfully removing the glass from my foot as Zayne chuckled.

“Having you like this, reminds me of our honeymoon. Remember when-” I stopped Zayne by placing a hand over his mouth, trying to not remember that day where he fucked me into oblivion in our hotel’s kitchen island, right before breakfeast too.

“Why must you always make me remember? It’s like you’re hinting at wanting kitchen sex right now..” A chuckle left his lips as Zayne’s body inched closer, his hands grabbing my waist gently, kissing my neck while whispering sweet words that had me falling into his desire.

“Because, shouldn’t being a husband imply taking care of his wife’s desires as their own? Is it too bad that I want to be greedy with you for a few moments?”His hands began to trail under my nightgown and towards my chest as he began to rub my nipples, making me whine while kissing him.

“Alright, fine. Just seeing you in this apron alone made me feel things, did you do it on purpose?” I asked half jokingly as Zayne kissed my shoulder before taking off my nightgown, leaving me naked on the counter while grinning ear to ear.

“Perhaps, although now I see what you’ve been meaning to hide all this time; you’re trying to rile me up, and it’s working” He then kissed me, taking his sweet time to stroke my clit, agonizingly slow, teasing me as I whined into his mouth. Zayne didn’t take this lightly and spread my legs apart in a second. 

“And to think this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t break the glass measuring vase today” I added, gazing over at Zayne who kneeled towards my pussy, blowing on it gently before sucking on it. I gasped as his tongue did wonders, had I really forgotten of that day, or was I too fucked out of my brains to remember? Possibly the latter. He suddenly grabbed my thighs, massaging them in a way that made my cunt drip with more arousal than before. Of course, I was impatient, so I grabbed Zayne’s hair, pulling him upwards as he got the message.

“Maybe it was fate or clumsiness on my behalf, at least we’re making something out of this.” He spoke, yet I was too focused on how quickly he was to take off his pants, making me wonder why the hell was he wearing work pants so early in the morning. Nonetheless, all my thoughts vanished out the window as soon as I saw his cock. It wasn’t less than average or more, slightly curved and girthy, the type that never wants to let go once he’s had a taste..that..is the man I married, and the man he will always be. The small but noticeable vein on the side made me drool as he stroked himself a few times before prodding at my entrance. 

“Please, don’t make me wait longer, my love” 

“I thought, you weren’t the type to beg for something, it seems there’s a first for everything after all” Pushing my hips to meet his cock, Zayne grabbed them harshly, not enough to leave a bruise but enough to put me in my place as he smiled. The moment he thrusted inside, I threw my head back at the overwhelming pleasure Zayne was giving me at the moment. My hand found Zayne’s shoulder as he continued to pound at my dripping pussy. He let out a sharp groan as he finally reached my g-spot, making me let out a breathy moan while speeding up.

“Is this what you- hah wanted all along? For me to breed you? Make you carry our child? Answer me.” Zayne’s voice dropped to that soft and warm yet firm tone I always loved. Without any doubt, I answered almost eagerly.

“Y-yes..! Oh fuck~!” I sobbed due to the stimulation he gave me, in a hazy rush, Zayne grabbed my thighs, thrusting sharply yet deeply, enough to make me crave more.

“You’d be such a good mom, look at you, all needy and willing for me. I can’t wait to expand our family with you” He said, panting afterwards as he unexpectedly came inside rather quickly than normal. Pulling his cock away from my puffy cunt almost regretting his decision not long before seeing his cum leak down with a faint smile on his face.

“Stay here, I’ll go grab a towel.'' I nod, smiling at his gentleness as he comes back to clean me up. Zayne’s lips met mine as a ‘thank you’ from my behalf for being so kind and sweet as always. We eventually got dressed once again as I looked at my husband through the mirror of our bedroom, walking downstairs as I stared at the kitchen momentarily.

“So..what are we going to do about breakfast?” I asked, causing him to laugh while he grabbed both the house and car keys as we exited the front door.

“I know of a brunch place that just opened up nearby, perhaps we could give it a try today”

Some weeks later, I started feeling sick and began vomiting sometimes during the morning. I had a feeling it was because I was pregnant, however, my husband wanted to run some tests for me in the clinic near the hospital he worked at, “just to be sure” his words not mine. At the end of the day, I returned home waiting for the results to come back as I heard the front door open. Zayne tried little to hide the smile on his face as he handed me the envelope from the clinic

“I don’t need to read the letter at this point with the way you’re smiling at me” I teased, opening it up to show that I was indeed 3 weeks pregnant with his child. Zayne hugged me briefly before kissing my lips ever so softly.

“I promise to be the best father for our child, thank you for allowing me to have the blessing to start a family the day we got married, I love you.” He spoke, tear-eyed as I hugged him back, crying happily onto his chest.

“I love you too..I’ll never regret marrying the man that treats me like a queen and makes sure I have everything I need.” 

[shaiyasstuff]

unfold | sylus | epilogue

synopsis : Your husband, once a stranger in your marriage has grown to be a loving man who stays by your side like a quiet anchor. What once felt impossible softens into something steady and deeply personal—a love built not on fireworks, but on the quiet comfort of staying. content : arranged marriage au, non-cannon!au, sylus x non-mc, artist!reader, fluff, just married life i guess?

“It’s been almost four months!” you groan, dropping your head into your arms, voice muffled by frustration—and longing.

A familiar laugh crackles through your phone speaker. “It’ll be over before you know it,” Sylus drawls, his tone as casual as ever.

You lift your head just enough to peer at the screen, where his face fills the frame—messy hair, that signature lazy smirk, and eyes that somehow still manage to look like home.

“I miss you,” you murmur, pouting, your voice cracking ever so slightly as your eyes begin to water.

His smirk softens just a little, the corners of his mouth twitching with something gentler. “Just another three months, sweetie,” he says. “And I’ll be there before you can even blink.”

You sigh, a little dramatically. “Fine. But you owe me. For emotional distress.”

That earns a quiet chuckle. “Whatever you want, kitten.”

You finally crack a smile, blinking back the sting in your eyes. Just hearing his voice has a way of grounding you.

You’re in your music studio, hunched over your editing board, headphones askew and one foot tucked under your chair. You’d been in the middle of fine-tuning a new track when his call came in, and you hadn’t hesitated to answer.

It’s been almost four months since his last visit.

And it had only lasted three days.

He hadn’t warned you. Just showed up.

You still remember the way your breath caught when the doorbell rang. You opened it to find him standing there in his dark coat, suitcase at his feet, eyes tired but warm. Mephisto had padded around your legs, mewling up at him like he recognized him too.

“I only have three days,” he’d said with that crooked smirk. “Make them count.”

You had pulled him into a hug before he could say anything else.

The days passed in a quiet blur.

You stayed in—no grand plans, no flashy outings. Just time.

He’d sprawled across your couch, catching up on work, grumbling about investors while you listened with quiet amusement.

You talked about your upcoming project—a new art museum, something you’d been dreaming of with a group of fellow artists.

He didn’t interrupt.

Just watched you talk, his fingers absently brushing over your sketchbook as you flipped through designs.

One evening, he cooked.

You teased him relentlessly about the over-seasoned pasta and undercooked bread.

He only smirked and told you to be grateful he didn’t burn your kitchen down.

“You’re still going to make me cook when you’re around,” you said.

“Of course,” he replied without missing a beat, “but at least now I can pretend to help.”

You laughed until your stomach hurt.

The night before he left, he surprised you again.

A small, velvet box—held out without a word.

Inside, a delicate diamond necklace, the pendant engraved with your initials in cursive.

You’d stared at it, stunned into silence, until he gently reached around and clasped it behind your neck himself.

“I figured,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your shoulder, “it was about time I bought you something meaningful.”

“Everything you give me is meaningful.” You smiled—eyes glossy, heart full—while he just looked at you, that familiar smirk still on his lips but his gaze soft, unguarded.

And on the day he left, he kissed your temple and whispered something soft—something you barely heard over the sound of your own heart tightening in your chest.

Now, months later, despite the distance, the bond between you has only deepened.

The texts, the nightly calls, the little packages he sends when he knows you’re working too hard—it’s not just routine.

It’s presence.

It’s him, still finding a way to be part of your days even when he’s half a world away.

“Say,” you begin, lifting your phone as you walk out of the studio, “you’re really lounging around today. Not much going on over there?”

The camera shifts, showing Sylus reclining on his couch, one arm behind his head, the other holding his phone lazily. His expression is relaxed, almost smug.

“Well,” he drawls, “my assistant just informed me that all meetings are pushed back due to a storm. So…” He flashes a half-smile. “I’m free to call you for the next two days.”

You hum in response, setting your phone on the kitchen counter and opening the fridge. “That’s great,” you reply lightly, grabbing a bottle of water. “You get to witness me becoming best friends with Mephisto.”

Right on cue, a soft mewl echoes from somewhere nearby. The little black cat pads into view, red eyes gleaming with curiosity as he hops onto a nearby stool.

Sylus chuckles. “That cat is going to be my undoing.”

You glance at the screen over your shoulder, amusement tugging at your lips. “Maybe don’t be so jealous of a kitten.”

He scoffs. “He gets more cuddles than I do.”

You roll your eyes. “You live in Madrid.”

“Still,” he mutters. “The betrayal.”

You laugh as you twist open the water bottle and take a sip.

The quiet domesticity of it all—the banter, the warmth, the soft hum of your home—settles in your chest like a weight you didn’t know you’d been craving.

Then, a moment later, his tone shifts slightly.

“Oh, by the way,” he says. “Mother called.”

You glance at the phone. “Oh?”

“She wants you to visit,” he adds casually, but his eyes flick to yours on the screen. “Says it’s been too long.”

You blink. “Me? Alone?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? I can’t exactly fly back right now. Not with the storm.”

You stare at him for a beat, water bottle paused halfway to your lips. “You know your family’s estate is terrifying, right? It’s like walking into a palace haunted by elegance.”

He grins. “You’ll be fine. Mother likes you.”

“That makes one of us.”

Sylus laughs again, but the look he gives you is gentler than before. “She just wants to see you. Talk. Probably show off your last exhibition photos to her garden club or whatever it is she does.”

You groan. “I swear if your father so much as raises an eyebrow at me—”

“I’ll call you,” Sylus says smoothly. “Every second. Every hour. I’ll be your lifeline.”

You glance at him again.

And despite your complaints, despite the nerves curling in your stomach… a part of you is already considering it.

Because this—whatever this is—feels real now.

Storm or not, Madrid or not… he’s still right there.

And maybe that’s enough.

“Fine,” you sigh, though a small smile betrays you. “I guess I’ll pick up a few gifts before heading there. Wouldn’t want to show up empty-handed and risk offending the queen of elegance.”

Sylus chuckles. “She’ll pretend not to expect it, but she’ll be delighted.”

You roll your eyes, moving around the kitchen as you speak. “It’s not generosity. It’s a tactical bribe. Just in case your father decides to interrogate me again.”

“Oh, he definitely will,” he says casually. “But you’ll charm him. You always do.”

You glance at your phone and find him reclining back on his couch, his expression relaxed, gaze soft.

There’s something steadying about the way he’s looking at you—like despite the distance, you’re still here together.

“I’ll arrange the jet to bring you,” he adds, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course you will.”

“Only the best,” he murmurs, “for my favorite person currently being emotionally blackmailed into visiting my family.”

You snort. “How generous of you.”

He grins, but then his voice dips just a little. “I wish I could come with you.”

The softness in his tone is unexpected—quiet, real.

You glance at the screen again, heart giving a small twist. “I know. But… it’s okay. I’ll survive.”

“Take Mephisto,” he says suddenly, like it just occurred to him. “He’ll protect you from ancestral ghost paintings and stares that last too long.”

You glance down at the kitten curled near your feet, fast asleep, clearly not up for the job.

“I think you overestimate his courage,” you murmur with a smile.

“Well then, I’ll just have to call you every night to make sure you’re still alive.”

You shake your head, but your chest feels a little lighter. “You better.”

There’s a pause, gentle and full, before he adds quietly, “Safe travels, sweetie.”

You nod, voice low. “I’ll let you know when I land.”

He gives you one final look—fond, almost reluctant. “I’ll be waiting.”

And even though you’re the one going away this time, somehow, you feel like you’re still being held.

The jet door opened with a soft hiss, revealing a muted sky dusted in silver clouds. The kind of weather that felt like it belonged to old family homes and quiet memories.

You stepped onto the stairs slowly, the chill brushing against your coat as your heels clicked lightly down each step. The estate came into view beyond the tarmac—grand, familiar, and still somehow a little distant.

A small, uncertain mewl came from the carrier in your hand.

You glanced down.

Mephisto’s red eyes peered up at you through the mesh, wide and wary. His tiny body tensed in the unfamiliar space, ears twitching as the wind tousled your coat.

You softened.

“It’s alright, little guy,” you whispered, kneeling slightly to press your fingers gently to the side of the carrier. “New places are hard. But we’ll be okay.”

He let out a quieter sound, still grumpy, but comforted.

By the time you stood again, one of the estate staff had approached—a woman dressed in neat black, posture crisp, face unreadable in that perfectly trained way.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a slight bow. “Mrs. Qin has arranged everything. May I?”

You hesitated, glancing down at Mephisto again. He let out a soft growl that almost sounded like protest.

“I’ll be right behind him,” you said, your voice gentler now. You passed the carrier to her carefully, fingers brushing the handle for a second longer than necessary.

She gave a small nod and turned toward the sleek black car waiting nearby, Mephisto quietly peering out the window of his temporary prison as he was carried away.

You stood for a moment on the tarmac, your hand drifting instinctively to the base of your neck where the necklace rested, cool and solid against your skin. Your initials were etched into the pendant—a weight you hadn’t expected to miss as much as you had.

The wind picked up slightly, brushing through your hair as your gaze drifted toward the winding road ahead.

You sighed.

Then followed.

—•

The car moved smoothly down the winding road, the estate drawing closer with every turn. The trees lining the path stood tall and still, their branches swaying ever so slightly in the breeze, like they were watching you pass.

Mephisto had finally settled in his carrier beside you, his tiny body curled into a wary little ball. His breathing was soft and even now, lulled by the motion of the car.

You stared out the window for a while, one hand resting lightly on the carrier, the other hovering over your phone.

And then—almost without thinking—you tapped his name.

The call rang once. Twice.

Then connected.

“Well,” Sylus said, his voice smooth and a little smug, “you’re alive. That’s promising.”

You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders softening instantly. “Barely,” you murmured. “Your estate still feels like it could swallow a person whole.”

His low chuckle rumbled through the speaker. “It does have that effect.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers absentmindedly stroking the edge of Mephisto’s carrier. “He finally stopped mewling,” you said softly. “But I think he hates your family already.”

“He has good instincts.”

That made you laugh under your breath.

There was a small pause.

“You nervous?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You hesitated. “A little.”

Another beat passed before he spoke again, gentler this time. “You’ll be fine. Mother already adores you. Probably more than she likes me.”

“She stares at me like she’s cataloging my entire soul.”

“She probably is,” he admitted with amusement. “But if it makes you feel any better, she’s done that to everyone since birth.”

You leaned your head against the window, watching the iron gates grow larger in the distance. “I wish you were here.”

A quiet inhale. “I know.”

Your eyes flicked to the iron gates as they swung open before the car. “The last time I was here, we had dinner. Remember?”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, “Of course I do.”

You could still see it—the long dining table, his mother’s knowing smiles, his father’s unreadable glances, the tension of formality stitched into every fork and glass.

But you also remembered Sylus nudging your knee under the table, brushing his thumb across your hand without a word. The unspoken truce forming between you.

It had been the beginning of something. Quiet. Unassuming.

But real.

“I don’t think I realized back then how different you were with them,” you murmured.

“Different?”

You nodded. “You always feel like a storm when you’re near me. But with them, you were… composed. Guarded.”

He was silent for a moment.

“They don’t get to see all of me,” he said finally. “Not like you do.”

Your heart fluttered at that. Subtle, but undeniable.

“I wish you were here,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied. And for once, there was no smirk in his voice.

Just softness. Honesty.

You pressed the phone a little closer to your ear, as the car rolled to a stop beneath the grand stone archway.

“I’ll call tonight,” he added, quieter now. “When things settle. Just… let me know how she is.”

“I will,” you promised.

You lingered a moment longer, phone still warm in your hand.

Then the driver stepped out, and the door opened.

The wind swept against your coat, and the estate stretched out before you—familiar, imposing, and not nearly as intimidating as it used to be.

Because this time, you weren’t walking into it alone.

Not really.

—•

You’d just finished unpacking when the knock came.

The room they’d given you—Sylus’s old bedroom—still held traces of the boy he must have been. Tall bookshelves lined with outdated science manuals and worn novels.

A collection of antique model ships, perfectly preserved behind glass. A fencing trophy perched proudly on the windowsill.

It was strange, being surrounded by versions of him you’d never known, and yet… oddly comforting.

You paused at his desk, fingers brushing over a faded photograph half-tucked into a frame—he couldn’t have been more than fifteen, all sharp edges and guarded eyes, standing beside his mother in that very garden.

The knock came again, gentle but expectant.

“Mrs. Qin is waiting for you in the garden,” the attendant said politely.

You followed them down the long, polished hallway, passing tall windows that poured golden light onto the marble.

The estate was as grand as ever, but this time, it didn’t feel as cold.

Not with memories trailing behind you and Mephisto snoozing safely in the corner of Sylus’s room.

The garden looked just like the photo—elegant and wild in all the right ways.

Wisteria hung in soft lavender blooms above a marble table nestled beneath a trellis, sunlight filtering through the leaves.

She stood when she saw you.

“Sylus didn’t tell me he married someone who could disappear for months at a time,” she teased gently, though her smile was wide and real as she opened her arms.

You hesitated only a beat before stepping into the hug, your own smile tugging at your lips. “Apologies. I got lost in the studio.”

“Then it must’ve been worth it,” she said warmly, and you could tell she meant it.

She motioned for you to sit, her hands graceful as she poured the tea.

The table was already set with delicate pastries and fresh fruit, the scent of roses heavy in the spring air.

“So,” she said, reclining slightly with her teacup in hand, “tell me everything. I’ve seen some of your recent pieces. That last gallery installation in Paris—it was breathtaking.”

You blinked, surprised. “You saw that?”

She lifted a brow. “Darling, I have eyes. And a very efficient art advisor.”

That made you laugh, a soft and genuine sound.

“Things are going well. I’ve been working with a few friends to start a new collaborative space. It’s more intimate. More emotional. I think I’m finally learning to let people see the work behind the polish.”

She smiled as if pleased with your answer.

“Art and honesty have always gone hand in hand. It just takes most people a lifetime to figure it out.”

There was a comfortable silence as you sipped your tea, the breeze playing through the vines overhead.

Then she leaned in slightly, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“You know, Sylus once tried to sneak out through that hedge over there—swore he could scale the side wall with a rope he’d braided out of his school ties.”

You blinked. “Please tell me he didn’t succeed.”

“Oh, he succeeded,” she said, laughing. “And landed straight in a thorn bush. Took five stitches and refused to admit he cried.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That… actually tracks.”

“I kept the ties. They’re in one of those drawers in his old room. I thought about turning them into a ridiculous quilt.”

You both laughed, the kind that made your chest feel light.

It was easy, sitting there with her—like sharing something sacred. Not just stories, but pieces of Sylus you wouldn’t have found on your own.

And somehow, that made this place feel a little less intimidating.

A little more like something that might, someday, feel like home.

The laughter faded, but the warmth remained. You leaned back in your chair, the delicate porcelain teacup cradled between your hands, the floral scent of the garden settling gently into your lungs. Somewhere nearby, a fountain burbled softly, blending into the sound of leaves shifting in the breeze.

She smiled over the rim of her cup, her eyes thoughtful now. “It’s good to hear you laugh,” she said. “I was worried, you know.”

You looked up at her. “Worried?”

She nodded slowly. “When you two first married… well, Sylus always had a way of keeping people at arm’s length. Even me. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever let someone in.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup.

She noticed.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said gently. “I just… I’ve never seen him soften for anyone before. Not until you.”

You looked down at the steam curling up from your tea. “It wasn’t easy at first.”

“No, I don’t imagine it was,” she said with a light, knowing smile. “He was always so composed as a boy—brilliant, distant, a bit too sharp for his own good. But underneath all that… he’s softer than he wants the world to believe.”

You met her gaze again, caught off guard by how much she seemed to know.

“I think,” you said slowly, “he’s starting to let me see that part of him.”

She reached across the table and placed her hand lightly over yours. “And I think he’s glad you do.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. Just breathed in the quiet of the garden. The peace of it.

“Has he ever brought anyone else home?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

She laughed softly, almost fondly. “No, dear. Only you.”

You blinked, heart giving a small, startled flutter.

“He always told me marriage was transactional,” she went on. “A matter of logic. Strategy. But then he married you, and now he sends me photos of your paintings and videos of that little cat as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“I think he loves you,” she said gently. “Not that he’d ever say it in so many words.”

You swallowed, eyes stinging a little more than you’d like to admit.

“I don’t need him to say it,” you whispered.

“No,” she said softly. “But one day, he will.”

The breeze picked up, stirring the wisteria. You sat there for a long moment, just you and her and the ghosts of the boy he used to be.

And for the first time, this house didn’t feel like something to endure.

It felt like something to return to.

Dinner arrived sooner than you would’ve liked.

The sun had dipped low behind the estate walls, casting long shadows across the stone floors as you were led back inside, through gilded halls and hushed corridors.

The dining room was just as you remembered—long table, flickering candlelight, polished silverware gleaming like a warning.

You inhaled slowly as you stepped in.

And there he was.

Your father-in-law stood as you entered, offering a polite nod, not a smile. He always carried himself like a figure carved from granite—stern, unreadable, with eyes that missed nothing.

The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make you feel small.

You offered a quiet greeting, took your seat.

Right beside him.

Just as you’d dreaded.

Across the table, Sylus’s mother gave you a warm smile, as if sensing your tension and silently assuring you.

At first, it wasn’t so bad.

The food was beautifully prepared, the conversation polite. You answered questions about your recent projects, about the studio and the museum plans.

His mother asked with genuine interest, while his father listened with that usual air of cold curiosity.

Then, halfway through the main course, came the comment.

“Well,” his father said mildly, eyes not quite meeting yours, “at least Sylus had the sense to marry someone with some practical ambition. Not all artists can claim that.”

The words were smooth. Polished.

But they cut just the same.

You blinked, fork paused halfway to your mouth, unsure if you’d imagined the sharpness under his tone. His expression remained perfectly neutral, as if he’d just complimented the weather.

You swallowed back a thousand replies, each one more defensive than the last.

Instead, you reached for your phone beneath the table and typed quickly.

Your father is charming as always.

Remind me why I agreed to this again?

You hit send and placed the phone on your lap, trying to keep your smile in place.

Across the table, his mother’s brow creased slightly—as if she, too, heard the edge in her husband’s words but had long since learned to smooth over the damage.

A second later, your phone buzzed quietly.

Do I need to FaceTime into dinner and cause a scene?

You nearly laughed.

You bit your lip to keep it in, glancing down at the screen.

Please do. Dramatically, with wine.

And shirtless, if you really want to upset him.

Another buzz.

Tempting. But I’d rather save that for your return.

Hang in there, sweetie. You’ve got this.

Your shoulders relaxed just a fraction, the tension bleeding out as you let out a silent breath.

You typed one more message.

I miss you.

And I’m stealing one of your old books from the shelf before I leave.

The reply came quick, like he’d been waiting for it.

You can steal whatever you want.

You’ve already stolen my heart.

You smiled—before you could stop yourself.

A little too fondly. A little too real.

Your fingers lingered on your phone, the screen dimming with Sylus’s last message still fresh in your mind. The warmth in your chest hadn’t faded. It felt like he was right there.

But the moment didn’t go unnoticed.

A quiet cough came from beside you. Sharp. Intentional.

You glanced up and met your father-in-law’s gaze. His eyes were narrowed, unreadable, but the message was clear.

That smile had crossed some invisible line.

He shifted in his seat, posture straightening with the kind of presence that didn’t need to raise its voice to be felt. You knew that look. It was the same one you’d seen across many long, silent dinners.

A warning in polished restraint.

He opened his mouth—likely to comment, to correct.

But before a single word could land, his wife reached across the table and placed her hand gently over his.

“Not now,” she said. Her voice was calm, unwavering.

She didn’t even look at him.

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

His mouth closed, jaw tightening. He picked up his glass instead, taking a slow sip as if nothing had happened.

You looked down again, lips pressed together, unsure whether to feel relieved or guilty. Maybe a little of both.

When you glanced up, she was already looking at you. That quiet, knowing smile on her face again.

She didn’t have to say anything. You understood what it meant.

You throw back a small, grateful smile before looking down at your plate, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the tablecloth.

The food lost its taste somewhere between silence and formality, each course arriving with delicate precision, untouched more than it was eaten.

You nodded politely when spoken to, offered brief replies, but your mind drifted—back to the message still waiting on your phone, to the man who somehow made you feel steadier from miles away.

Dinner went on, as it always did in this house—measured, proper, and just slightly too quiet.

—•

“You should’ve seen your father’s face,” you groaned into your pillow, voice muffled as your phone sat propped up on the nightstand.

From the screen, Sylus offered you an apologetic smile, one corner of his mouth tilted, “I knew it would be bad…but not that bad.”

After dinner, you hadn’t lingered.

The moment dessert had been cleared, you’d stood with a polite excuse and slipped away.

His mother had met you in the hallway, offering a kind smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder—something wordlessly saying, you did well. It’s alright now.

Now, tucked into the oversized guest bed in his old room, you buried your face deeper into the pillow, letting out another muffled groan.

“At least your mother was gracious,” you muttered. “She always is.”

Sylus huffed softly. “She likes you.”

“Too bad your father looks at me like I personally offended his legacy.”

He didn’t argue.

You peeked up from your pillow and caught his expression again.

Still watching you.

Still trying to make this feel easier than it was.

“How am I gonna survive another four days here…” you sighed, flopping onto your back with dramatic flair.

There was a pause.

“Want me to call every night?” he offered.

You turned your head toward the screen, lips pulling into a reluctant smile. “You better.”

His eyes softened.

“I will.”

And somehow, the room didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

You yawned, the exhaustion settling into your bones as your eyes began to flutter shut.

From the nightstand, Sylus’s voice came through the screen, quiet and warm.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll stay with you for a while.”

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, catching a blurry glimpse of him through the dim glow.

He looked relaxed, but his gaze stayed on you—steadfast, unblinking.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, words slurred with sleep.

“I know,” he replied. “But I want to.”

A small, sleepy smile tugged at your lips as your eyes finally closed. The silence between you was soft and full, the kind that didn’t need filling.

You let go, knowing he was still there.

Watching. Listening.

Staying.

Warmth spread through your chest at the quiet realisation—how far things had come, how much had changed.

You hadn’t expected this.

Not the comfort. Not the safety.

And certainly not the ever-growing affection blooming gently in your heart for the man who once felt like a stranger in your home.

Your once-so-distant husband.

Now the one who stayed on the line just to watch you fall asleep.

The next morning, your phone was dead.

You plugged it in right away, watching the screen flicker back to life with a low hum.

The first thing you saw was his message.

You’re very adorable when you sleep.

A smile pulled at your lips—soft, sleepy, silly.

You typed back,

Aren’t you glad you married me?

Setting the phone down, you headed toward the bathroom.

Not long after you disappeared down the hall,

your screen lit up again.

Ever the luckiest man.

—•

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, stretching in soft golden stripes across the hallway as you made your way past.

Your pace slowed as you reached the staircase, the quiet of the estate broken only by the faint click of your heels against the marble.

At the bottom, a member of the staff stood waiting, hands folded neatly in front of her.

“This way, please,” she said with a courteous nod. “Mrs. Qin has requested your presence on the terrace.”

You paused mid-step, a flicker of nerves rising in your chest.

“Did she mention why?”

The staff member gave a gentle smile.

“She did not. But I do know Mr. Qin is there as well.”

You swallowed.

Of course he was.

You gave a quiet nod and followed her through the winding halls of the manor, the soft echo of footsteps filling the stillness between you.

After a moment, you glanced her way, attempting to lighten the air.

“Is Mr. Qin always so… brooding?”

The staff—an older woman, kind-eyed and composed—let out a faint, knowing chuckle.

“Well,” she said, “he wasn’t always that way.”

Her smile deepened just a little.

“Otherwise, he wouldn’t have married the Mrs.”

You blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.

And for a moment, the silence that followed felt less heavy.

You pressed on, curiosity outweighing caution.

Something about the way she said it lingered in your mind.

“So… what was he like before?” you asked gently, keeping pace beside her.

The woman hummed, as if dusting off old memories.

“Quiet, yes. But not cold. He was sharp, impatient at times, but he had warmth. Especially around her.”

You tilted your head. “Mrs. Qin?”

She smiled again, a touch more wistful now.

“He was different with her. Softer. Not many people saw it, but we did. That boy followed her like she hung the moon. Still does, in his own way.”

You looked ahead, heart tugging unexpectedly.

Somehow, that sounded painfully familiar.

You fell silent for a moment, her words settling deeper than you expected.

Softer. Not many people saw it.

There was something about the way she said it—like she was letting you in on a secret no one dared speak aloud.

You glanced at her again. “He doesn’t seem like someone who wears his heart so easily.”

The woman gave a quiet chuckle, fond and laced with something like sympathy.

“No, he never has. But it’s not about how loudly he shows it. It’s in the way he stays. Listens. Remembers.”

You looked down, your hands brushing along the hem of your sleeve as you walked.

That did sound familiar.

As you neared the terrace doors, she slowed beside you, her voice softer now.

“This house has a way of swallowing people,” she said. “But he’s never brought anyone here without reason. If you’re here, you matter more than you think.”

You looked at her, unsure what to say.

Instead, you nodded. “Thank you.”

She returned the nod, then stepped aside and opened the door for you.

Sunlight poured through the glass, bathing the terrace in gold.

And there he was.

Mr. Qin, your father-in-law.

Standing at the edge, his back to you, hands tucked behind him in quiet thought.

Waiting.

Mrs. Qin approached with a bright smile, her arms opening to gently guide you forward onto the terrace.

“I’m glad you’re up,” she said kindly, her voice warm with quiet delight.

Just beyond her, Mr. Qin turned at the sound of your footsteps. He met your gaze with a curt nod—formal, restrained, the same unreadable expression he always wore.

You returned the gesture with a small, polite dip of your head, saying nothing.

Then your eyes drifted past him.

There, near the far edge of the terrace, stood an easel.

A fresh canvas was perched in place, untouched and glowing beneath the soft morning sun.

Beside it, a wooden tray held brushes, neatly arranged, and several familiar tubes of paint you recognized by name.

Your steps slowed.

It was quiet. Simple. But unmistakably intentional.

Your fingers curled slightly at your side, drawn to the invitation it offered without words.

It wasn’t just a setup.

It was a gesture. A space made for you.

Mrs. Qin followed your gaze and let out a soft chuckle, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

“He wanted to see you in action,” she said, voice light, teasing. “Your father-in-law, that is.”

You blinked, turning slightly toward her.

She smiled knowingly. “He’d never admit it, of course. But he’s curious. Wanted to understand what you do—what Sylus admires so much.”

You glanced back at the easel, a flutter of nerves stirring in your chest.

Mr. Qin said nothing, standing a few steps away with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the horizon as if he hadn’t heard a word.

But somehow, that made the gesture feel even more deliberate.

Even more sincere.

“Ah…”

The sound slipped out before you could stop it, quiet and uncertain.

You glanced at the canvas again, then back toward Mr. Qin—stoic as ever, his expression unreadable.

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked your way, but the meaning lingered in the space between you.

It wasn’t just curiosity.

It was effort.

And coming from him, that meant something.

You turned back to Mrs. Qin, offering a small, sheepish smile.

“I suppose I’d better make it worth his time, then.”

She grinned, clearly pleased. “I think you already have.”

You settled in front of the easel, the wooden chair cool beneath you as you adjusted your posture and took in the view.

It was stunning. The kind of beauty that didn’t ask to be captured—only waited patiently until someone finally tried.

Golden sunlight filtered through the terrace arches, spilling across the stone floor and out toward the gardens below.

Trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves catching the light like silk. The horizon stretched in soft pastels, blurring where the sky met distant hills.

Something inside you stirred.

Familiar. Restless. Inspired.

Your fingers moved instinctively, reaching for a brush, then hovering over the palette as color choices began to form without words.

You hadn’t planned to paint today.

But the moment asked for it.

And you answered.

They watched quietly from behind.

Neither said a word.

You could sense them there—Mr. Qin’s calm, unreadable presence, and Mrs. Qin’s quiet, reassuring stillness.

They didn’t interrupt.

They didn’t need to.

There was something unspoken in the way they stood, as if they knew this wasn’t just painting to you.

It was expression. Memory.

A piece of yourself offered without words.

So they simply watched, letting you exist in that quiet space between thought and motion, between the rise of color and the sweep of a brush.

And you painted, unhurried, letting the silence hold you.

You finished not long after, laying the paintbrush and palette gently on the small table beside you.

The breeze had quieted, the morning sun now high enough to warm your shoulders.

Turning slightly in your seat, you glanced back at them—at the stillness in their posture, the quiet attention that hadn’t wavered.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“You finally got to see me in action,” you said, the words light and playful, directed at Mrs. Qin.

She let out a soft, delighted laugh. “I did. And it was even more mesmerizing than I imagined.”

Beside her, Mr. Qin gave a small nod.

And though his expression remained as composed as ever, you didn’t miss the faint shift in his gaze.

It was approval—unspoken, but there.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, surprised by how much that small nod meant.

He didn’t offer compliments. He didn’t need to.

But in his stillness, in the way he remained there without turning away, something had shifted.

Mrs. Qin stepped closer, eyes drifting to the canvas behind you. “May I?”

You nodded, rising from your seat as she approached the painting. She studied it quietly, fingers folded loosely in front of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, voice soft with sincerity. “You captured more than just the view.”

You stood beside her, brushing a faint streak of paint from your wrist. “Sometimes it’s not about what I see. It’s about what I feel when I’m seeing it.”

She looked at you then, something knowing in her eyes. “That’s why he brought you here.”

You blinked. “Sylus?”

She smiled. “No. My husband.”

Behind you, Mr. Qin remained by the terrace rail, his eyes turned toward the horizon—but he was listening.

“I think he wanted to understand,” Mrs. Qin continued. “To see for himself what Sylus saw in you.”

Your breath caught just slightly.

“And now?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Qin gave the faintest smile, folding her arms loosely. “Now, I think he sees it.”

You didn’t speak.

You just stood there, the scent of paint and garden roses drifting around you, the canvas behind you still drying in the sun.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel like a wall.

It felt like a beginning.

Mrs. Qin stepped back, giving the painting one final glance before turning to you with that same gentle warmth. “Would you mind leaving it here? I think the terrace suits it.”

You blinked, surprised by the request, but nodded. “Of course.”

She touched your arm lightly, then turned to join her husband, leaving you by the easel.

Mr. Qin didn’t say a word, but as she reached his side, he leaned in, murmuring something only she could hear.

She smiled faintly, gave the smallest nod, and they began to walk back toward the house together.

You watched them go, the way their steps fell in quiet rhythm, how she glanced up at him as if they’d been having the same silent conversation for years.

You wondered if you and Sylus would look like that someday. If you already did, in some unspoken way.

The breeze moved again, catching your hair, your sleeve, the edge of the drying canvas.

You turned back to the painting, eyes scanning the strokes you’d made. There was something different in it. Lighter. Unfiltered. You’d given it more than just color.

And somehow, you felt like the house had given something back.

Acceptance, maybe. Or something close.

You stepped away from the easel, gaze soft as you looked out over the garden one more time, then turned and followed the path back inside.

The terrace, for the first time, felt like yours too.

—•

“I think… your father might be warming up to me.”

You said it gently, unsure, your eyes flicking toward Sylus on the screen as you tucked your knees closer to your chest.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you.

You couldn’t quite read his expression—it was somewhere between thoughtful and amused.

Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Miracles do happen,” he said, tone light but not unkind.

You let out a soft breath, half a laugh. “He didn’t say much… but he stayed. Watched.”

Sylus tilted his head, watching you a little more closely now. “That’s more than most get.”

You looked down at your fingers, fidgeting slightly. “It felt like… I don’t know. Like he saw me, finally. Not just as someone you married.”

His voice dropped, quieter now. “He did.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounded.

“He sees it,” Sylus said. “What you’re capable of. Who you are.”

You blinked, heart catching just a little.

“You think so?”

He didn’t smirk this time.

He just nodded. “I know so.”

You raised a brow, a grin tugging at your lips. “Wow. That’s almost a compliment. From both of you.”

Sylus leaned back, his expression lazy as ever. “Don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

You snorted. “Of being emotionally repressed?”

He narrowed his eyes, mock offended. “Of being mysterious and refined, actually. But thanks.”

You laughed, stretching out across the bed. “Sure, let’s go with that. Mysterious. Right. That’s definitely what people say after watching you burn toast twice in one morning.”

“That was experimental cooking,” he shot back. “And the toaster was clearly defective.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Just admit it. You’re lucky I didn’t run for the hills after that breakfast.”

Sylus smirked. “Lucky, yes. But I’m also charming. You stayed for the charm.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “No, I stayed because of Mephisto. You’re just a bonus.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “That cat has replaced me in my marriage.”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Don’t worry. You’re still in the top three.”

He huffed, but his smile lingered. “You’ll regret that when I steal Mephisto and disappear into the Spanish countryside.”

“Joke’s on you,” you said sweetly. “He’d come right back for the snacks.”

Sylus leaned in a little closer to the camera, his voice dropping just slightly. “And you?”

You blinked, caught off guard for just a second.

Then you smiled, soft and certain. “Always.”

His smirk lingered for a second longer before it softened into something more subtle.

Something only you ever got to see.

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now. “Me too.”

You could hear the faint hum of the city behind him, but he was still—focused entirely on you.

“I wish you were here,” you said, barely above a whisper.

A pause.

Then that familiar glint flickered in his eyes. “If I were there, you wouldn’t get any sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Sylus.”

His grin eased, eyes never leaving yours. “I mean it. I’d rather be there than anywhere else right now.”

That pulled something warm and heavy in your chest.

“I’m glad you called,” you murmured.

He leaned back slightly, gaze relaxed. “Of course I called. You think I’m letting you survive that house without backup?”

You laughed quietly, sinking deeper into the pillows.

“I’ll call again tomorrow,” he added, casually—like it was a given.

Like he didn’t even need to promise it.

“Good,” you said, letting your eyes slip shut. “You’re kind of the only thing keeping me sane.”

“I know,” he said. “Rest well, sweetie.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

You just smiled, closing your eyes.

And as your breathing slowed, you heard him exhale, low and steady.

Still there.

Still yours.

The days passed in a quiet blur—early mornings on the terrace, soft conversations, brushes dipped in color and silence that no longer felt cold.

And now, it was time to leave.

The car waited near the front steps, bags already packed, Mephisto curled up lazily in his carrier, half-asleep and unimpressed by the movement.

Your in-laws stood just outside the entrance, the breeze gently tugging at Mrs. Qin’s coat, Mr. Qin’s hands folded neatly behind his back.

You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around her in a final hug. She held you just as warmly as before, her touch both graceful and grounding.

When you pulled back, you offered her a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks for having me,” you said softly.

Mrs. Qin’s smile deepened. “You’re always welcome here.”

Beside her, Mr. Qin gave a quiet nod. Not a word spoken, but something in his eyes had changed—less sharp, less guarded.

And somehow, that was enough.

You turned to offer one last smile, your hand already on the car door.

“Thank you again,” you said softly. “Truly.”

You were just about to slide into the seat when a quiet voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You turned, surprised to see Mr. Qin stepping forward, something deliberate in his movements.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a small, timeworn sketchbook. The edges were slightly frayed, the leather cover aged and softened by years of use.

“This belonged to Sylus,” he said, holding it out to you. “He used to draw in it constantly when he was younger. Never let anyone touch it.”

You looked down at the book in his hand, hesitating for just a second before accepting it carefully.

It was heavier than you expected—not in weight, but in meaning.

“I thought you should have it,” he said simply. “He wouldn’t mind.”

Your fingers brushed the edge of the cover, a quiet awe settling into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, voice low but steady.

He gave a brief nod, almost a bow, then stepped back beside his wife.

No further words, no grand display.

But as you sat down and closed the car door, the sketchbook resting in your lap, you realized this wasn’t just a goodbye.

It was a quiet welcome.

—•

“You never told me you used to draw,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice as you flipped another page of the sketchbook resting in your lap.

Sylus’s voice came through the speaker, dry as ever. “Because I’ve seen them.”

You let out a small laugh, glancing at the sketch currently staring back at you—a very abstract attempt at what might’ve once been a horse. Or a dragon. Possibly both.

“These are… something,” you said, trying to hold back your grin. “Bold lines. Strong confusion.”

“I was eleven and angry at perspective,” he deadpanned.

You snorted. “This one looks like it personally wronged you.”

“It probably did.”

You turned another page and found a portrait so dramatically shaded, it looked like the subject lived exclusively under a streetlamp. You tried to keep your expression neutral and failed completely.

“This one feels… intense,” you offered diplomatically.

“Ah yes,” he said. “My tortured soul phase.”

You burst into laughter, curling further into your couch. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

“I didn’t. My mother did. Probably as blackmail.”

“Well, it worked. I’m thoroughly humbled.”

There was a beat of silence, his voice softer now. “And yet, you’re still going through it.”

You smiled to yourself. “Because it’s you. Even the bad sketches.”

“Especially the bad ones,” he chuckles.

You closed the book gently, resting your hand over the worn leather cover.

“It’s good to be home,” you murmured.

“Not for long,” he replied. “You’ll be in Madrid before you know it.”

You smiled, the sound of his voice settling something in you.

“Promise?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

And just like that, the marriage that once felt impossible—fragile, distant, built more on circumstance than choice—had shifted into something quieter.

Steadier.

Real.

Not overnight. Not with grand declarations.

But with late-night calls.

With paint-stained fingers.

With laughter tucked between silence and the way he always stayed on the line just a little longer than necessary.

You glanced down at your phone, still warm in your hand. His voice had gone quiet for a while now, comfortable in the stillness.

“Say,” you asked, softer than before, almost like a memory brushing against your lips, “how long has it been since you arrived on my doorstep?”

There was a pause—then the faintest sound of a smile in his voice.

“Nine months,” Sylus said. “Two days. Around midnight.”

You blinked, breath catching slightly at the certainty in his tone. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about that night,” he replied, lower now. “The way you looked at me like I didn’t belong. The way I didn’t know what to say to make you trust me. And the way I wanted to stay anyway.”

You didn’t speak right away. The weight of those words settled gently between you.

“…That’s when it started, didn’t it?”

He let out a quiet breath. “That’s when everything started.”

And somehow, all the time you thought you’d lost—had really been building toward this.

Toward him. Toward home.

You closed the sketchbook gently, fingers brushing over the worn leather cover one last time before setting it down on the coffee table.

A fond smile tugged at your lips, but you masked it with a familiar lilt in your voice.

“Okay, lover boy,” you teased, rising from the couch, “don’t get all emotional on me now.”

From the phone speaker, Sylus let out a quiet scoff, equal parts amused and unamused. “Says the one who cried over a cat video yesterday.”

You paused mid-step, turning toward the phone with mock offense. “It was heartfelt.”

“It was a raccoon hugging a kitten.”

“Exactly. A hug, Sylus.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Go to bed, dramatic woman.”

You grinned, already heading down the hall. “Goodnight, emotionally repressed man.”

“Sweet dreams, kitten.”

And even as you slipped beneath the covers, your heart carried the echo of his voice—calm, constant, and undeniably yours.

You wouldn’t have imagined married life to be like this.

This soft. This steady.

Not when it started with distance and silence, with unsure glances and conversations that felt more like negotiations.

But now, with his voice lingering in your ear, with an old sketchbook resting on your coffee table, and the quiet warmth of your home wrapping around you like a familiar coat.

It felt easy.

Not effortless. But easy, in the way breathing becomes when you stop realizing you’re doing it.

He made space for you.

And somewhere along the way, you made space for him too.

And maybe this was what it meant to grow into love, not by falling.

But by staying.

masterlist

[im-constantly-fangirling]

pride and prejudice

Summary: Rafe Cameron is your typical frat boy-- and you hate those types. But what happens when a night out gives you a peek of who Rafe Cameron is behind all of that?

obxau!Rafe x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: underage drinking, the word 'rapist' (no one gets raped or anything), cursing, terrible attempts at humor

A/N: This is definitely not a product of me watching pride and prejudice after watching 22nd jump street. Definitely not. I'm planning on making this a series, so stay tuned for more!

Edit: guys I’m working on part 2!! Hopefully I’ll have it up in the next few days, before my classes start :)

Masterlist

You weren’t one for frat parties; you were more of a kickback kind of girl. You’d been to exactly two frat parties during your time in college, and they both disappointed you immensely. But your friend had a thing going on with this one guy, and that guy was best friends with someone from a frat– so for the sake of her love life you put on a frat party-esque outfit. And that’s how you found yourself sipping on a drink, talking to your friend when her almost-boyfriend crashed your conversation with someone.

You were swaying slightly along to the music that was being blasted throughout the house, trying your best not to bump into the severely drunk people that surrounded you. Your friend laughed and grabbed her almost-boyfriend’s arm. “There you are,” she said, slightly slurry. “I was having so much fun without you!”

He laughed and poked her nose. “Just wanted to introduce my favorite girl to my favorite guy. This,” he said, pointing at his friend, “Is Rafe Cameron.” 

You let your eyes roam over Rafe Cameron as he shook your friend’s hand. Typical frat boy, you thought. Loose-fitting shirt, black pants, slightly unkempt hair, rings. All he was missing was a silver chain and earrings and he’d be the poster boy for a homewrecker’s association. He extended his hand to you, but your body lagged momentarily. Rafe Cameron. Rafe Cameron. 

He probably was the poster boy for a homewrecker’s association.

“Wait,” you said, hesitating. “Rafe Cameron? I’ve heard of you!”

He smirked a little. “I figured.”

You almost rolled your eyes. Arrogant. Should have known. You shook his hand out of respect, but you weren’t too eager to do more than that. 

Rafe wasn’t on the same page. “So what’s your name?” he slightly shouted over the music.

You gave him your name and took a sip of your drink from your silo cup. You elbowed your friend. “You just about done for tonight? If you drink even a drop more I feel like I’m gonna have to airlift you out of here.”

Your friend laughed and shrugged before looking at her almost-boyfriend. “But I’m having so much fun!”

He put his arm around her loosely, and they both drunkenly grinned at each other. You looked at Rafe and fake gagged. “They’re disgusting. Especially him, just cause I’m not gonna insult her.”

“He never told me his girl had such a beautiful friend, you know,” Rafe said, his hand reaching up to comb through his hair. Your eyes trailed his arm, watching as his short sleeve fell back and exposed his bicep– and then you remembered whose arm you were just staring at, and looked back at his face. 

Judging by his smile, he knew you were looking. 

“Don’t waste your lines on me, Rafe Cameron. I’m not gonna sleep with you,” you retorted.

“Who said I wanted to?” he teased, crossing his arms.

You pursed your lips. “So is that how you greet everything with a pulse that walks through your door?”

Rafe chuckled and took half a step closer to you. “That’s how I greet people I find interesting.”

“Aha so you do wanna sleep with me!” you exclaimed. “Oh, how I love being correct.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, must not be a regular occurrence with how excited you are.”

You pouted at him, swatting at his shoulder. “That’s not very welcoming of you. I thought the job of a host was to be kind to their guests?”

“You don’t seem like you want to be my guest,” Rafe said, a slight implication in his voice. He took your red silo cup out of your hand. “But I’ll give you some time to change your mind.”

You tilted your head at him. “I’m not that easy, Cameron.”

“I like a challenge.” He took a sip of your drink, eyes wincing. “Holy shit, this is strong!”

“Yeah, I can’t hold my liquor for shit, but I sure love to try.” You took your drink back from Rafe. “Thank you for leaving behind exactly two drops,” you said sarcastically.

Rafe put up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, I’ll get you a refill.”

You smiled at him with a poisonous smile. “Better get hoppin’, Cameron.”

“You’re not gonna come with?” He questioned. You started nodding when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw your friend and her almost-boyfriend making out, their hands wandering. When you looked back at Rafe, he looked like he could barely hold in his laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come,” you said, resigned. Rafe laughed, his alcohol-tinged breath fanning over your face lightly. “Shut it before I tackle you.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, turning to walk toward the drink table. 

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

You and Rafe had finally fought through the sluggish heap of college students, reaching the kitchen only to find mostly empty bottles. Rafe put his hands on his hips and hummed to himself. “Actually,” he said, “Wait here. I’ll go get some from my room. Can’t let a pretty girl walk around here without a drink.”

You smiled at him slightly. “Flattery isn’t gonna get you anywhere, Cameron.”

“Not with that attitude it won’t,” he said before he disappeared into the throng of students, making his way to the stairs. You just pulled your phone out and stood in the corner, hoping that no one would bump into you. 

Your phone vibrated with a text from your friend. 

Gojng bck to his place, get hom cafe! ill pay u back 4 uberrrrrr 

That girl really needs to pace her drinks, you thought to yourself. Crossing your arms around yourself, you tried to blend into the dark corner of the kitchen you planted yourself in. Maybe just one drink with Rafe and then I’ll go home. 

As if on cue, you felt a slight poke on your right shoulder. You turned to find Rafe standing with two cups, filled almost to the brim with coke and god knows what else. “I have returned,” he said.

“Very medieval of you,” you teased, taking the glass from him. “What’s in it, exactly?”

“Just some Tito’s and coke. Can’t go wrong there,” Rafe said, taking a sip of his drink.

You looked into the brown liquid and, when you noticed no bubbles or anything else strange, you took a little sip. “I’ll give you that one. Sometimes basic is good.”

“Woah, doth my ears misunderstand? Art thou agreeing with me?” Rafe said sarcastically.

You laughed. “It’s just the alcohol, alright? I don’t usually have more than two shots, and right now I’m no shot number three.”

Rafe laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re such a lightweight!”

An immediate, stubborn fire lit in your stomach at those words. “Hey! You might be right but would a lightweight do this?” You brought the cup to your lips and chugged the slightly bitter drink, ignoring the ache in your throat from the sheer volume of liquid. 

“I could do better than that,” Rafe countered, downing his drink in three large sips. You watched his Adam’s apple bob slightly. You hated to think it, but you saw the appeal. The sarcasm, charm, chill attitude– and it didn’t help that it was attached to such a nice body.

You definitely drank too much. 

“Let’s pour another then, mister big shot!” you slurred slightly. Fuck, my head hurts a little. 

Rafe shook his head vigorously. “I don’t think that’s the best idea. You’ve just had five shots.”

Your eyebrows shot up to your forehead. “There were two shots in there?”

Rafe leaned in, just a few inches between your faces. “And that was me restraining myself,” he said in a low voice. “I think I win our alcoholic contest, sweetheart.”

You felt a slight blush creep into your face. It’s just the alcohol, you thought. It’s definitely not his voice. 

“Well,” you slurred. “I should probably head home anyway. My lovely friend and her make out partner have decided to abandon me high and dry, so it’s not like I’ve got much entertainment here anyway.”

“Okay, now I’m offended. I’m not entertaining?” Rafe put his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Let me call you an Uber, then.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You think chivalry is gonna get you in my good graces, Cameron?”

He shook his head. “I know it will.” He pulled out his phone, the brightness illuminating his face slightly. You could see every crevice of his pores, his plush lips—

I need to go home, you thought. Too much drink. Toooooo much. You shook your head and then immediately winced, regretting the sudden movement. 

“You okay?” Rafe asked. 

You nodded your head lightly. “Yeah my head is just spinning reallllyyyyyy fast,” you said, chuckling. “It’s like my head is moving and my brain is taking a bit to catch up with me.”

Rafe put his phone in his back pocket. “Alright, how about we get you sobered up a little before I send you home, alright? I don’t need the RAs to get you in trouble for drinking.” He lightly grabbed your upper forearm and guided you out of the kitchen before you stopped him.

“Wait, Rafe,” you said, your eyes wide. “I’m really really dizzy.” You blinked your eyes open and close over and over again, as if that would get the alcohol to process through your system faster. “I don’t wanna walk.” I probably look like a clutz right now. In front of Rafe Cameron, no less. 

Rafe sighed a little before he guided you to lean all of your body weight into his side. “Come on, let’s go sit on the couch, alright?”

You shook your head. “Noooo I don’t want to,” you slurred, your head throbbing at this point. “Too many people there. It’s embarrassing,” you whined. I wanna go home, I don’t want anyone to see me like this, you thought to yourself.

“You wanna go upstairs then? There’s no one in my room.” Rafe put his arm around your shoulder, and you leaned into his support, your face falling into the space between his neck and shoulder. You could smell his cologne just slightly, and you had to give it to him– he picked out some good cologne. He smelled just lightly of sandalwood and pine. It distracted you for a little bit before you remembered to respond.

“Okay, but if you kidnap me then I’m gonna be sooooo mad at you.”

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

When Rafe got to the stairs, he looked at you and the stairs and back at you again. “So how do you want to do this?”

You shook your head in the crook of his neck, frustrated. “I don’t knowww,” you whined. “My brain isn’t working right now and I hate it, I hate it, I hate–”

“Alright, sweetheart, how about I just carry you up the stairs? You don’t have to do anything, you just have to sleep a little, okay? I promise the second you wake up I’ll drive you home.”

You hummed for a really long time, harmonizing to Phantom of the Opera. “I’m so sorry for being this annoying,” you started rambling. “I don’t really drink this much and like I wanna take care of myself but it’s so frustrating cause I tell my legs to move and they just don’t- ah!”

Rafe put his hands under your knees, lifting you up and climbing the stairs, weaving in and out of the small groups of people who were standing on the staircase. “It’s okay, trust me. You’re not an annoying drunk, you’re kinda funny.” He poked the area behind your knee and you snorted. “Woah, what was that sound?” he asked you.

You clutched his shirt and buried yourself into his neck even deeper than before. “If I hear a word about this tomorrow, I’m going to order an Osama bin Laden level hit squad on you, you hear me Cameron? I’m anti-gun but I’ll change my mind just to get rid of you.”

“Harsh words from the girl who couldn’t figure out a flight of stairs,” Rafe teased you. 

He brought you down the hallway, and the loud noises of the party slowly started getting a little quieter. The lights were off in this part of the house, and you found the dark a welcome cool for your pupils. Your eyes closed. 

“You doing alright there?” Rafe asked you. He leaned all your weight onto his one hand and thigh and you heard the turn of a doorknob– and then the click of the door as it shut behind you. 

“Don’t kidnap me, Cameron,” you slurred. “Remember. Osama bin Laden hit squad.”

Rafe chuckled, and you felt the vibrations through his chest. “Relax, sweetheart. I know some people think I’m a dick, but I’m not a rapist.” He lowered you to what you could feel was a bed and a slightly wrinkled comforter of some sort. Comfy. 

You peeked an eye open to look at him. “That’s what a rapist might say.” Rafe’s face was still a little close to you, having just put you on his bed, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering to his lips. And then back to his eyes when you remembered who he was. And then back down to his lips when you forgot. 

“You talk a lot, don’t you?” Rafe commented, making no move to get away from you. Rather, he did the opposite– he sat on the edge of his bed, leaning his weight onto his thighs. His basketball shorts rode up a little and you could see the slight muscle of it. 

You opened both of your eyes and found yourself in a small, secluded room. The only light source was his desk lamp in the corner, the soft yellow light giving the area a cozy glow. He had a few basketball posters up on the wall across from where you were lying. Typical frat room, you thought. No surprises there. 

You sat up against his headboard and looked Rafe defiantly in his eyes. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Never said I didn’t like it,” Rafe said. “Between the two of us, I think you’re the one who’s got a heart full of hate.”

“Just because I don’t say yes to sleeping with you doesn’t mean I hate you, Cameron,” you said slightly irritated. “Sorry, I don’t fall onto your feet immediately.”

“You don’t hate me, huh?” Rafe said, smirking. “That’s a start.”

“And that’s all it’s gonna be. I’m not easy,” you repeated. “Not much works on me.”

“So what does? Asking for a friend.” Rafe motioned you to scootch over, and you did, cornered between him and the wall. You sat with your back against the headboard, and Rafe sat opposite you, putting his hands behind him. 

You hummed for a really long time. I’ve been humming a lot lately, you thought. “I don’t knooooow,” you drew out. “I’ll tell you if you give me 20 Monopoly dollars.”

“How about 20 Life dollars?” Rafe countered.

“Deal!” you said, laughing. You sighed, the question sobering you up a little bit. “I want a man who’s genuine,” you decided. “I’ve done the whole casual, hook-up thing. I hated it, I always felt used afterward.” You looked at him. “Guess I just want something real for once.”

Rafe didn’t break your eye contact, and you could practically see the gears in his head processing everything you said. 

Shit, you thought. Not very casual and funny of me to just drop this on a frat guy. 

You leaned your head against the headboard, a drunk smile on your face. “But I don’t expect you to get that. Not exactly the fun conversation you wanted to have at your party, right? Hey! Hopefully I don’t remember telling you this tomorrow morning!” You laughed at your own stupidity. “Wait, fuck, if I forget then you might still remember!”

Rafe cleared his throat and got on all fours, reaching behind you to pull up his pillow. You moved forward naturally. “What, are you gonna hit me with it?” you joked with Rafe.

He didn’t laugh, chuckle, give a quip back. Nothing. He just laid the pillow down flat and gestured for you to lay down. You did. “You should get some sleep,” he said solemnly. 

You nodded lightly, happily noticing your head throbbing less than before. When your eyes closed, you felt Rafe’s weight get off of the bed. You didn’t know why, but you felt something clawing at you in your stomach, telling you that you’d fucked up somewhere. He’s helping you, you thought. He’s helping you and you just insulted his character two seconds ago. 

“Wait, Rafe?” you called out. You heard him give a soft grunt in response. “Why’re you being so nice to me?”

There was a pause and you heard him take in a breath. “Guess I’m just a good host,” he said softly, slight jest in his voice. But it was tinged with a heaviness that you hadn’t heard all night. You opened your eyes to find him sitting at his desk, looking at you.

“You know,” you started, the alcohol making you more vulnerable than usual. “That light makes you look really good. Kind of like a painting.”

Rafe chuckled. “You’ve definitely had too much to drink, sweetheart.”

You turned your body to face him. “Maybe. But I’m not gonna remember this tomorrow, so did this even happen?” you said. “Are we in a matrix? Have we been in a simulation this–”

“You sound like a podcast junkie right now,” Rafe said, laughing. You heard less of the heaviness in his voice and rejoiced silently. Frat boy or not, you didn’t like making people sad.

“You’re a little different than I thought you’d be, Cameron.”

Rafe shook his head. “I still fuck anything that moves, don’t worry. And I can hold my alcohol, but we already established that, didn’t we?”

You slapped your hand over your eyes. “Too soon, man. Too soon.” Your eyes started drooping behind your palm, and you yawned. “Wait, if you want I can go sleep on the couch. I don’t wanna take your bed, and you’ve been so nice to me even though I’m like an annoying amount of drunk. It’s the least I can do,” you begged.

“There’s like fifty people on the couch,” Rafe pointed out.

You dragged your hand down your face and pouted, your lower lip jutting out slightly in thought. “Then I can Uber back home. I don’t wanna bother you.” Tears started lining your eyes. 

Rafe rolled his chair next to his bed and grabbed your wrist lightly, drawing your attention. “Listen to me. I’m not letting you Uber home in this condition, and I’m definitely not going to make you try and sleep on a couch that is probably covered in fifty STDs right now. I’ve got no problem with you sleeping here, you hear me? Besides, you seem chill so far. I don’t hate spending time with you, you know.”

You looked at his hand holding your wrist, noting how it dwarfed you. I’m not easy, you reminded yourself. I deserve more than a hook-up ridden frat boy. “Or maybe you just want to hold it over my head that I slept in your room the first night I met you,” you joked, trying to break the tension.

Rafe chuckled. “There’s that, too.”

You brought your hand up to his wrist and gently pried his fingers off of your wrist. “I charge thirty dollars for physical contact, Cameron.”

“You must owe me thousands, then,” he retorted. You laughed.

“Where are you going to sleep?” you asked.

“Will knowing that make you feel better about sleeping here?” he questioned you. When you nodded your head yes, he sighed.

“Wasn’t planning on sleeping anyway. I’ve got an exam in my marketing class tomorrow and I’ve skipped half of the lectures.”

“Hah! Marketing major. That’s what I thought,” you said. But you were content with his answer, and you closed your eyes. 

“Put down your pitchforks, ma’am. I’m an Information Systems major.” You heard Rafe roll his chair back to his desk.

“Not much better, Cameron.” You paused for a second. “But again, thank you. I owe you one.”

“Go to sleep already. You’re gonna need the rest for when I make fun of you in the morning,” said Rafe.

You chuckled lightly, sleep starting to take you over. You muttered quietly, drunkenly: “Goodnight, Rafe.”

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Sick as a Dog

Where Harry is sick and y/n just wants to help him.

Word count: 3,833

Content warning: cursing, mentions of being sick (no throwing up).

I wake up to the soft warmth of sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. The familiar scent of him—clean, woodsy, with just a hint of his cologne—fills the air. For the first time in what feels like ages, Harry’s here. Really here. Not a FaceTime call, not a text, not a fleeting thought as I drift off to sleep alone. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, his chest rising and falling steadily next to me.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but the movement stirs him anyway. His eyes flutter open, green and warm like spring after a long winter. A soft, sleepy smile spreads across his lips as he tightens his hold on me, pulling me closer.

“Morning, love,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and that raspy undertone I adore.

“Morning,” I reply, tracing lazy circles on his forearm.

For a while, neither of us says much. Words feel unnecessary. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then my temple, and finally my lips, slow and unhurried. His stubble grazes my skin, a reminder of how real this is.

Eventually, the world outside our cocoon of blankets starts to intrude. My mental checklist of errands creeps in, and I know his does too. But for now, we linger, soaking in the quiet intimacy of the morning.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “I could stay like this forever.”

I laugh softly. “You say that, but we both know the list waiting for us today.”

He groans in mock protest, burying his face in my neck. “I just got home. Can’t we just…not?”

I want to agree. I want to cancel the errands, turn off the world, and spend the day exactly like this. But life has other plans. I kiss him one last time before sitting up, dragging him reluctantly along with me.

“Alright, Mr. Styles,” I tease, “up and at ’em. Groceries won’t buy themselves.”

With a dramatic sigh, he stretches and finally rises, his hair a tousled mess that somehow still suits him perfectly. The day awaits, but in this moment, everything feels right. He’s home, and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s standing at the dresser, pulling on a simple white graphic tee that hugs his chest just right. He pairs it with light-wash jeans and his trusty white Vans, and I can’t help but stare. His hair is still a little messy from sleep, and there’s this ease about him that makes him look so effortlessly… Harry.

He notices, of course. He always notices. Turning to catch me mid-stare, he smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“Take a picture, Y/N. It’ll last longer,” he teases, his voice dripping with that cheeky charm.

I roll my eyes, trying to fight the grin tugging at my lips. “Maybe I will,” I shoot back, grabbing my phone and pretending to snap a photo.

“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles, stepping closer to press a quick kiss to my forehead before grabbing his wallet and keys.

I pull on my own pair of jeans, a plain tee, and sneakers. Comfort over style today—though Harry always insists I look good no matter what. As we make our way to the kitchen, he hums softly under his breath, a tune I don’t recognize but know I’ll ask him about later.

Breakfast is simple: toast, eggs, and coffee. Harry insists on making the coffee, declaring himself the “king of the French press.” I don’t argue; he really does make it better than I do.

As we finish up, he grabs his sunglasses and tosses me a lopsided grin. “Ready, love?”

We head out to his car—a sleek black Range Rover that feels way too fancy for a trip to the market, but that’s Harry. As he starts the engine, he glances at me with a playful glint in his eye.

“Do you remember the last time we went to the market?” he asks as we pull onto the London streets.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Not specifically, but I’m sure you’re about to remind me.”

He grins, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “You tried to convince me we needed three different types of cheese for one dish.”

“Because we did,” I argue, crossing my arms.

“And we forgot the bread,” he counters, his laugh filling the car.

The easy banter flows between us as the city passes by outside. It’s moments like these—simple, mundane, yet filled with so much warmth—that make me realize just how much I’ve missed him while he’s been away. He reaches over to squeeze my hand, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

The market is alive with the hum of people, the scent of fresh produce, and the clatter of carts. As soon as we step inside, Harry grabs a cart and immediately veers toward the snacks aisle.

“We don’t need that,” I laugh as he tosses a jumbo bag of crisps into the cart.

“Don’t we?” he counters, feigning offense. “I’ve been deprived of proper snacks for months, love. Let me live a little.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help grinning as he starts piling in more things—chocolates, biscuits, and a random jar of pickles. “Harry,” I warn, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?” he says innocently. “Pickles are essential. You can’t deny it.”

We wander through the market, switching off who pushes the cart while the other roams the shelves. He sneaks in a box of cereal I’m pretty sure we already have at home, and I add a bottle of wine, pretending I didn’t see the outrageous snack haul he’s created.

As we pass the fresh pasta section, he stops, holding up a package of tagliatelle. “What do you think? Pasta for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, reaching for a jar of marinara sauce. “What should we do for a side? Garlic bread?”

He nods enthusiastically. “And maybe a little salad. Gotta stay balanced,” he jokes, throwing in a bag of pre-washed greens with exaggerated flair.

By the time we’re at checkout, our cart is an eclectic mix of essentials, indulgences, and things we absolutely don’t need but couldn’t resist. As he loads the bags into the back of the car, he turns to me, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“What do you think about a movie night tonight?” he asks casually, though there’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me he’s up to something.

“I’d love that,” I reply. “I’d love to do anything with you.”

His grin widens, and he leans in just slightly. “Anything, huh?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a suggestive tone.

I shove him playfully, trying to fight the blush creeping up my neck. “Don’t start.”

He laughs, the sound warm and infectious. “What? I’m just saying we could… expand the agenda.”

“Let’s focus on dinner first,” I quip, climbing into the passenger seat.

As he starts the car, he shoots me one last cheeky glance. “Dinner and a movie, it is. For now.”

As we drive back home, the city whizzes by outside the windows, but my attention is completely fixed on Harry. His hand rests casually on the steering wheel, the other drumming lightly to the rhythm of the music playing softly on the radio. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the windshield, casting a soft glow over his face.

I take in the details—the way his tattoos peek out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his tee, the way his hair curls just slightly at the ends, looking perfectly imperfect. It’s all so him. Effortless, magnetic, entirely Harry.

My chest tightens with a wave of emotion I can’t suppress. For months, I’ve been waiting for this—to have him home, to watch him do something as simple as drive, to just be with him.

“I love you,” I say softly, the words spilling out before I even realize it.

He glances over at me, his green eyes warm and a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it but loves hearing it all the same. “I love you too, Y/N,” he says, his voice gentle but steady, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

I shake my head, smiling as I try to find the right words. “No, I mean… I really love you. I missed you so much, Harry. I missed this. Us. You.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reaches over to place his hand on mine, squeezing it gently as his thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“I missed you too, love,” he says quietly. “More than I can even put into words.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence, but it’s filled with so much more than quiet. It’s filled with the weight of everything I feel for him, everything I’ve held onto while he’s been away.

As I look over at him again, I realize just how deeply he’s woven into every part of me. The sound of his laugh, the warmth of his touch, the way he knows exactly what to say to make me feel like the only person in the world—it’s all part of why I love him.

As we pull into the driveway, Harry shifts the car into park and turns to me with a smirk. “Alright, love, get those muscles ready. It’s time to show me what you’re made of.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Excuse me? I’m a delicate flower. I shouldn’t have to carry groceries,” I tease, fluttering my lashes dramatically.

He rolls his eyes, playing along. “Right, how could I forget? Well, I guess I’ll just do it all myself then,” he says, feigning exasperation as he climbs out of the car.

“Good plan,” I call after him, though I follow and grab a couple of bags because I’m not that cruel.

Between the two of us, we manage to carry everything inside, though Harry insists on making a show of flexing his arms every time he brings in another load.

“Impressed yet?” he asks, winking as he sets the last bag on the counter.

“Totally,” I say, deadpan. “Your talent for grocery-hauling is unmatched.”

He grins, leaning against the counter while I start unpacking. As I’m putting things away, I notice him setting a few things aside on the island—the pasta, marinara, garlic, and salad mix.

“Getting a head start on dinner, are you?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.

“Just being efficient,” he replies, pulling out a cutting board and inspecting it like he’s about to perform surgery. “Also, you know I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” I tease, but my words are muffled as I reach into a bag and pull out a pack of cookies.

Harry spots them instantly, his face lighting up. “You’re a genius,” he says, grabbing the pack from me and tearing it open.

“Hey! I was going to do that,” I protest, but he’s already popped a cookie into his mouth, grinning as he chews.

“Too slow, love,” he says, holding the pack out to me.

I take one and lean against the counter next to him, snacking while we chat about nothing and everything. The kitchen fills with the sound of our laughter, the clinking of jars and cans as I finish putting the groceries away, and Harry’s occasional commentary about how he’s “the true mastermind behind dinner.”

Harry hums softly to himself as he moves around the kitchen, a wooden spoon in hand as he stirs the pot of simmering sauce. It’s a sight I’ve missed—his ease, his focus, and the way he somehow makes cooking look like an art form.

I sit on one of the barstools, resting my chin in my hand as I watch him. He glances over his shoulder and smirks. “You’re staring again.”

“Can you blame me?” I reply, grinning.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he dips the spoon into the sauce. “Alright, taste test,” he says, walking over to me with the spoon held out.

I lean forward and take a small sip, the tangy warmth of the marinara spreading across my tongue. “Mmm,” I hum, nodding in approval. “That’s really good.”

Harry grins proudly, but his expression turns playful as he tilts his head. “Really good, huh? Just ‘good’? Not ‘amazing’ or ‘out of this world’?”

I roll my eyes and lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Amazing,” I say, teasingly.

He whines dramatically, turning to face me fully. “That’s all I get? A cheek kiss after slaving away over a hot stove?”

Laughing, I reach up and pull him down for a proper kiss, his lips soft and warm against mine. He hums in satisfaction, pulling back just enough to look at me, his green eyes sparkling.

“Much better,” he says, his voice low and content. Then, with a grin, he gestures toward the living room. “Now go on, find us something good for movie night. I’ll finish up here.”

I linger for a moment, watching him as he turns back to the stove, stirring the sauce with one hand and tossing pasta into a pot with the other. He looks so at home, so effortlessly himself, and I feel a wave of love wash over me.

“Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” I ask, heading toward the couch.

“Something good,” he calls back. “No pressure, though.”

I laugh, flopping onto the couch and scrolling through the streaming options, already knowing whatever I pick, he’ll make it perfect just by being there.

A few minutes later, Harry walks into the living room, balancing two bowls of pasta with garlic bread perched neatly on the side. His careful concentration makes me smile, and he lets out a dramatic sigh of relief as he sets the bowls on the coffee table.

“Dinner is served,” he announces with a grin, plopping down next to me and handing me my bowl.

“Thank you, chef,” I say, nudging his shoulder.

“Only the best for you, love,” he replies, leaning back into the cushions and taking a bite of his pasta.

We settle in, the familiar hum of a rom-com filling the room as we eat. Every so often, Harry sneaks a piece of my garlic bread, and I swat at him in mock protest, though I don’t really mind. It’s comfortable.

When the credits roll, Harry stretches with a groan, his head tilting back against the couch. “I hate to admit it,” he says, his voice laced with playful regret, “but I think I’m officially an old man.”

I laugh, resting my head on his shoulder. “What are you talking about? You’re a spring chicken.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “As much as I’d love to expand the evening and, you know, do naughty things, I’m absolutely knackered.”

I giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That’s fine, Harry. Go on, get some rest. I’ll clean up here.”

He gives me a grateful smile, standing up and stretching again. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Don’t forget it,” I tease, watching him as he heads upstairs, his steps slow and tired.

Once he’s gone, I take my time cleaning up the kitchen and living room. I rinse out the bowls, wipe down the counters, and straighten up the cushions on the couch. It feels good to take care of the space we share, to know he’s upstairs waiting for me.

When I’m done, I slip into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the day. The quiet hum of the house wraps around me, and I feel an overwhelming sense of contentment.

After drying off and pulling on a cozy t-shirt, I head upstairs and crawl into bed next to Harry. He’s already half-asleep, his arm draped across my side as I settle in.

“Night, love,” he mumbles sleepily, his voice muffled but full of warmth.

“Goodnight, Harry,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

The next morning, I wake up to the soft glow of early sunlight streaming through the curtains. I glance over at Harry, expecting to find his side of the bed empty like usual—he’s always the first one up. But this time, he’s still there, lying on his stomach with one arm draped over the pillow.

It’s rare to catch him sleeping in, but he looks peaceful, his face relaxed in the quiet morning light. Not wanting to disturb him, I carefully slip out of bed and head downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, I decide to make breakfast—something simple: scrambled eggs, toast, and some fruit. The rhythmic sounds of the whisk and the faint sizzle of butter in the pan fill the kitchen as I work.

I’m almost done cooking when I hear slow, shuffling footsteps behind me. Turning around, I see Harry leaning against the doorframe, his hair sticking up in every direction. His face looks pale, and there’s a groggy, pained expression in his eyes.

“Morning,” I say, but before I can say more, he groans softly, running a hand through his hair.

“I feel like absolute shit,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Concern washes over me as I set the spatula down and walk toward him. “What’s wrong?” I ask, scanning his face.

He rubs his temples, leaning heavily against the counter. “Head’s pounding, throat feels like it’s on fire, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a fever,” he mutters, his tone laced with irritation at his own body. Then he waves his hand weakly at me. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Ignoring his warning, I step closer, my brows knitting in worry. “Harry, I don’t care about that. Sit down,” I say firmly, guiding him to a chair at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t argue, letting out another groan as he sinks into the seat. His head drops into his hands, and I can tell he’s trying to push through it, but it’s clear he’s not feeling himself.

“I’ll get you some tea and medicine,” I say softly, already moving to put the kettle on.

He glances up at me, his green eyes heavy with exhaustion but still filled with affection. “You don’t have to fuss over me, love,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

“Of course I do,” I reply, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You always take care of me. Now it’s my turn.”

He smiles faintly, leaning back in the chair as I set about getting him what he needs, determined to nurse him back to health.

I set a mug of tea in front of Harry, the steam curling up in delicate clouds. “Tea with honey,” I say softly, sliding the plate of scrambled eggs and toast next to it. I make sure to add two Tylenols, placing them neatly on the napkin.

He looks up at me, his face still pale but his expression grateful. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, his voice raspy.

I sit across from him, watching as he takes a sip of tea and winces slightly. “It’s the post-tour crud,” he says with a small, tired chuckle. “Happens every time. My immune system’s just catching up after weeks of running on adrenaline.”

“Well, it’s catching up hard,” I reply, leaning my elbows on the table. “But it’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

He shakes his head slowly, frowning. “I feel bad, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. And I don’t want to get you sick.”

I reach out and cover his hand with mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Harry, I don’t care. You’ve taken care of me plenty of times when I was sick. Remember when I had that horrible flu last year? You didn’t leave my side.”

“That’s different,” he says, his lips tugging into a weak smile. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

I laugh softly, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. “Well, now it’s my turn. You’re always looking out for me, Harry. Let me look out for you this time, alright?”

He doesn’t argue further, just looks at me with a mix of gratitude and affection, his eyes slightly glassy from the fever. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Yes, you do,” I say firmly, standing to refill his tea. “Now eat, take your Tylenol, and let me fix you.”

Despite his groans of protest, I can see the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

After breakfast, I set to work transforming the couch into a fortress of comfort. I grab every blanket I can find, piling them up alongside a collection of fluffy pillows, creating a cozy little nest. I pick a lighthearted show—something easy to watch, the kind Harry loves to have on in the background when he’s feeling off.

“Alright,” I say, standing back to admire my work. “Your throne awaits, Mr. Styles. Sit down, relax, and get comfy.”

He shuffles over from the kitchen, looking every bit the part of someone who’s feeling under the weather. As soon as he sinks into the pile of blankets, a sneeze erupts, followed by a series of coughs.

“Bless you,” I say, walking over to him. I lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, but he holds up a hand weakly, stopping me.

“Y/N,” he warns, his voice hoarse. “I’m sick. You shouldn’t—”

I ignore him, leaning in anyway to kiss his warm skin. “I really don’t care,” I say softly. “You’re stuck with me, germs and all.”

He shakes his head, clearly too tired to argue further, as I wrap my arms around him and pull him into a hug. His head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the heat radiating from him. He’s definitely running a fever, but I don’t let go.

Once he settles, I sit on the couch and tug him gently toward me, guiding him to rest against my chest. He lets out a tired sigh, letting his body relax into mine as I drape a blanket over both of us.

I start running my fingers through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, and rub his back gently. “You’re burning up,” I whisper.

“I told you not to get close,” he mutters, though his voice is soft and grateful.

“Well, I told you I don’t care,” I reply, pressing my cheek to the top of his head.

He shifts slightly, snuggling closer, his hand resting lightly on my leg as the show plays quietly in the background. I keep stroking his hair and tracing light patterns on his back, hoping the touch soothes him.

For the first time since he woke up, he seems to relax fully, his breathing evening out as he watches the screen. Even though he’s warm to the touch and clearly miserable, I can feel the tension in his body melting away.

“I love you,” he mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, holding him a little tighter.

[f1byjessie]

HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81. [REWRITE]

he may not be a london boy, but you love him all the same, and you’re about to learn the hard way that loving someone can be a wild ride.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part one.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by logansargeant, daltonsargeant, and 61,816 others

yourusername me and london boy have made so many memories here together and i’ll cherish them forever ❤️. i love this sport and i love the people i've met in this sport. i'll always love it and them, but sometimes you have to take a step back and set your sights on new horizons. that said, neither of us will be competing in any events this year— endurance or otherwise. london boy will stay in richmond and continue to receive the best care possible from people who have grown to love him as much as i do, and in the meantime, i'll start looking to those other horizons.

view all 1,761 comments

user wishing you the best of luck!! we’ll miss seeing you and london boy, but we know this decision wasn’t made lightly and we hope whatever you do will make you just as happy as riding does!!

user london boy lives a more luxurious life than i could ever hope 

↳ user real like why am i jealous of a horse 😭😭

↳ user knowing how well these horses are treated? we should all be jealous

↳ user some of these horses have rain coats that cost more than my entire wardrobe combined… the day i learned that was not a fun day… 😔

user honestly only ever tuned in to watch you both

user the events won’t be the same without you!!!

user I’LL MISS YOU LONDON BOY

user take all the time you need to explore other options! you can love something and still get burnt out on it. sometimes taking that step away can be the decision that allows us to continue loving something instead of growing resentful towards it. do what you need to do to be happy! 🫶

↳ user this is such a good way to put it!!

↳ user THIS. i did competitive jumping for ten years and towards the end of that time i started seeing it more as a chore than the sport i used to be so passionate about. you absolutely CAN love something and still get burnt out on it. taking breaks is so important.

user i’m sure london boy will miss you but you do you girliepop! take a trip or go on an adventure!

user oh to be a girl riding her horse across the beach at sunrise 🥲

↳ user IKR?!? talk about dream life, she’s literally living out scenes that i’ve only ever seen in movies

↳ user it’s london boy’s world and we’re all just living in it

user wait does this mean no more horse content???

↳ user i mean she’s not getting rid of her horse or even outright retiring, she just won’t be riding competitively for 2023

user is she leaving the uk or smth?? bc she said other ppl will be looking after london boy?? i know nothing about horses guys i’m sorry

↳ user london boy will be staying at the stables as per her caption! he will be looked after by many trained professionals who will ensure he is properly fed, watered, exercised, and groomed each day! it’s actually very common for people to board their horses at a stable since horses often need large fields to graze and exercise in, and not a lot of people have big enough backyards or own property to be able to provide that themselves. whether she’s leaving the uk or not, we don’t know, but it definitely sounds like her training with london boy will be put on hold for the time being!

user miss girl we’ll always remember you and london boy as the greatest duo in endurance racing history

↳ user REAL REAL REAL

user does this have to do with her falling off a few months back??

↳ user it could, she did mention the encounter leaving her pretty shaken

↳ user yeah but the possibility of something like this happening is so high that a lot of riders have accepted it as an inevitable occurrence in their career

↳ user even still, that doesn’t change the fact that she could very well be traumatized or experiencing lingering side effects

↳ user guys!! speculation will do us no good!! if she wants to tell us, she will!!

user YOU KNOW I LOVE A LONDON BOY 🗣🗣🗣

logansargeant wanna trade one paddock for another?

There’s a sort of terrifying uncertainty that comes with breaking a long-standing routine.

It’s like a fucked-up sort of package deal— you stop following the methodized schedule you’ve meticulously upheld for years, and in exchange, you receive more time than you know what to do with and an overwhelming responsibility to fill it.

The only question is: with what?

The muscle memory lingers, and you suspect that it’ll take some time for your body to un-familiarize itself with a sleep schedule that you’ve religiously held on to for years, but there’s no demands to maintain any of it and that makes any sort of attempt at continuing to run through the motions feel entirely obsolete. You may instinctively wake up at the ass crack of dawn, but without the necessity of a horse relying on your punctuality to get him fed, watered, and turned out to the paddock, there’s nothing you can do beyond filling the morning with something until your internal clock catches the memo and decides to let you sleep in for once.

“You know, when I invited you to tag along with me,” Logan begins in lieu of a greeting when he opens the front door and sees you standing on the stoep of his apartment, clad in athletic wear and a pair of well-worn running shoes, “I was under the impression that we both understood that to mean the traveling to races part and not necessarily the pre-season training.”

“‘My dearest sister,’” you sarcastically quip back in a mockingly deep voice, feigning heartfelt sincerity and pressing your hand melodramatically to your chest. “‘How good it is to see you after so long! I would be absolutely delighted if you joined me on my morning run today.’”

Your twin brother shakes his head in exasperation, but through the facade of annoyance, you can recognize the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Honestly, Logie,” You pretend to wipe a tear from the corner of your eye and add in a sniffle for extra flair, “you're too sweet. What would I ever do without you?”

“We saw each other a week ago at brunch,” he grumbles, reluctantly taking a step back from the door and allowing you to pass over the threshold into the warmth of the apartment and out of the winter’s frigid morning air.

“When?”

“Last Wednesday—”

“—did I ask? Oh! Boom! Gotcha!” You whoop out an exclamation of victory as you continue down the hall. “Gosh, I am four for four now. You gotta step up your game, Logie-bear, or this is gonna end in a miserable shut out for you.”

He heaves out a heavy sigh that carries with it twenty-two years of suppressed brotherly rage and the exhaustion that can only come from being reminded at every chance that he is, and always will be, a minute younger than you. “You're the bane of my existence, and I do sincerely hope you know this.”

“Aw, I love you too!”

You step into the small kitchen at the end of the hall. With the exception of a little potted cactus sitting on the windowsill— a housewarming gift from you— it looks nearly identical to how it was the last time you visited.

A month ago.

When he moved in.

There's a woven mat on the floor in front of the sink, an ashy green that contrasts nicely with the off-white cream color of the cabinets and laminate countertops. You can't really tell if Logan actually bought the mat, or if it came with the place, but it's cute nonetheless and serves as one of the few pops of color in the otherwise monochromatically beige apartment.

“I see that my cactus continues to reign supreme as the only individuality in this place,” you comment, glancing over your shoulder in time to see him appear in the doorway.

He shrugs at your words. “Yeah, well, you'd be surprised how busy you can get when you're preparing for everything you've ever dreamed about. No biggie.”

“Logan,” you turn to face him, “you'll do great. There are two other rookies on the grid—”

“And I'll be in the worst car out of all of them.”

“You don't know that,” you chide gently.

This side of Logan isn't unfamiliar to you— the anxiety and fear of failure. It's always existed, and you've known about it since the morning of his first kart race when he confided in you that he was so nervous he felt like he was going to be sick.

The insecurities surrounding his own skills have persisted and thrived with every new track, every new team, and every new series, and as you've grown alongside him you've found ways to challenge his self-doubt, but you've also learned to accept that there's only so much you alone can do.

You can debate it and challenge the self-deprecating thoughts all you want, but the voice in his head will always be there, no matter how quiet it occasionally becomes.

So you choose to drop the topic for now.

It's too early in the morning for an impromptu therapy session anyway.

You turn back around and scan the countertops until your eyes latch onto the container of pre-workout tucked away in the corner, nearly hidden amidst the mountain of vitamin and nutrient supplements.

“I thought it was part of Benny’s job to make sure you didn't have to use all this shit,” you comment, picking through the jars and eyeing them each with unapologetic distaste.

Logan reaches over your shoulder and plucks a packet of vitamin C tablets from your hand, “Sometimes these just work better.”

“Yeah, maybe if you don’t have a nutritionist being paid to quite literally curate a diet specifically to ensure that you don’t need to use these,” you gesture widely to the assembled mass of supplements. “But, last I checked, dear brother of mine, you do have a nutritionist— and a very good one at that— who would be horrified to learn you’re substituting real fruit for…” you squint down at the nutritional label of another one of the jars, but there’s very little that you recognize amidst the scientific jargon and long, five-syllable words, “little gummies that taste like fruit.”

He huffs, “Get your pre-workout or I'm leaving without you.”

“You wouldn't dare leave without me,” you grumble.

“I've done it before and I'll do it again,” he snipes, giving a brief yank on your ponytail and cackling when you swat behind yourself in futility.

There’s more he isn’t saying— there always is, nowadays— but you recognize the deflection for what it is. You want to claw him apart with questions and demand answers that bare every inch of his soul so you understand what he isn’t telling you and why he feels the need to keep it locked away even from you, but you know better than to keep pushing at something Logan clearly doesn’t want to talk about.

It makes you nostalgic for a time in your life when he’d sneak down from the top of the bunk bed after your parents had tucked you away for the night and slip under the covers with you, a well-loved stuffed bear hugged to his chest. He’d curl up beside you and you’d pull the blankets up to your chin and watch him with big, curious eyes until he’d whisper out into the darkness of your shared bedroom what he was worrying about.

More often than not it was a byproduct of a hyperactive imagination still plagued by the fears of childhood. Something about the space beneath your bed and— “What if there’s something down there? And the only way you can see it is by its glowing eyes? But what if it knows when someone is gonna look under the bed, so it closes its eyes so you can’t see the glow?” Or the curtains and— “You have to make sure they cover the whole window because what if you don’t and then something looks inside and it knows I’m not asleep and then it comes inside? I always hold really still and pretend to be asleep even when I’m not if the curtains aren’t closed.”

But sometimes it was about anything and everything else like the fox sitting in the bushes by the bus stop on the way home from school and whether or not it had water to keep it cool in the Florida heat, or the purple glitter pen Mrs. Moore used to grade his spelling test and how the girl sitting next to him had gotten her test graded with the green glitter pen, or— “I forgot my coat in Mr. Garrison’s class yesterday, and you went and got it for me and brought it to the car with you, and I didn’t say thank you, but I always feel bad when I leave my coat behind because what if it has feelings and felt really bad because it thought I was abandoning it, so thank you for getting my coat so it didn’t feel abandoned.”

But that was then and this is now.

You’re both adults, and you live in different apartments on different ends of the city, and you work different jobs that separate you by half the globe at times. There’s no more talk of foxes by bus stops or glitter pens, and certainly no more sentient coats with fears of abandonment.

When you look at Logan now, he isn’t wasting away, and really you owe it to him after you announced out of the blue a week ago that you weren’t just taking a break from competitive riding, but rather taking a break from riding as a whole. He didn’t press you on it then— still hasn’t pressed you on it despite having every right to do so. The least you can do now in return is respect the boundary he’s trying to set.

You mutter a few curses beneath your breath— words your mother would throw a fit over if she could hear you— and feign a scowl, but some of the tension in Logan’s shoulders has released and that's all you can ask for.

“If you leave me behind, I’ll leak a picture of your pathetic kitchen to the tabloids and let everyone tear apart your design choices,�� you threaten, digging your knuckles into the tender spot of his arm where bicep meets shoulder and taking pride when he squirms away and beyond reach.

He flips you off. “You’re just jealous I have a cool cactus and you don’t.”

“Hey!” You give a lazy kick in his direction, but he sidesteps it easily with a laugh. “I gave you that cactus!”

“Tomato, tom-ah-to.” He flippantly waves his hand in your direction, laughing again at the indignant squawk you make. “Just hurry up and make your damn drink.”

As he makes his way out of the kitchen, presumably to grab his shoes, you unscrew the lid from the container and reach for the scoop.

Only to find it entirely empty.

“You asshole! There's nothing in here!”

Logan’s cackle echoes from another room.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by logansargeant, daltonsargeant, and 42,451 others

yourusername day 14 without london boy and i have officially succumbed to the boredom and willingly subjected myself to the presence of my arch nemesis (love you logie 🫶)

view all 1,382 comments

logansargeant in my defense, you just showed up

user you could not PAY me to go out in this weather

user as a florida girlie myself, this is my nightmare

↳ user REAL

↳ user genuinely seeing this makes me so glad i live in a place where there’s no snow cuz yea, the view is pretty and all, but not even a gorgeous sunrise would make up for me freezing my ass off and having to wear seven layers just to keep the feeling in my fingers and toes

user i wish the most stressful part of my day was going for a morning run 😔

user calling logan her nemesis is so real i just know that man is a menace

↳ user the f2 clips of him and liam are proof enough

↳ user logan sargeant was a menace back in f3 💀 have you SEEN the prema videos with oscar and fred? bro is diabolical when he wants to be

↳ user i'm so excited for the chaos he'll bring to the grid this year

user the snow man is so cute!!

user “14 days without london boy” OH I AM ILL 😭😭😭

user ok but that view is gorgeousness

↳ user ikr?! winter sunrises are genuinely so pretty

user i’m still so confused as to why she isn’t riding anymore?? can someone pls explain

↳ user to be entirely honest, i’m not sure really what there is to explain. first and foremost, we aren’t owed any sort of explanation as to why she’s decided to take a step back from riding. it could be a personal decision, a career decision, or something else, but whatever it is we aren’t automatically entitled to it just because y/n has previously been very open and vocal about her and london boy’s training. second, she never actually said that she isn’t riding anymore. she said she’s taking a step back from competitive riding to focus on other things, and the “without london boy” part of her caption implies that she hasn’t seen him, but she could just be taking a prolonged break, or she could be focusing on something else that has prevented her from going to see him. but again, none of it is our business and she doesn’t owe us any further explanation to what she meant.

↳ user THIS THIS THIS!! as sad as i am to not have london boy on my feed, y/n is a grown adult with her own private life and we have to respect her decisions!! if or when she chooses to come forward about the specifics of her future plans and goals, then that’s great and i’ll continue to support her endeavors, but for the time being we all just have to be patient

user the selfie logan posted with you on his story was so cute!! 🥰

user she’s a runner she’s a track star

user i’ve missed the twin content!

↳ user me too!! i really hope that her taking a break from competitions (as much as i love london boy) will mean we get to see her actually going to more of logan’s races, especially now that he’ll be in formula 1!!

oscarpiastri if the rumours are to be believed, i look forward to getting to catch up at the races this year

━━ tags: @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @awritingtree @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal @chonkybonky @mess-is-my-aesthetic @flippingmyshit @peachiicherries @spacegirlstuff @myxticmoon @landosgirlxoxo @k-pevensie28 @moonypixel @lewisvinga @81vas @maih23 @thatoneembarrasingmoment @elz-xo @the-navistar-carol

━━ a/n: surprise! i've been working on this for a little while now (i got my wisdom teeth removed yesterday, so the time i've spent recovering has been spent polishing up the last few details for this first part) but here she is! as promised, the newly rewritten and revamped 'he likes my american smile'! i feel like i always say it, but the original genuinely holds such a special place in my heart because it was the first work i ever posted here on tumblr, so i'm really happy to take all that i've learned since then and apply it where i can in this new version. i really hope the changes and development is as loved by you all as it is by me, and that you all enjoy!

[moonlight-alexia]

Starfish and Caitlin comforting Katie after the lose to Slovenia on Facetime.

not really posting/writing atm but i couldn't not do this one <3 so pls enjoy i really hope you do

any and all feedback, comments, reblogs etc are very appreciated and welcome <3

gentle connection ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

‘Mammy!’ You exclaimed when you saw your mammy’s face through the screen of your mummy’s phone. You were on camp with your mummy and you tried to talk to your mammy whenever you got the chance. But mostly you were out like a light from running around with Harper and the other Australia girls all day.

‘Starfish, inside voice remember,’ Your mummy reminded you, you hadn’t had a big day like the last few so you were excited that you were able to talk to your mammy. 

Caitlin had called Katie a bit earlier while Alanna and Kyra were distracting you so your mummy could comfort your mammy a little. They were both lucky, you understood emotions and what other people needed often but sometimes they still need those moments just the two of them. 

‘Hi mammy,’ You whispered, giving a little wave to Katie who was on the other side of the phone. 

‘Hi my little Starfish,’ Katie smiled softly, giving you a little wave back. Seeing you, even if it was through a screen, made Katie’s day a lot better. Your mammy, not that she would really admit it, had been missing you a bit more this camp. A lot for her to adjust to and if it wasn’t for Australia’s kit debut, you would’ve been there with her instead. Something that Caitlin now felt a little guilty about now after seeing how deflated Katie was.

You sat in your mummy’s lap, her arms wrapped around your waist while you happily talked your mammy’s ear off. It wasn’t often Katie was this quiet, but she was more than happy to listen to everything you’d been up to right now. The first time you’d been away from your mammy where you’d barely been able to talk to her, and listening to you talk, the familiarity helped your mammy. 

‘I’m having lots of fun mammy, but I miss you and counting down the days til ‘m home with you,’ Your voice trailed off, you were observant, your mums knew that but they often forgot just how observant and in tune with others you were, that it might become a problem for you later on. 

But now, you gave your mammy a small smile while she told you how much she misses you and can’t wait til you’re all home again, ‘Mummy,’ Your voice cut through the little silence that had floated between the three of you, you turned your head looking at Caitlin. Your mummy hummed a little in acknowledgment, ‘Can I talk to mammy, just me and mammy please,’

Caitlin smiled and placed you down in the middle of the bed, making sure you were all comfy against the pillows. There used to be times Caitlin would feel a tinge of insecurity if you’d want to just talk to your mammy. Perfectly normal, not feeling like she was integrating well into yours and Katie’s dynamic, but she was long over that and enjoyed seeing that bond you had with your mammy, ‘I’ll be right across with Kenzie if you need me,’ 

Your mummy placed a kiss against your forehead before leaving you and your mammy alone. You yawned a little, Katie almost jumping in to suggest you having a little sleep while she stayed on the phone with you, but your voice stopped her before she could say anything, ‘Mummy said you might be a bit sad, you’re more quiet,’ 

Katie gave you a small smile, they tried to be as open with their feelings with you in hopes that when you’d feel safe enough to talk to them about your feelings, ‘It’s been a hard day Starfish. A big loss but seeing you now makes it all better,’ 

Your little eyebrows furrowed while you were thinking, ‘Y’know mammy, mummy lost big too. Yous are the same!’ Katie smiled, a little laugh at the way your eyes lit up when you’d made the connection. Your mummy’s games hadn’t been going all that well either.

‘I guess we are, aren’t we,’ You were happy that you could get a little laugh from your mammy, your efforts to comfort her you believed to have succeeded. You tried to not think too much so you wouldn’t accidentally frown and worry your mammy, but you were starting to realise how hard it was when you were away from either of your mums when they were upset. Wishing they could be happy all the time and never sad.

‘Gonna give you a hug mammy,’ You held the phone against your chest. Katie smiled and, even though you couldn’t see, she held her phone against her chest. To anyone else it might seem strange but to Katie it was really comforting, even though the slight ache in her chest wishing that it was real.

‘I love you Starfish, you give the best hugs,’ Soon enough you’d be home and able to give your mammy a real hug.

[hayleythesugarbowl]

hey I love ur fics, can you maybe do like a Trevor evarts headcanon? Or a Spencer Agnew fic that takes place at the Shourtney reception.

Marry Me || Spencer Agnew x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: after seeing shayne and courtney tie the knot, you are worried that you’ll never find a love like theirs. that’s when you start to see your best friend spencer in a new light

word count: 2.4k

warnings: none

a/n: ok first of all i know everyone and their pet rat uses this pic but i couldn’t help it this photo of spencer does things to me 🫠 second of all, i loved both of these ideas and so i had to write them both!! trevor hcs to come stay tuned 🤭 i took some inspiration from that one friends ep in london for this iykyk so thanks mondler. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    “Spencer, if you were a guy you’d marry me, right?” 

     “First of all, ouch.” Spencer clutched his chest. “And second of all, what?”

     “I mean, is there something un-marryable about me?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink. 

     You didn’t know what was bringing on all of the sudden thoughts about being married—or not being married.

     Well, that was a lie. You did know.

     You had just watched two of your best friends get married earlier that day. Shayne and Courtney were perfect for each other. You were so happy for them and you loved being happy for them.

     But now, as you leaned against the bar at the reception, you couldn’t help but worry that this would never happen for you.

     You’d had lousy, short-lived relationship after lousy, short-lived relationship. Up until you met your last partner, who you’d dated for a year and a half. 

     It was the first long-term relationship you’d had—with someone you thought you could end up marrying.

        That didn’t turn out exactly how you thought it would. You’d broken up last month. 

    You’d always thought the fact that you’d end up with someone for life was a given. It just happened. It had to. But now you weren’t so sure. 

     “I don’t think so,” Spencer looked you up and down, his voice bringing you out of your thoughts. “People settle all the time.”

    You whacked Spencer on the arm. “Very funny. But when I end up as an old cat lady living in your basement, it won’t be.”

     You and Spencer had been best friends for as long as you could remember. It was him who’d gotten you your job at Smosh and introduced you to all the people you were surrounded by now. 

     “There are worse fates. Cats are dope and I’ll always run the ac.” 

     “Spencer,” you whined. “I’m serious.”

     “Yes, (Y/n), I’m sure someone out there would love to marry you,” he said. “Now can I go now? I heard there’s a La Croix tower inside.”

     “I wish,” Shayne said, walking by and overhearing. “Courtney ixnayed that idea a while ago.”

     “Not until I get my wenching hour!” Courtney stated, catching up and stopping to kiss her husband. 

     “Congratulations guys,” you called as they kept walking, mingling with more people.

     You wanted that. Not the La Croixs or whatever Court was talking about, but a relationship like theirs. 

     A best friend who knows everything about you and who would do anything for you. Someone who you spend all of your time with, not knowing how you feel about them until you do. And then getting to know them as a partner and becoming intimate with them in a new way.

     Getting to love them in a new way.

     You groaned, turning to Spencer. “Do me a favor? If we’re both single when we’re 40, let’s get married.”

     “Woah, what makes you think I’m going to be single when I’m 40?”

     You raised an eyebrow. 

     “Yeah ok fine, I’ll marry you,” he agreed.

     You sighed and Spencer took a step closer to you, putting his arm around your shoulder. 

     “Hey, you’re going to find someone,” he said sincerely, “You’re kind and funny and beautiful. Lots of people would be lucky to have you.”

     “You’re just saying that,” you waved him off.

     “I’m dead serious,” he said, turning so he could look you in the eyes. “You’re one of the best people I know. Any guy who doesn’t love you immediately is on something.”

     You looked into his eyes as he comforted you. He looked like he really believed all of the things he was saying to you.

     This suddenly felt…different. As Spencer pulled you in for a hug, wrapping his arms around you, you couldn’t help but…

     No. This was Spencer. He was being a good friend, this was normal. Why now should you be…

     But you couldn’t keep the thought from creeping into the back of your mind. Spencer…

     You may have had a tiny crush on Spencer when you had first met. Who wouldn’t, you had thought. He was funny and cool and had killer tattoos. But once you’d become friends, all of that attraction had turned into friendship and you hadn’t thought of him that way since.

     Until now…

     You pulled away from Spencer’s embrace slowly. 

     “You’re going to get married, ok? You’re a catch. And if not, then I’ll be happy to marry you at 40. I’ll start picking out my tux tomorrow.”

     You smiled, thinking how sweet Spencer was being. 

     “Now, let’s talk about how many cats you’re going to have in my basement, because I max out at eleven.”

     And just like that the spell was broken. This was Spencer, your best friend. Who was always teasing you and making you laugh and definitely wasn’t someone you were romantically interested in.

     Right?

     “And if I had my heart set on twelve?” You asked him, carrying on the joke.

     “I guess I could make an exception,” he shrugged. “But only because I love you.”

     Your heart leapt and you tried to tell it to shut up. You and Spencer had told each other you loved each other several times. So why now did it just encourage your thoughts.

     Just then someone a few yards away called Spencer over.

     “Hey, I’ll catch up with you later,” he told you. “Try not to marry a stranger while I’m gone.”

     And then he left you to your musings. You didn’t like Spencer, not like that. 

     You blamed it on the wanting a relationship like Shayne and Courtney. And you had just been worried that you were never going to find anyone, and Spencer had comforted you. 

     Maybe you just felt grateful, that was all. Grateful that your best friend was there to cheer you up.

      But you couldn’t picture Spencer calling you beautiful and then wrapping his arms around you without feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

     You imagined actually marrying Spencer. You had said it mostly as a joke and partly so you could have a backup in case you really were alone forever. 

     But now, the more you thought about it, the thought of being married to Spencer, sharing everything and being together for the rest of your lives, didn’t seem like just a backup. 

     Oh god. Maybe you did have feelings for Spencer. Maybe you always had. You tried to think back on your relationship, looking for signs. 

     You’d always felt close to him. Closer than you were with anybody else. Maybe it had always been him and you just hadn’t seen it in a while.  

     You began walking, desperate to be away from your thoughts and needing the distraction of moving. 

     You looked up just in time to realize you’d almost run into Amanda and Angela.

     “Hey guys,” you said, “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

     “Been there!” Angela leaned in for a high five and you looked down at the drink in your hand.

     “Oh no, it’s not—I’m not drunk,” you said. “I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

     “Ooh, wedding tea!” Amanda exclaimed. “Spill.”

     You sighed. What was the harm in telling them. “You ever suddenly realize you might have feelings for your best friend even though you’ve never thought of them like that before?”

     “Isn’t that why we’re all here?” Angela gestured around her at the wedding festivities.  

     “That is pretty Shourtney coded,” Amanda nodded her head, before whispering to Angela, “Did I use that right?”

     Angela patted her on the shoulder.

     “I’m not talking about Shayne and Courtney,” you said.

     “Then never,” Angela said

     “All the time,” Amanda said at the same time, thinking. “Wait who do you—Spencer?”

     Angela hit her in the arm.

    “I mean, Spencer?” She said much quieter that time.

     “Maybe,” you whispered, not being able to stop the smile spreading on your face. 

     “Since when?” Angela asked you.

     “Like ten minutes ago?” You answered. “But in a way maybe I’ve always known? I was telling him all this stuff about how I was worried I’d never get married and that I was going to end up alone and he was so sweet and reassuring and now I can’t get the thought of him out of my head and…” you groaned, trailing off. “And now I don’t know.” 

     Angela and Amanda shared a look. “We have to,” Angela said.

     “Angela, we promised,” Amanda chided, shaking her head.

     “But c’mon,” she gestured at you. “We have to say something.”

     “Ok guys? I can still hear you,” you told them. 

     “Right, sorry.” Angela said. “It’s just—”

     “Spencerhasacrushonyou,” Amanda spit out.

     “Dude!” Angela threw her arms up. 

     “Sorry,” Amanda bit her lip.

     “You knew I wanted to say it,” Angela mumbled. “But I get it, not the time.”

     “Back up,” you got out, “What?”

     “Spencer really likes you, (Y/n),” Angela said. “We’ve known for a while now. In fact, I’m pretty sure everyone at the office except you has known for a while now.”

     What? You couldn’t believe your ears. What they were saying didn’t make sense. There was no way Spencer, your best friend, had had feelings for you this whole time.

     “No,” you said, taking a step back. “You guys are crazy.”

     “Yes,” Angela agreed. “But not about this.”

     “Ask him yourself,” Amanda said.

     “Yeah, and you know, just don’t mention that we were the ones who told you,” Angela shrugged.

     Were you really going to do this?

     You took a deep breath. What would you even say?

     Hey, a little birdie told me that you have a crush on me and I, as of very recently, have feelings for you, let’s see where this goes?

     “Hey, Angela,” Amanda suddenly stated  loudly. “Look, it’s that guy!”

    She pointed in the opposite direction and Angela’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I love that guy!”

     You turned around, seeing that Spencer was approaching you. 

     “Thanks guys,” you muttered sarcastically.

     They both hurried away and Angela winked at you as they passed. You rolled your eyes.

     Spencer came up behind you. “Damn, you don’t take a shower for like one day...”    

     You laughed. “No, they just had to run. Saw some guy, apparently.”

     “(Y/n), what’s up?” Spencer looked at you. “You kinda look like you had some of that punch inside.”

     He made a face.

     “You have feelings for me?” you blurted out.

     Arguably, you could’ve handled that better. You didn’t even mean to say it, but upon seeing Spencer it had just kinda slipped out. 

     Spencer’s expression turned into one of shock. He fumbled for words. “I, um—I don’t—who told you?”

     Is what he finally settled on.

     “Because if it was Angela, I swear—”

     “It doesn’t matter,” you told him. “What matters is, is it true?”

     Spencer sighed. “Wow, um, I definitely didn’t mean for you to find out this way—or at all, for that matter—but yeah. The eleven cats are out of the bag. I guess I have feelings for you.”

     “For how long?” You mumbled, still in disbelief even though he had just confirmed it. This night was a roller coaster of emotions.

     “For as long as I can remember,” Spencer rubbed the back of his neck. “Since the moment I met you.”

      You let out a breath. You didn’t know what to say.

     “But its no big deal!” He hurried out. “I’ve gone years of being your friend without you ever knowing. I’ve gotten kind of good at it. Since you obviously don’t feel the same way, can we just pretend this never happened and go back to the way things were?”

     “No,” you said slowly. “No, I can’t do that.”

     “Yeah, well, I guess this does sort of ruin our friendship, huh?” He deflated, looking at the ground. “I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable with—”

     And that was all he got out before you kissed him. 

     He looked surprised for almost two seconds before he wrapped his arms around you slowly and kissed you back.

     He was hesitant at first, as if he wanted to make sure that you wanted this as much as he did. 

     But as you let your lips give him encouragement, he kissed you harder, more intensely.

     He kissed you like he had been waiting years for this moment.

     “Wow,” you breathed, pulling away gently. “That was…different.”

     “Yeah we don’t usually do that,” Spencer agreed and he sounded as breathless as you felt. 

    You both started laughing. 

     “But I’d like to keep doing it,” Spencer added.

     “Yeah,” you smiled at him, “yeah, me too. I guess I owe it to you, you have been obsessed with me for years.”

     “Obsess is a strong word!” Spencer held up his hands in defense. “I prefer unrequited pining.”

     “It might not have been entirely unrequited the whole time,” you confessed, grabbing Spencer’s hand. 

     You heard someone—or, multiple someones—cheering and you turned to find Shayne and Courtney looking in your direction. 

     “Finally!” Courtney shouted, laughing with the small crowd that had gathered around them, witnessing what just happened 

     “Time for all of us to cash in on our office bets,” Shayne said. “Who had 2024?”

     “I sure didn’t,” Amanda said, a few feet away from the bride and groom. “That was not on my 2024 bingo card.”

     She turned to Angela, who didn’t even look her way as she said, “Yeah, you used it right. 

     You laughed, looking at Spencer before turning back to everyone else. “Sorry, this is your wedding and here we are making out!”

     “The more the merrier!” Courtney called.

     “Wait a second, you’re not about to propose though are you?” Spencer asked.   “Because we still have a while before 40.”

     You giggled. “You totally just spoiled it! I didn’t even get to pull out my ‘marry me’ sign.”

     But he was right. You had time. To see where this went, to explore this new relationship. You couldn’t wait.

     You’d known Spencer as a friend, your best friend. And now you’d get to know him as a partner.

     “Bold of you to assume I would say yes,” Spencer answered.

     “You would’ve said yes,” you teased, nudging his shoulder.

     “Not if I beat you to it.” 

     Spencer got down on one knee, grabbing your hand.

     “(Y/n) (Y/l/n), will you make me the happiest man at this reception—barring Shayne—and go out with me?”

     You laughed at the fake proposal. “Yes, Spencer. I will go out with you.”

     He stood up, kissing you softly. 

    “I’ll be expecting another one of those in 10 years,” you said. 

     “I’ll be counting down the days,” Spencer smiled. 

     Amanda walked passed you then, shaking her head as she thought aloud. 

     “First kisses,” she muttered. “Never gets old.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ahh i hope you guys enjoyed this!! like i said, trevor hcs coming soon. watch out for another spencer fic in the works!! 🎀🍒