#my mother was not always a good mother to me when i was growing up

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 3

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Irregular eating habits mentioned specifically in this chapter (WC: 5.5k)

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-

You spot him alone in the library. Months have passed and winter has made its presence known.

Levi is staring at the fire. When his eyes lock with yours, you think they lack their usual cutting edge. Instead, he just looks tired.

“You gonna gawk much longer?” he asks. 

“Well…” Your grip on your book tightens; you stay rooted to your spot. “You don’t mind if I intrude?”

“This is a public space, isn’t it?”

It is, but it doesn’t mean you won’t ask.

Levi doesn’t leave when you sit on the sofa opposite him. The two of you stay like this, letting the crackling fire be your guiding light into the night.

.

.

.

It isn’t that Levi always preferred being alone, it’s just that it’s had a way of finding him.

Growing up, Levi remembers seeking affection—craving it, in fact—like a moth seeks a flame. Levi worshiped the ground his mother walked on, loved to listen to her speak, imitated her, anything to hear a “Well done, my Levi”. He imagines it made him a needy brat, that he was probably a burden to his mother.

When she died, he thinks that's when it happened. When he began to close in on himself, when he started to keep his emotions close to his heart.

"My boy, what wonderful craftsmanship!" Mr Jakowski's joyful voice assault's Levi's ears, plugging him out of his wandering thoughts.

Levi looks up at his boss, ignoring the smell of fresh paint.

Mr Jakowski is leaning over Levi’s shoulder, spectacles shining under the dim amber light. A large grin creeps on his rosy face, a contrast to the blue paint smeared on his white shirt. "What are ya making, hm? Is that something—"

"—personal," Levi cuts him off, shifting in his seat to conceal his work.

His boss lets out a loud bark. He pulls back from Levi. “Hah, mysterious as always, our Levi!”

Levi has been working at Mare Lumber Co. for a little more than a year now. His boss, Adam Jakowski, originally an Eldian from Liberio, is the sole carpenter in town. Levi likes working here. Most days, Levi tends to the till, manages the inventory, and assists Mr Jakowski with customer orders. It's routine work, really, but it feels good to be working with his hands, with his mind. 

“And how are you doing?” Mr Jakowski asks, propping his back against the edge of the counter, a habit of his whenever he chats idly with Levi. 

“I'm fine.”

"Are ya sure? You seem a little distracted, dear boy."

Mr Jakowski got in the habit of calling Levi ‘dear boy’ shortly after he took the job. At first, Levi told him off—sure, Mr Jakowski was older than Levi, but Levi was nearing his forties at this point. Levi was not a boy—never had been, perhaps.

And yet, he soon noticed something strange: every time he corrected the man, Mr Jakowski would correct himself, a distant glaze in his stare… only to make the same mistake the next day.

One day, his wife took Levi aside.

“You musn’t be cross with him, Levi,” Mrs Jakowski had said with a gentle voice. “My Adam and I… we lost our son ten years ago. Marleyans butchered him. And ‘dear boy’… that was Adam’s nickname for our son. Sometimes, I think… I think in his heart, my husband never quite got over it.”

After that, Levi never corrected Mr Jakowski again.

“Levi, are you listening to me?" Mr Jakowski laughs. "You’ve got that glaze in your eyes of a dreamer, the way my daughter be sometimes. Never seen it on ya before.”

Levi scowls. “I think you need to clean your glasses, old man.”

“Is it that missy staying at your house that’s got you looking so—”

“No.”

“Sure about that?”

At that, Levi stays silent. Of course, he’s sure. He'll be damned if he lets trifling innuendos get under his skin.

And yet, Mr Jakowski's eyes glint knowingly all the same, as if catching wind of something Levi isn't aware of. It almost makes Levi want to speak up (though, to say what?), but before he has the opportunity to say a thing, the man leaves him be. Levi listens to his receding footsteps and the tinkering noises soon coming from the workshop area of the store.

Levi reverts his attention onto the wooden figurine in his hands, casting it an altogether unimpressed look.

What he’s making… it’s stupid, isn’t it?

For the last week and a half, Levi has been using his lunch breaks to work on it. Right now, this wooden creation is simply a great blob of nothing. And yet, Levi can’t stop from continuing it. It started with your arrival, this idea, when something spurred deep in him to create and he doesn't know if it will lead to anything.

Perhaps he's wasting his time, perhaps—

The bells on the door chimes. Levi's eyes swerve up.

And he promptly places the figure on his lap, concealed right under the counter.

Because you've just entered the shop, greeting him with a pleasant smile. “Afternoon, Levi!” The door closes, light pooling around you, dewy and delicate. "Are you on your lunch break?"

Levi lifts a brow but gives you a slow nod. 

"Oh, good, I was scared I got your lunch time mixed up..." You lift a basket that was hidden behind your back, showing it off like it was some prized thing. “Ta-da!”

Levi just stares, not understanding what he's supposed to be seeing. 

“I brought lunch.” 

Oh, that's a first. You've never come all the way into town to visit his place of work, let alone have lunch with him. Is this because he accidentally let it slip that he sometimes skips lunch on his work days? You seemed particularly affronted last night; you'd washed the dishes grumbling something beneath your breath... 

“Miss Adler, is that you?” As if on cue, Mr Jakowski appears to Levi's left side, safety glasses still lodged on his head. He lets out a full-belly laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "I thought I recognized your melodic voice. It's good to see ya! I’ve been telling Levi to bring you around for some time now, but he's kept you all for himself."

"Has he, now?" you muse. "That's not very polite of you, is it, Levi?"

Levi keeps his expression blank.  

Mr Jakowski steps around the counter. "Is that lunch I see? You know, Levi rarely eats much in here."

“I know, that’s why I’ve come. I'm on a mission to change that, sir. I've brought lunch and even my secret trump card… cake!”

“You sure know the way to a man's heart, Miss Adler!” You pinch your lips, seemingly flustered, but Mr Jakowski is already shifting his attention to Levi, something almost devious splitting in his boss' expression. Levi's gaze narrows instantly, suspicious of whatever is to come next. “Now, you heard the lady, dear boy. You wouldn't want to reject the hospitality of such a kind woman, would ya?"

Levi considers Mr Jakowski. His offer sounds tempting enough, but Levi's already shirked his duties by working on his project. His lunch time is practically over...

His boss seems to read his mind. "Take an extra hour." Mr Jakowski walks over, squeezing Levi's shoulder—not painfully, but not lacking zest. The man leans closer, the smell of paint weaving into Levi's space once more. "Shop's quiet today, anyway—I'll handle it. And don't forget to hide that little secret of yours. Wouldn't want her to see your gift before it's finished, hm?"

Levi's eyes flicker from Mr Jakowski, then onto you. His shoulders rise... then fall again. He gives in with a sigh. You came all this way, after all, and Levi was never one to waste food.

“Fine,” Levi mutters, eying Mr Jakowski, “I'll be back in an hour, on the dot.”

.

.

.

“What are you reading?” you ask him one night. The two of you are at it again—sitting on different armchairs, reading in front of the fireplace. It's been a routine of yours these last evenings. 

“History books.”

You raise a questioning brow—that wasn't what you expected Levi to be interested in. 

Levi seems to pick up on your question before you even voice it.  “I want to understand why you upsiders do it.” 

Upsiders, the term coined by those living in the Underground for those living above.

You tilt your head. “Why we do what?”

“What you live for.”

.

.

.

Levi feels like he’s about to outright melt.

The park at this time of the day seems to gather heat like a damn magnet. Sitting on a picnic blanket under a large willow tree isn’t enough to stop sweat from coating his neck—summer is in full swing, and even the yellowing grass blades around them seem to feel its effects.

Over the last minutes, you’ve been telling him all about your morning: how you worked in the garden, how you cleaned up around the house.

“… then I went back into town to buy lunch," you explain, one hand outstretched as you caress the grass blades with the tip of your fingers. You seem content, relaxed. "I'm very excited to hear your thoughts on the cake, 'Vi. It’s a specialty from the Southern part of Marley, apparently.”

Levi squints, the eyelid on his bad eye trembling from the glare cast by the sun. Laid out between the two of you is something that’s just short of a small feast. Sandwiches, sliced fruits, fresh lemonade, and a takeaway box that contains what Levi can only guess is this infamous cake you're so excited to make him try. 

Vegetables, cheese, sugar. Levi still isn’t used to having these ingredients in such abundance. Maybe he never will be. 

But he certainly won't let any of it go to waste. 

"Hey, didn't I tell you to take it easy?" Levi mutters, picking up a cheese sandwich. "You didn't need to waste your free time doing all of this.”

"Come on, after my big freakout from last week, it's the least I could do."

"I told you, it was nothing—“

“But it wasn’t to me. I wanted to do this,” you cut in, weighing each word like it held its value in gold. Levi notices you reeling your hands into fists... only to be ushered out of existence as you shrug off the uncertainty. “Besides,” a bright smile brackets over your face, "all of this is keeping me busy. If I don’t do this, well… I've found that I just want to sleep all the time. At least, like this, I’m too occupied with thinking too much. Know what I mean?”

Levi thinks he does. It's why he always enjoyed cleaning so much, to some extent; it kept the edge off of things. He isn’t sure what that says about either you or him.

"I'm glad I could see where you work," you continue. "The shop has a certain aura to it, doesn't it?"

"It's the smell of saw dust and paint. You get used to it."

"I meant there's warmth to the interior." You snort, rolling a particular grass strand between your index, tugging at it without ripping it out. "But I like the smell, too, now that you mention it. I've only dabbled in oil paintings here and there, but it reminds me of that. I imagine adding color to something—anything, really—for a living must be rewarding. You get to style furniture according to someone's wishes, make sure it's dear and personal to them. That's pretty amazing, right?"

Levi almost smiles. Count on you to spin what some might consider mundane work and describe it as something magical. You've always had a knack for doing that, even in times of adversity. 

"And that boss of yours sure seems eccentric," you muse as you lean back, "bet he makes every day feel extra special.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Your eyes drift up to the sparse clouds. “Special’s… good. Special’s fun.”

Levi's lips twitch. Yes, he supposes that's true. Many things can be said about Mr Jakowski, but boring is not one of them.

"You and him are similar in that way," he murmurs beneath his breath. 

(You make every single of his day feel special, too.) 

A gentle breeze picks up the front section of your hair; it makes the smile on your face more noticeable, somehow more in the spotlight. For a moment, a delicate silence settles in, one filled with the sound of tree branches swaying above, its shadows moving across your face. Levi catches himself staring at you—again. Before he knows it, he's watching as you draw your attention on the food options laid on the picnic blanket. Your eyes stop onto a particular plate. 

Without even thinking about it, Levi raises the plate towards you.

You grin, grabbing a slice of spinach pie. "Thanks." As Levi retreats his hand back, placing the plate back on the picnic blanket, he notices you pausing. His eyes meet yours; your eyebrows knit together. "Hey, what's that on your hand?"   

Levi feels the heat of your attention as he glances down at his palm. Ah, that. The bandage. Levi forgot all about it. Earlier, while working on his personal woodwork project, Levi accidentally cut himself. The cut is superficial in nature, and the blood that leaked out of it felt excessive. Like his body was being dramatic for no good damn reason.

Unsurprisingly, your reaction blows out of proportion, too. "Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" 

"S'fine." Levi now holds his sandwich with both hands, trying to shield his bandaged hand so you don't reach for it (somehow, he thinks you will). He's not sure how to handle your care right now, so he turns away from you, pretending to be interested in seagulls foraging nearby. "I patched it up."

“Still, you should disinfect it when we’re home…”

(Levi still isn’t used to that term of possession. We. Like it's his home, as much as much it's yours. Something shared.)

"I can make an ointment that'll speed up the healing process, perhaps, so you're not encumbered for very long,” you continue. Levi glances back at you. You're holding your chin thoughtfully. “I’ll need to go buy some tea tree oil for that. Maybe I should also stock up on ethanol and other essentials while I’m at it...”

The sight of you all pouty causes Levi to scoff. “Thought you weren’t a doctor no more?”

He takes the last bite of his cheese sandwich. 

“For you, Levi, always.”

Levi chokes. He begins to cough, the half-eaten bread hammering at his chest. 

Your hand is on his back just as soon as his coughing fit starts. "You okay?"

Levi nods with a blank expression, swatting your touch away. He stares at you from the corner of his eyes, disbelief lodged behind his gaze. Shit. Why do you have to say stuff like that? It's like you're trying to make his heart explode or some shit. 

“Cutting yourself at work and almost choking to death.” You whistle lowly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch, Ackerman.”

“I choked because of you, Adler.”

“Because of me?” You blow air with your lips. “Why, what did I do?”

“You—“ Levi feels himself growing hot—too hot. Blast this damn heat. “Forget it.”

You lean back, looking at him curiously. “Is this the fate that awaits me in a few years when I reach your age? Choking and half-finished sentences?”

Levi’s eyes narrow. “Well, aren't you full of jokes today?”

“Thanks. I’m trying real hard, in case you couldn’t tell.” You bite back a full-teeth grin; Levi hates how adorable you look, even when you're teasing him—especially when you're teasing him. “Maybe that’s what I should pursue next, huh? Comedian… that'd be quite the career change.”

Levi shakes his head. “I’ll have to support you financially for the rest of your days.” 

A burst of laughter rolls out of you. It makes Levi feel queasier still.

“Hey," you say once your laughter has dimmed down. Your gaze holds his, bright and true. "What were you working on anyway, that you ended up cutting yourself?”

“Nothing.” Levi doesn’t supply you with more information, the memory of the unfinished figure flashing in his mind. It's trivial, the sort of work he's been doing, especially compared to what Mr Jakowski builds. “Just keeping busy.”

Because Levi’s life is just that now. He has to keep himself busy, to fill it with things so he doesn’t stop moving.

“Hey, Levi?” Levi looks back at you, and you shoot him a lopsided smile. “Do you ever think your past self would believe you’re out here now, carving wood for a living?”

Levi considers your question. He’s not the sort of person to wonder about these questions, but he’s not surprised that you still are. 

The answer is simple. No, his past self wouldn’t believe it. His past self wouldn’t believe most of it.  

He tells you as much, aching to change the subject. “What about you? Picked up a pencil yet?”

“Hm… not yet. Haven’t been feeling it, to be honest." There's something a little sad hanging on your face for the shortest moment, only to be replaced by wide eyes and parted lips. “But, oh, I promise, that doesn't mean I don't like your gift or anything. The supplies you bought—I'll make sure they don't go to waste! I just—”

"Hey, breathe," Levi interrupts, his eyes charged on you. "It's fine if you don't. There's no pressure.”

Your shoulders deflate. You give him a tired smile. “Thanks.”

In the distance, a school bell rings. Children begin to pour out of the building, like a flock of birds leaving the nest, knowing it is there to come back to.

“Anyway,” you say, reaching for the sealed container. “Enough of that. It's time for my favorite part of any meal: sweets. I’m eager to know your thoughts on this lemon tart.”

(The answer? Levi will discover he has a taste for lemon desserts.)

After that day, it becomes a routine of sorts. You show up some days to have lunch with Levi. On the grass under the willow in Mare, you and Levi watch the sea drift from afar, cake laid out between the two of you.

.

.

.

“Oi, what’s this?”

You look up from your notes on your desk. Levi has barged into your office, holding the silver tin you asked to be delivered to him. 

"That's Valerian root,” you answer.

”Valerian root,” he repeats, eying you suspiciously. “Why?”

"Um... think of it as a gift, I guess?"

"Why? We’re not friends."

A grimace flashes on your face—ouch. So, Levi doesn't see you as a friend, even if you're starting to consider him as such, anyway.

"Well., I noticed you seem to have insomniac tendencies, so I...” You clear your throat, swatting a dismissive hand in the air. “If it makes it easier to accept it, think of it as a medical order."

"A medical order." Levi scrunches his nose, pinching his lips together. "And what does Valerian root do, anyway? "

"Valerian root is tea. Or well, not tea. It's an infusion. But you can brew it the same way and it helps... it helps to fall asleep."

.

.

.

When Levi comes home that night after work, the sun is setting low over the sea, a red dot over the horizon. There's a gentle breeze in the air, one that carries with it the smell of salt and sand from the beach just below the valley. 

As soon as Levi is home, he slips into his usual patterns. He takes his shoes off, swapping them for the soft slippers Gabi and Falco once gifted him. He grabs his indoor cane by the entrance, just where he left it. Then, like a rite of passage, he makes his way to the common room, expecting to find you. 

You're not there. Instead, the quaint room that serves as a kitchen, living room, and dining room is empty, a distinct smell of herbs in the air.

Levi recognizes the scent almost immediately; it's the same fragrance that hung around the Survey Corps infirmary on any given day. Frankly speaking, Levi equates the smell with, well, you. It's been years since he smelled it.  

Peppermint, chamomile, tea tree oil... there was always a particular mixture of herbs you favored to treat ailments. Funding within the Survey Corps was sparse, after all, all the more within the medical wing, so to remedy this, you had to get creative: you bought cheap herbs in bulk and created balms with what the Survey Corps could afford. The same herbs Levi now smells in the air.

And Levi suddenly gets a sense of...

Home. 

It's corny, really, that all of a sudden, he feels more at home than the home he's inhabited in the year of living alone. But maybe that's the thing about getting older; there's just smells that remind of the past, things that feel impossible not to acknowledge.

In a way, Levi is grateful that those scents are what he associates with your infirmary, with your hands. Later, when his leg was wounded, and he became accustomed to the stomach-flipping stench of strong antiseptic solutions prevalent in Marleyan hospital tents, the memory of you—of his fucked-up sense of home—remained untainted.

"Oh, fuck!"

A crash assaults Levi's ears. He turns, only to find you half-bent down, picking up a pile of books from the ground. You straighten back up, looking flustered at the sight of him.

"L-Levi,” you huff, “y-you scared the living out of me!"

Levi's brows draw low, shooting you an unimpressed look in return. "Then you should pay better attention." You're holding onto a bunch of books that pertain to gardening. 'Flower symbolism' reads one cover.  "If these were the streets, you'd be a dead woman by now."

His words cause you to roll your eyes at him, although a playful tug of a smile graces your lips not a second later. "This isn't the streets, 'Vi. There's no one out there to hurt me, least of all within the confines of this house."

Levi knows you make a point, but his nature has always been to be suspicious of everything, and that much hasn't changed here. He wishes you'd be a little more careful, at least for his sake.

"Anyway, welcome back... how was the rest of your day?" You dart past him, placing your pile of books on the kitchen table.

Levi notices you've changed since he last saw you; you're now wearing a long skirt that reaches below your knees. Levi has never seen you wear anything like this. He wonders if you got it at the market in Mare, or if this is something you bought on your travels.

"Levi?"

Levi swerves his attention back to you.

Right, your question.

"Same as always." The rest of his day was, in fact, just as Mr Jakowski had predicted. Quiet. "What's all of this, then? You starting a bookclub or something?"

"Not quite. I spent my afternoon at the public library. Have you been?" Levi shakes his head. "Walls, Levi, it's even bigger than the one we had back hom–I mean, back on Paradis." You pick up a random book, flip through it and show him a page that's all about flower propagation. "I'm gonna make sure your garden's perfect."

Levi’s brows scrunch low. Truth be told, he doesn't see the big deal with flowers. Aren’t there more practical things to grow, like vegetables? Flowers seem to take up place and suffer the risk of easy destruction.

But maybe it's simply not for him to understand. 

"Hey Levi, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah.”

"What was I talking about?"

Levi glances at you. There's a spark of defiance flashes in your stare. 

He crosses his arms over his chest, face impassive. "Something something... gardening."

You chuckle, placing the book back on the table. "Actually, I was asking you if I could get your opinion on where to plant what tomorrow. You've got the next two days off, right? Can I spare a moment of your time?"

Levi doesn't work Saturdays and Sundays. The weekend, as Marleyans call it, is for rest.

"Yeah, I'll help." 

"Great!"

With that decision out of the way, Levi leaves you to it. He stops in his bedroom to grab a clean change of clothes and then heads to the bathroom to start his rigorous pre-dinner routine (Levi's found that he will not, cannot, rest before he completes it). 

It all starts with a shower, where Levi rubs at his skin until it is raw and pink, massages his scalp and hair until it's lathered and soapy, the scent of his lemon-scented soap rampant. Once Levi is pleased that every part of him is clean, he rinses himself with hot water, the act oddly meditative as he feels every muscle, every bone in his body come undone, one limb after another.

As soon as he's done and toweled dry, it's shaving time. 

Tonight, as Levi lays out his shaving kit by the sink, he can't help but pause at the sight of his reflection.

Levi stares at himself. 

Over the last three years, time has caught up to him, in more ways than one. His hair has gotten longer, yes, but it's the strands of silver now framing his face that Levi lingers on. Then, there are wrinkles on the sides of his eyes, on his forehead, on his smile lines that are new. He's even accrued a collection of freckles on the ridge of his nose; somehow, he thinks the warmer weather in Marley is responsible for that. 

In some strange ways, with every new year Levi ages, he thinks he looks more and more like Kenny, minus the facial hair. That son-of-a-bitch got his way with him after all, it seems, and despite this, Levi suspects Kenny would still call him a runt if he were here standing next to him right now.

"Still can't grow facial hair, huh, kid?" Kenny would say. "And you're still just as short."  

Yeah, that sounds like Kenny alright. 

"Hey, 'Vi?” A shy knock makes Levi turn his head towards the door. “I forgot to give you the balm I made for your cut. Do you want it now?"

"Gimme a moment," he mumbles. "... I'll be right there."

Levi finishes his routine. He shaves his face and massages his leg. He changes into indoor clothes. 

By the time Levi’s done, he finds you sitting on the sofa, flipping through one of your books while stroking Scout. It seems you've already started the preparations for dinner; there's simmering onion soup that's replaced the previous smell of herbs over the stove.

This time, upon hearing him approach, both you and Scout look up, almost synchronically. It makes Levi's heart a little warm—why does it feel so strange to have an audience waiting for him? 

Before Levi can contemplate on this very question, you've swung to your feet. "Here, sit down; I’ll get the balm."

Levi does as he's told, taking a seat on the free spot—on the other side of the sofa, next to Scout. His peripheral catches you first washing your hands over the kitchen sink, then retrieving something from the ice-box. 

Scout's purr pulls him back to the sofa. The kitten has made her presence known, demanding attention from Levi, and Levi obliges her. He scratches her under her chin like he always does, using his unwounded hand to do so.

Soon, the cat's purr vibrates against his fingertips. 

"She misses you, you know." Levi glances over your shoulders. You're standing on his other side, bending down. "May I?" you ask, looking at his palm laid flat on the arms of the sofa.

Levi nods.

Carefully, you take his hand into your own, flipping it to remove the bandage and analyze the cut. The wound runs across the tender flesh of his palm, ending with his index. It's not a deep cut by any stretch of the imagination, but it is on his five-fingered hand. Just his luck. 

“Did you know that Scout sometimes goes into your bedroom, meowing into the void?" you say in passing, eyes focused on his wound. "It's like she's looking for your ghost or something.”

"That cat needs to get used to me being absent." 

"She's just attached to you. Can you blame her?"

Levi's throat goes thick. No, he supposes he can't blame Scout, not when he's felt that same emptiness himself before, knows how damaging it can be.

"Anyway, I hope she grows used to me being here, too. For now, she still refuses to enter my room when it's just the two of us, but I think we may bridge that gap soon." Your voice turns into a coarse whisper, leaning closer to Levi like Scout might somehow overhear—and understand you. "I may or may not have bribed her with some leftover tuna."

"You mean you’re spoiling her."

"Hey, all's fair in love and war." You lean back. A knowing smile tugs at your lip, delicate like the first bloom of spring. "Besides, there are worse things for a cat to be."

After that, you focus on tending to Levi's wound—disinfecting it, adding balm, wrapping a clean bandage by the careful press of your hands. It brings Levi back to the old days, when he'd watch you either tend to him or his comrades. There was always this intensity, this non-bullshit attitude, that would always wash over you. It made Levi aware just how seriously you took your job, how dedicated you were to your craft. It was one of the first things that made him respect you.

Now, as Levi watches you at it again, there is something else, too. Something that speaks volumes of just how touch-starved he's become. He tries to ignore the warmth that blooms under your touch, tries not to think about how long it’s been since anyone that wasn’t his doctor touched him like this.

He fails.

It might be why, when at last you seem satisfied with your work and rise to your feet, Levi finds himself doing the same. He stands, moving with no objective in sight, the scent of herbs and home and you beckoning him closer. 

As he does, he ends in your personal space, his fingers almost grazing yours. 

He freezes. 

You seem just as surprised to find him in your space. Levi watches as your lips subtly part, the smallest shift in your expression that narrows into your eyes widening. He listens to your breath catch; it makes the tip of his fingers tingle.

"Um... Levi?" 

Levi blinks, panic swelling in his chest, but before he can say a thing, a sudden "mrrrp" vibrates below. What happens next is a blur, but Scout has somehow jumped off the sofa, intertwining herself between you and him, and the sudden feeling of fur on your bare legs must have taken you by surprise.

Because the next moment, you’ve bumped the back of your calves against the edge of the sofa, almost tripping back. 

Luckily, if there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's Levi's instincts. He instantly latches onto your elbow, steadying you, your warmth blooming beneath his grasp. 

“Walls,” your voice vibrates against the shell of his ear, breathless. "... Thanks." 

You straighten, taking a subtle shift back. Levi finally lets go, clears his throat, and moves away. He flexes his hand, trying to rid himself of the tickling sensation he'd just felt. 

"It's nothing." He focuses on Scout, who's skittered away and in between the dining chairs, looking at you and Levi with wide eyes. Levi exhales harshly as he stares at her. "Tch, have a care, you damn cat. We're practically titan-sized to you; don’t creep around like that unless you want to end trampled on."

The rest of the evening is uneventful. Like every other evening since you moved in, you and Levi share a meal, seated at the dining table, facing the window with a viewpoint on the sea. You share tidbits of information you've learned about the village and its inhabitants, while Levi provides scarce comments here and there. You discuss Gabi and Falco’s upcoming visit for the solstice, and everything you plan to do with them.

Everything is just as Levi remembers it being. The setting is different, there are people missing… but there is something soothing that he is here now, with you, with scents that don't feel foreign, with foods that feel familiar. 

One thing does loom over Levi's mind, though.

Levi swears you drew closer when he stood.

.

.

.

One night, you fall asleep in front of the fireplace.

Come morning, Levi's gone, but there's a blanket draped over your body.

.

.

.

That night, Levi can't sleep. That in itself isn't shocking; Levi's always been a chronic insomniac. Still, when the telltale signs of a sleepless night make themselves known and Levi realizes he's in for one of those nights, he doesn't waste time. He gets up and goes to make himself a fresh cup of valerian root tea.

Half-way there, however, something stops him in his tracks.

It's your the door to your bedroom, half-ajar, warm light pooling out.

And Levi sees you.

You're on the floor, crouched over something. Next to you, it seems that your bribing paid off; Scout is by your side, staring at you with keen interest, tilting her head as she looks at your every movement. 

That's when Levi notices what you're doing, what you're twirling around one by one, as if to show the cat.

Your drawing materials, his gift to you. You've taken them out of the desk he built, laying them all on the floor to inspect them.

Pencils, an eraser, a notebook.

Huh.

-

Thanks for reading! This is a slow build into feelings and healing, but I hope the journey will be worth the read. If you have a minute, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments/tags. Take care <3

[sirxlla]

The Few And Far Between

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

Warnings: Brief mentions of the reader being a lab rat. Other than that? Fluff.

Prompt: Damian doesn't let many in so why are you the exception?

Notes: Gender neutral reader, italics are actions/thoughts. i'm a new writer, so i'm trying to do what might be good layout? pls Imk what you think of the story or anything really in the comments, i'd really appreciate it

-With all that said it's under the cut-

Damian was never a forthcoming person and he was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve because he knew if he did it would be used against him. His mother and grandfather along with his childhood had made him build his walls so incredibly high that the idea of anyone scaling them scared him and surprised him at the same time. It secretly excited him but it scared the living shit out of him.

"How could this person come into my life and so easily get through to me in ways that I would never let anyone else see me?" A question he asked himself over and over within the confines of his own mind over the past couple months.

There was something in the sight of you that caused Damian's walls crumbled down like they were but a sheet of cheap printer paper. The nights have been rough for him, they always had, it's just something he never shared. Damian didnt want anyone poking around in his mind and he didnt wanna admit he had PTSD from his childhood and how quickly he had to grow up.

The nights were rough for both you and Damian. About 8 months ago Damian and Bruce had found you in Simon Stagg's lab in a cage like some sort of long term lab rat. Bruce had read the file infront of your cage whilst Damian unlocked the box that held you before swiftly and gently picking you up. So fragile from the way Stagg had been treating you there were clear signs of dehydration and malnourishment. You clung to Damian like a child clings to their favorite teddy bear the moment you he picked you up. In that momemnt something in him just completely shattered but when it came to you, It was his need for pushing people away. After that it was incredibly hard for him to even remotely began to think of putting up walls when it came to you.

The nightmares and memories of the place were horrible. you found yourself climbing into his bed. Your body just craving some sort of comfort and wanting to feel like you weren't alone even if the two of you didn't talk about the terrors that filled your sleep. If it were anyone else crawling into his bed there would have been no way in hell in any sort of way he'd even allow it. If he were even to think to say no to you, his mouth would betray him and the only thing that would have escaped his lips would have been a soft yes.

His nightmares had stopped when he slept next to you, or at least for the most part. Of course no one knew he had nightmares because he kept every bit of 'weakness' locked up tight. Damian never wanted to show any sign of fragility to anyone but tonight was different. The memories that clawed their way into his sleep were bad, an obvious understatement. Now he found himself waking in a start covered in a cold sweat you waking up beside him as he sat up.

Worry filled your eyes as they shone in the dim moonlight that filled the room through the crack of the curtains. He almost jumped as you wrapped your arms around him from behind as if it was your second nature to do so. There was such an kindess and understanding he found in you that allowed him to be vulnerable; This is something he never felt secure enough to do with anyone since he was a very small child. So his shoulders fell, the tension slipping from him like sand. Damian found himself wrapping his arms around yours as tears filled his eyes.

Before he knew it tears were pouring down his face as his body sank into you like a person in a being sucked into a beanbag chair, his body and mind seeking solace in your arms.

Noticing Damian's demeanor shifting and how he clearly needed someone, you slowly pulled him down to the bed and hugged him gently but securely. You knew the chance that he would talk about any of it would be rare but it didnt stop the pang in your chest and the need you felt to take care of him the way he had done for you on nights like this.

Your right hand moved into his soft silky hair before your left rubbed his back. His head rested between your collar bone and neck, the dampness of his tears made his skin stick to yours as he held onto you for dear life.

Damian had never let anyone in like this, not ever. Not even when he was dating Raven and she had a direct line to his memories but even so he kept his walls tall and thick like a castle. But now? Now here he was sobbing into the arms of a person he's known not years or decades but months in his mind it feels wrong but in his heart all they're doing is everything he's ever needed which is gentle comforting and a silent understanding. His eyelids feeling heavy as he sinks back into a deep comforting sleep in your arms, the gentle smell of your shampoo reminding him even as he sleeps that he was in safe arms.

Masterlist

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

The space between

Chapter One: The Cameron’s

AN; Hi! I haven’t posted in forever but, I’m writing this new series, I posted it on wattpad first, but decided to just post it here as well, I hope everyone enjoys! No warnings for the first chapter.

Moving across the United States solely for her fathers selfish intent was definitely not enjoyable.

She had tried everything, asking to stay with her aunt, her godmother, getting her own apartment.

Yet her father had a good point. She couldn’t afford to live alone in California- they already struggled as a family, what made her think she could somehow push it alone?

The central valley, the farming area of California, not the sunny, beachy, enjoyable part. More like constant cow shit smell, allergies from shaken trees and lots of traffic.

Her dad was a hard working man. Always trying to keep the family up, and so was her mom. Growing up a farmers daughter wasn’t easy. Handed down clothes, same shoes for all four years of high school. Yet she had everything she ever wanted and more, what could she complain about?

The front door swung open, her father basically chasing after her as she threw her bag on the ground and stomped into the kitchen to see her mom cooking.

“You are allowing this?”

Eve yelled, her moms eyes growing a bit wide as she set the knife down to turn to her husband who stood next to her daughter out of breath from chasing her up the long driveway.

“It’s not in my hands.”

Eves mother shrugged as she picked the silver knife back up, chopping at the carrots.

Eve let out a laugh as she rubbed her forehead then looked at her dad.

“North Carolina? That’s across the country dad.”

Eves dad, Carlos, frowned, his hands gripping at his cap that he now held in his hands, his facial hair growing grayer by the day.

“Sweetheart, it’s too much to live here- farms not doing good, we don’t sell like we did when you were a baby. I got a great opportunity over there.”

Suddenly, Eve felt guilty for acting like she did, her heart rate slowing drastically as her lips turned downwards. She quickly stepped forward, her arms wrapping around her dad as she squeezed him, nodding her head as her chin rested on his shoulder.

“Alright.”

It all happened so quickly after that.

Some wealthy family bought out their land in a matter of days, giving them just the perfect amount of money to make that horrid trip.

It felt like months but in reality it only took two days to get to their new house. The main problem was, they weren’t really able to see the house they bought till they arrived.

It wasn't horrible, simple three bedroom house, the neighbors were pretty quiet too. Everything was to quiet. Seeing her dad happy like he was is what made the move worth it.

That new house feeling is always hard to shake off. Eve sat on the front porch, writing in her journal when she heard the sound of tires against the gravel of the driveway. Her eyes shot up to see a truck pulling in, her thumb clicking at her pen as she tilted her head back towards the kitchen window.

“Dad! Somebody’s here!”

Her dad usually replied fast but she got silence, rolling her eyes as she closed her journal and stood up, hearing somebody walk up the steps, The creaking making her head snap back almost instantly as she set her stuff down on the chair.

“Can I help you?”

A tall man, he looked clean, like he was from the bay area where she was from but she knew that probably couldn’t be true. The nice plaid shirt he wore tucked into his jeans, his facial hair gruff yet cleaned up. He probably had the most perfect teeth she’d ever seen.

“Carlos here?”

The older man asked as he pulled off his sunglasses, his blue eyes squinting as she looked him up and down, a concerned look on her face.

“Who’s asking?”

His chuckle made her upper lip curl slightly, about to introduce himself before her dad swung the front door open, wiping the oil off his hands.

“Mr.Cameron, So sorry I was over in the garage.”

“Please, Just call me Ward.”

Eve felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she grabbed her journal and pens and went to walk past her dad who gripped at her shoulder.

“This is my daughter Eve.”

Eve let out a quiet sigh, looking at her dad and tucking her journal under her arm before she turned around and put on a smile, her arm extending as she shook his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasures mine- I wanted to formally invite you to dinner at my house tonight, thought we could discuss some of the things we talked about over the phone?”

Ward spoke as Eve pushed past her dad and turned the corner, staying against the wall to listen to their conversation.

“I can bring my family?”

Carlos asked as he set his gloves down on the small shelf by the front door.

“Of course please, bring everyone.”

Ward laughed, patting Carlos’ shoulder before he began to walk down the steps of the porch.

“Seven pm okay? I’ll make sure I send you the address!”

As soon as her dad shut the door she turned from the corner, ready to protest but Carlos put his hand up and went to walk down the hallway.

“You’re going- I don’t wanna hear it.”

He spoke sternly as he washed his hands in the kitchen, Looking over as Eve leaned against the doorframe.

“I don’t even have nice clothes.”

Carlos rolled his eyes, drying his hands with a towel before digging into his back pocket and pulling out a crisp fifty dollar bill.

“Don’t tell your mom.”

Eve couldn’t help but smile as she grabbed the bill from his hand, kissing his cheek softly and grabbing the keys from the shelf and walking down the driveway.

Her first time going into town and she looked like.. shit. Her shorts torn up, and the one shirt she had on. She shrugged as she slipped on her sunglasses, starting up her dads truck.

No clue where she was going, she pulled up to a curb at the start of a strip of stores. Living this close to the water would definitely have to be something she would need to get use to. She shoved the trucks keys into her pocket and tugged at the door to make sure it was locked.

The sunglasses pulled the strands of her hair back as she slipped them over her head when she stepped into a store, Thankfully it was the perfect time of year for dresses, Eves hands separated the hangers looking for her size, not looking up when she heard the jingle of the bell again. She pulled one of the hangers off the rack looking at a beautiful solid black dress, her fingers digging for the tag. A huff of air leaving her as she saw the price, quickly putting it back.

Almost literally jumping out of her skin as one of the employees suddenly showed up right beside her, her body having a physical reaction as she jumped back and almost fell into the rack of jackets behind her.

“Need help finding something?”

She could hear her heart beating in her ears, but she shook her head with a slight laugh.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

Eve nodded as she started looking at the dresses again, side eyeing the employee who stood in the same exact place.

“If I have any questions I of course would let you know.”

Eve spoke awkwardly, not sure what her reasoning was for just standing there. Eve cleared her throat and stepped back with one of the dresses, the employee's hand reaching out to reorganize the rack.

“That’s a seventy five dollar dress.”

The woman laughed slightly as Eve looked at the mirror holding it up to her frame, her eyebrows frowning as she looked over at her.

“Okay?”

She couldn’t help but scoff as she held the hanger in her hand still, what was she trying to say? She was having a really hard time grasping exactly what she meant- if she even had a point.

“I think you should go.”

The woman pulled the dress from Eves hands, making her laugh in disbelief, right when she was about to speak, another girl from behind her spoke

“And what If she had the money to pay for it? You want that dress? I’ll buy it for you, If it’s really that serious.”

The girl looked just as agitated as Eve, her head tilted as the employee rolled her eyes and handed the girl the dress.

“Sure Sarah.”

Sarah.

Eve turned the Sarah who was putting the dress back on the rack, her head tilting towards the door.

“There’s a better place down the street trust me, don’t give them your money.”

“I’m Eve by the way.”

Sarah nodded as she walked out the door. Eve followed cautiously, looking behind her with squinted eyes as she tried to see if there was a number she could call to complain.

Sarah noticed, shaking her head as her and Eve walked side by side.

“This strip doesn’t really have corporate numbers- they probably mistreat people all the time because of pogue status you know.”

What? Eve looked at Sarah confused as they walked into the new shop.

“What’s a pogue?”

Sarah was already ahead of her, flipping through racks with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. “You’ve got to try this one,” she said, holding up a sleek black dress that clung to her fingers.

Eve shook her head quickly. “I don’t think black’s my color.”

Sarah rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, instead pulling another gown off the rack. This one was a soft lavender, the fabric so light it seemed to look almost see through. “What about this? It’s subtle but stunning. Perfect for you.”

Eve hesitated, glancing at the price tag. Her stomach dropped. “Sarah, I can’t afford this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.

Sarah waved her off, tossing the dress into Eve’s arms. “Don’t worry about it. My dad’s got a tab here. Just try it on.”

But Eve didn’t believe in luck like that, especially considering she has no plans on leaving her house just like she did back at home. The town truthfully was beautiful though, riding with her windows down gave her a feeling she hadn’t felt once in her life.

Once she got back home, she walked into the house seeing her mom curling her hair, yelling at her younger sister, making her quietly step into her room to get ready.

The dress fit her perfectly, the dark purple fabric going down to her shins, knowing if it had went any higher her mom would’ve thrown a fit about modesty. She walked out the kitchen, seeing her dad trying to clip his watch on his own, her heels clicking as she stepped over to him and grabbed the watch from his wrist, carefully clipping it on for him.

“My beautiful.”

Her dad smiled as he kissed her forehead, making her smile as she fixed his collar for him.

“Please be good, Mr.Cameron is a good man, with lots of money. We need this.”

Eve looked up at her dad and nodded her head as she held the necklace he had made for her in her hand.

“I wouldn’t mess up anything for you, I don’t have it In me.”

The drive to Cameron's house felt longer than it should’ve. Watching the houses go from one to two stories, to green lawns to gated communities definitely made her rethink where they stayed.

Seeing her dad pull into the curved driveway, her eyes probably sparkling as she stared at the large house it led up to. That's why he dressed like he did. Of course they had to sit in the car and listen to her dads seven minute pep talk about what they can and cannot say, by the time it was time to go inside all her anxiety had bubbled up to a point she was scared she was going to really say something stupid now.

Carlos reached for the handle on the door and knocked, listening to the rhythm echo through the huge home in front of them. Eve fixed her posture as the door swung open, the man from earlier today having a wide smile on his face as he shook her dads hand and greeted her mom and sisters.

Forcing her smile once again as she greeted him, thanking him for inviting them to her home. The thank you wasn’t forced though, the house was huge. Probably the biggest place she’s ever been- in her life. Her eyes ran up the staircase that was right in front of the front door, her heels clicking against their floor as the adults quickly made their way into the kitchen area, already rambling on about the drive across the country and old farmland.

Eve walked into the living room area, the lights off and the moon shining through the windows. She walked closer to the large frames, looking out to see the breathtaking view, her hands resting at her sides as she heard the muffled conversation from the room over.

What could somebody possibly do for a job to be able to live like this? Her gaze switched from the window to the beautiful pottery on the small tables in the room, her fingers grazing over the table, way too scared to touch the pots in fear they would somehow crumble beneath her finger tips.

“Eve?”

Eves head turned instantly at the familiar voice, smiling slightly to see the girl she had met earlier today, in a beautiful orange dress, her hair curled as she smiled back at her.

“Sarah-“

She hurried over to her, laughing in confusion as she looked her up and down.

“You look- beautiful.”

Sarah smiled, tipping her head slightly as her hands pushed out to clap slightly.

“I mean look at you, I picked out the perfect dress right? This was the dinner you mentioned?”

Eve nodded awkwardly as she rubbed her arm, was this her family's house? How embarrassing she didn’t even know or remember their last name when she was asked about it earlier in the day.

“Ward is your dad?”

Eve asked as they started to walk to the dining room area.

“Yep. Sarah Cameron, that’s me.”

How awkward. Eve couldn’t help but admire the life that Sarah had laid in front of her, yet she was still so kind. Lost in her own thoughts, Eve was taken aback when Sarah grabbed her arm and stopped her just short of the dining room entrance.

“There’s this thing going on tonight, at my boyfriend's house. You should come. You can meet some people.”

Yeah, she was way too nice. Eve stared at her for a few seconds before she looked into the dining hall to see Ward and her dad laughing, Rose and her mom admiring each other's outfits.

“I don’t know.. my dad he’s super strict, never lets me leave the house.”

Sarah gave her an exasperated look, but before Eve could finish her protest, Sarah swept into the room.

“Where is Rafe?” she asked, her voice carrying just enough to catch Ward’s attention.

Ward looked up from the conversation he was having with Carlos, his brow furrowing slightly before waving a dismissive hand. “You know how he is,” he said with a chuckle, returning to the discussion about farmland and markets.

Eve shrugged, hoping that would be the end of it. Sarah shook her head and grabbed both of her arms.

“I’ll tell them that we met earlier today and we instantly clicked, you’re telling me your dad doesn’t want you making friends?”

“Who’s Rafe?”

The girl asked as a course was set in front of them, her stomach grumbling as she realized she really hadn’t eaten a single thing today.

Ward cut off Sarah as she went to speak.

“My son, told him we were having guests but unfortunately he missed your family's wonderful presence.”

Eve laughed as she took a bite of the food, her eyebrows frowning as she looked down at the plate, her hand covering her mouth.

“What is this? That’s delicious.”

The table laughed at her sincere reaction, silence lingering as everyone ate before Sarah chimed in.

“Dad, could Eve stay the night? I know it seems like we just met twenty minutes ago but we met earlier today down at the strip.”

Ward was a bit too enthusiastic to say yes, looking over at Carlos who was staring at Eve. Knowing he hated it when he was put on the spot for things like this.

“I have no problem with it all.”

What a horrible liar. Eve couldn’t help but smile as she looked over at Sarah, taking another bite of her food as she winked at her.

——————————————————————

“Don’t fall though”

Sarah gasped as Eve climbed down through the window holding onto the frame, the two laughing as they ran across the yard holding their shoes in their hands.

Once they got to the actual street, Sarah said it wasn’t far to her boyfriends house so the two walked down the sidewalk, the crickets almost as loud as them.

The walk was pretty silent, Sarah must’ve noticed Eve admiring all the big houses, her gaze constantly away from the road.

“You’re quiet,” she finally said, glancing over.

Eve shrugged, her eyes still fixed on the street ahead. “Just… admiring how different this place is from where I grew up.”

Sarah laughed, a sound as light as the breeze. “Yeah, it’s pretty here, I guess. But after a while, it all just feels… the same. You’ll see what I mean.”

Once the two showed up, Sarah tugged her through the crowd of people and let go of her, running over to a boy and jumping on his back, her mood quickly shifted once she jumped off his back and smacked the arm of another boy across from her, even though eve was far from the scene she could tell they were arguing.

Eve stepped forward, smiling slightly as she cleared her throat. Sarah’s gaze went from the boy back to her, sighing as she grabbed Eves shoulder.

“This is Eve,” Sarah said, her tone slightly clipped. “Her family just moved here. Her dad’s working with ours. Eve, this is Rafe.”

Rafe turned to her then, his blue eyes piercing as they met hers. For a moment, the noise around them faded, and all Eve could hear was her own heartbeat, he was tall, and he seemed slightly out of it, his eyes hazy and a lazy smirk on his face.

“Rafe,” he said, his voice low and smooth as he extended his hand.

“Eve,” she replied, slipping her hand into his. His grip was firm, his hand warm against hers, and the contact sent a strange jolt up her arm.

"She's from California," Sarah added quickly, her tone sharp as she stood next to Topper, who offered a casual nod and introduced himself without much enthusiasm.

"So, you're full Kook, huh? Must be expensive out there," Topper quipped with a smug grin, swirling the drink in his hand.

Eve furrowed her brows, confused. Kook? What was that supposed to mean?

"What's a Kook?" she asked, glancing between them.

Rafe chuckled low, his smirk growing as he took a deliberate sip of his drink. The way his blue eyes lingered on her made her feel like the punchline to an inside joke she wasn’t in on.

"Just... don’t worry about it," Sarah sighed, clearly exasperated as she stepped over to a small drink station. She poured a glass and handed it to Eve.

"Yeah," Rafe drawled, leaning against the wall with casual confidence. "Don’t trouble yourself with the losers down there in the Cut." His tone was smooth, but there was a distinct edge, as though he relished the jab.

Eve accepted the drink from Sarah, still trying to piece together what was going on. "The Cut? What’s that supposed to mean?"

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered under her breath, "Oh God, here we go..." before shooting a warning glance at Rafe.

"It means," Rafe said, stepping closer, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, "you’re better off sticking with the right crowd. You wouldn’t want to end up on the wrong side of town."

Eve narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on the glass. The way he said it left a sour taste in her mouth, but before she could respond, Sarah cut in.

“Let me show you the view, it's insane.”

Sarah grabbed her arm, looking back at Rafe and Topper with a warning glance before she dragged Eve away.

Her grip on the drink tightened as a wave of embarrassment crept in. What did he mean by “the wrong side of town?” Was it obvious that she didn’t belong here?

Sarah’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s... complicated.”

Eve forced a smile, nodding even though she wasn’t sure what to say. “Complicated” was putting it lightly. She could still feel the weight of Rafe’s gaze, as if he’d peeled back a layer of her she wasn’t ready to share.

Sarah leaned against the railing of the porch, the wind blowing through her hair.

“Please really don’t take what Rafe, or what anybody says. A lot of them are pretty.. well dumb.”

Sarah and Eve laughed together, Sarah frowning slightly to see Eve swirl her drink around in her hand.

“I’ll be honest my dad had to drag me here, I left my whole life behind to be here.”

Eve spoke with a nod as she took a sip of the nasty mixed drink, licking her lips as Sarah nodded.

“I get it. You’re feeling out of place but it takes time, I promise you.”

Eve went to speak again but was cut off by the door swinging open. “

Sarah,” Rafe spoke with a sigh, his tone casual but somehow charged, “Kelce’s looking for you. Something about needing help with the keg.”

Sarah groaned, rubbing her forehead. “He’s a grown man; he can figure it out.”

“Yeah, well,” Rafe drawled, “he’s not doing a great job of proving that right now.”

Sarah gave Eve a small smile. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let him scare you.”

Eve tried to laugh, but it came out more as a nervous chuckle. As Sarah disappeared into the house, Eve found herself alone with Rafe.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Snow Globe

| "You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round. And he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown. And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars." |

Soarynn Snow weaves her way through the busy Capitol crowds while doing her best to remain effortless and elegant.

But that's a hard thing to be when it's freezing and you're dragging a four-year-old behind you.

"Mommy, where're we going?"

Soarynn looks up at the gray sky, it might snow today according to their weatherman Lucky Flickerman, that would be nice, a little snow, the fireplace warming their home while they all sip hot chocolate on the sofa. "We're going to the store darling," she tells her daughter, "we have to get something for your father."

"Why can't he get it himself?"

Soarynn often wonders the same thing but she always catches herself, Coriolanus works extremely hard to provide for their family, so on the rare chance like today when he needs her to pick something up for him last minute, she remains endlessly gracious and understanding. Even though sometimes she wishes he could just get someone else to do it.

"Because he's at work right now," she explains, pulling them along the sidewalk, "and he needs this as soon as possible."

Soarynn had been prepared to spend her Friday at home, in her pajamas while making cookies with her daughter Ceraphina. Instead, her husband called around thirty minutes ago, telling her that he needed a gift to be picked up from a nearby department store as soon as possible.

"It's an emergency darling," he had said over the phone, "I forgot all about getting my boss a gift for the baby shower he's having. I already called the store, all you need to do is pick it up and bring it to me."

So Soarynn quickly got dressed and made herself presentable, and then did the same with Ceraphina. They couldn't afford to be as fashionable as she would've liked, but they were on a bit of a deadline according to his urgent tone.

The task was simple enough, go to the department store, get the gift, go to his office, and deliver the gift. In the end, she was a hero.

"So we're on a secret mission?"

Soarynn looks down at her daughter who looks so excited to be running a last-minute errand with her mother.

Soarynn is someone who values routine and she's done her best to instill that into Ceraphina as well. Since Ceraphina could talk, she's gone over their schedule for the week, letting the child know what she should expect for the next seven days. She felt it was good for her young mind to know what was coming, to remain calm in knowing that nothing would change.

Now that she's older, they'll go over their schedule every Sunday night at dinner with Coriolanus, so today's errand must be quite thrilling for her.

"It's not much of a secret," Soarynn admits, "more of a special mission." Ceraphina giggles and Soarynn pulls them towards a very tall building where several department stores reside inside of it. "Are we gonna go to Daddy's office?" Soarynn pulls the heavy doors open and sighs when she feels how warm it is inside. She personally hates the cold, Coriolanus has never been bothered by it but she certainly has.

She misses summer.

"Yes we are," she confirms, walking up to a directory of all the stores, "now let's see, we're here, and we need to be...ah, there it is, third floor." To her dismay, there is no elevator which means she has to walk up a lot of stairs in heels.

She'll be sure to give Coriolanus an earful about this when she sees him.

Ceraphina thinks of it as a fun game though, jumping or skipping up the steps while giggling. At least one of them is having fun. By the time they make it to the third floor, Soarynn is out of breath. "Let's go, Mommy!" Ceraphina calls, running towards the store. Soarynn follows behind her at a much slower pace, "I'm coming, darling."

Soarynn eyes grow bigger when she sees how beautifully this store has been decorated for the holidays, Christmas trees, green garlands, red ribbons, and sparkling lights. She should be taking notes for their penthouse next year.

"We need to find the baby section," Soarynn tells her, scanning the racks of clothing. She remembers Coriolanus talking about how he needed to get his boss something for his baby who was going to be born in early January. Looks like he forgot about that.

"Are we having another baby?"

Soarynn swallows at her daughter's question because she would love to have another baby, or two, or three. Ceraphina is just so perfect so any other children would have to be as well.

"No," she says slowly, "not right now but someone else is and we need to get them a gift."

"Okay!"

Soarynn will miss these moments, next fall Ceraphina will be off to school and Soarynn will be left with a lot of time on her hands. Maybe another baby isn't such a bad idea.

They wander around the store for a while until they stumble upon the section where tiny little clothes hang on the racks. Soarynn can feel the baby fever kicking in, maybe they can start trying tonight. Coriolanus certainly enjoyed the benefits of her being pregnant and more needy, and Soarynn just loved sporting a baby bump.

"These are so little," Ceraphina says, reaching up to touch a small pair of shoes on a shelf. Soarynn smiles, smoothing down her hair, "You used to fit into those, you were so tiny." Oh, she was so precious, so little and sweet. Maybe this is just the push she needed to start trying for another baby.

"My dolls can wear those shoes," Ceraphina points out, "can we get the baby a doll?" Soarynn shakes her head, giving her daughter a soft smile, "No darling, your father already purchased the gift, we just have to pick it up. Now let's go over to the counter and ask for it." They walk over to the counter where a saleswoman is typing away on the register, "Excuse me, my husband called earlier and placed an order. His name is Coriolanus Snow and he sent me to pick it up for him," Soarynn explains.

The woman nods and types in a few more things, "Yes, I can see the order right here. Do you have some form of identification?"

Soarynn nods, "Of course."

She opens her purse and pulls out her wallet, brandishing her citizen's license to the saleswoman who glances over it before nodding, "It'll be just a moment, I'll be right back ladies."

Ceraphina wraps her fingers around the counter's edge while Soaryn puts her wallet back in her purse, "She called me a lady Mommy."

Soarynn chuckles, Ceraphina is very well-mannered for a girl her age but Soarynn knows how eager she is to be older so she can wear makeup and fancy shoes like her mother. "You certainly are a little lady," Soarynn agrees, "maybe after we stop by the office we can get some lunch."

Soarynn had breakfast but that was hours ago and Ceraphina always loves it when they eat out at a restaurant. She'll have to make a reservation for Christmas Eve, Coriolanus already bought them tickets to the ballet since Ceraphina has been begging to go. She's fascinated by the ballerinas and their pretty costumes.

Soarynn and Coriolanus have discussed enrolling her in lessons so this will be a good test to see how serious she is about it.

The saleswoman comes back with a shiny black bag and a smile, "Here you are Mrs. Snow, enjoy the rest of your day."

Soarynn returns her smile and nods, "Thank you so much, enjoy your day as well."

Ceraphina offers to carry the bag but that lasts about ten seconds before she hands it back to Soarynn, "Mommy, what's over there?" She asks, pointing at a very large decorative display near the women's section. Soarynn tilts her head, unable to see what it really is, "I don't know darling, let's go see what it is."

They walk a little closer and Soarynn can see a fancy-looking camera and a large green sofa, and what looks like a man sitting on it.

"Santa!"

Ceraphina runs over to the display, roped off with velvet ropes and Soarynn quickly realizes that the store has hired a Santa for the children to take pictures with. Ceraphina jumps up and down, looking at Santa then back at Soarynn, "Mommy can I say hello? Please, please, please may I say hello?"

Soarynn sighs, these things are sweet but also the bane of every parent's existence when they're in a rush to get somewhere. But she can see how badly Ceraphina wants to meet Santa and there's no one else in line. She checks her watch, they're doing good on time and Coriolanus will understand.

"Alright," she finally gives in, "but it'll have to be quick."

Ceraphina squeals and runs over to Soarynn, throwing her arms around her legs, "Thank you, Mommy! You're the best Mommy ever!"

She's heard that one before.

"Mhm, now go say hello," Soarynn tells her, giving Ceraphina a gentle push.

The photographer unhooks the velvet rope and Ceraphina smiles up at him, "Thank you!"

She skips right over to Santa who looks bored out of his mind but he picks up the act once he sees a child approaching him "Well, hello there little girl. What's your name?"

Ceraphina stops in front of him, hands behind her back, head held high, "Ceraphina Snow. C-E-R-A-P-H-I-N-A S-N-O-W."

Santa looks very impressed. "My goodness, looks like you know a lot. Do you know what you'd like for Christmas?"

While Ceraphina leans in to whisper her big wish, the photographer hands Soarynn a piece of paper with photo packages listed on it. She frowns, "Oh, we don't need a photo, thank you though."

"In order to speak to Santa, you have to take a photo," the photographer says, putting a hand on his hip. Soarynn scoffs, what a scam!

"Fine," she says, handing the paper back to him, "we'll take your cheapest option."

She looks back over at Ceraphina who's still going and they need to get a move on, "Ceraphina darling, smile for a picture!"

Ceraphina gasps and hops onto the sofa next to Santa, putting on her best smile.

"Say 'Merry Christmas'!" The photographer says, clicking the camera. A blinding flash goes off and Ceraphina slides off the sofa, "Remember," she says to Santa, "a pink one, not a blue one."

Santa nods, "I'll tell my elves that."

Ceraphina runs back over to Soarynn, giddy with excitement, "What did you ask for?"

Ceraphina puts a finger up to her mouth, "I can't tell you 'cause it's only for Santa to know." Soarynn raises her eyebrows, whatever she asked for sounded very specific. She might have to come back and ask Santa what her request was.

"Here are your photos," the photographer says, holding them out to Soarynn with a limp wrist and attitude. She snatches them out of his hand and bestows her fakest smile onto him, "Have a good day," she says, walking off with Ceraphina.

"We got pictures?"

"We got scammed, is what we got," Soarynn tells her, flipping through the photos, "but they are very cute pictures. We can put them on the fridge." She hands them over to Ceraphina who looks at each individual photo of her and Santa with fascination.

"Are we going to Daddy's office now?"

Soarynn prepares herself for the stairs and the cold, "We sure are."

꧁ ꧂

After dealing with that snippy photographer, the welcome Soarynn and Ceraphina are given the second they step into the office building is greatly appreciated.

Due to his high status within the company, Coriolanus is highly respected and a little bit feared, which means when his family comes to visit, they're treated like royalty.

"Mrs. Snow, Ms. Snow," the receptionist greets them, "welcome back, let me get the elevator for you, and your coats."

Soarynn shrugs off her long black coat and Ceraphina does the same, thanking the receptionist, "Can I press the button?" Ceraphina asks, bouncing on her toes with excitement. She loves pressing elevator buttons, and it's cute until she picks the wrong floor.

"Do you remember what floor he's on?" Soarynn asks, poking Ceraphina who giggles, "Yes! Daddy is on the tippy-top floor because Snow lands on top," Ceraphina tells her matter-of-factly.

The kid knows her stuff.

"That would be correct," Soarynn says when the doors open up. They step inside and Soarynn makes sure that Ceraphina presses the correct button, all the way up to the twenty-fifth floor. "Can I give one of my Santa pictures to Daddy?"

Soarynn looks down at all the pictures in Ceraphina's hands, there certainly is a lot, she just wonders if Coriolanus wants a photo of his daughter posing with a random man wearing a red suit and a fake beard.

"We'll have to ask him," is all she says.

The elevator dings and they're finally here. Well, finally on the right floor at least.

The doors open up to another, smaller lobby with another front desk and a very pretty-looking Christmas tree tucked away in the corner. Ceraphina runs ahead to the desk and stands on her tip-toes, peeking over the wooden surface, "Hi Ms. Eudora!"

Eudora Trinket is the head secretary of the twenty-fifth floor. She's fierce, well-organized, and has a soft spot for sweet children like Ceraphina who come to visit their fathers from time to time.

"Well hello dear, what brings you in today?" The older woman asks, giving Ceraphina her undivided attention. "We're bringing my Daddy a gift for his boss 'cause he forgot about it," she tells Eudora, causing Soarynn to regret giving her that much information.

Eudora looks more amused than anything, she knows Coriolanus quite well and Soarynn has witnessed her scolding the younger man a few times. It's good that he has someone to keep him on the edge.

"I see," Eudora says, looking up at Soarynn, "well he just got done with his meeting and should be in his office." Soarynn nods, offering her hand to Ceraphina, "Come on darling, we mustn't keep him waiting."

After saying goodbye to Eudora, Soarynn and Ceraphina make their way down the grand hallways of the twenty-fifth floor. These offices are the largest in the building according to Coriolanus who's quite pleased with his own office. There are several portraits hanging on the walls, all of the members of the company. Most of them are older men who either founded the company or have been here for decades.

But the newest painting has Coriolanus in it and Ceraphina loves to point at it every time they pass by. "There's Daddy," she points, looking up at her father's stern face in the portrait.

Soarynn hums and they turn the corner, nearing his office doors. Coriolanus has a corner office that gives him a great view of the city skyline. Ceraphina lets go of Soarynn's hand and runs over to his office doors, knocking on them with both fists.

"Daddy we're here!" She calls, not as quiet as Soarynn would like but most of the men on this floor don't mind, not when they have children of their own. A moment later, the doors open and Coriolanus is grinning down at his daughter, "I thought I heard someone running," he says, causing Ceraphina to look down at her feet.

Coriolanus has reprimanded her time and time again about never running indoors. A hard habit to break apparently. "I was excited to see you," she tries sweetly, pushing past him to go into his office. Coriolanus shakes his head and turns his attention to Soarynn who proudly shows off the black gift bag, "Delivered right to your doorstep," she tells him, smiling when he grabs her waist and pulls her closer.

"How should I tip you?" He asks, brushing his lips over her ear. Soarynn blushes, he's always been so charming, never ashamed to touch her or flirt with her even at work. "I have a few ideas," she mumbles, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Coriolanus chuckles, "Really? How darling?"

Soarynn can't contain her excitment any longer, she thought she could wait until he got home but she might as well plant this idea in his head now.

"I want another baby."

He sure as hell wasn't expecting that. His eyes widen and he almost falls backward before Soarynn grabs his arm with her free hand, "A...another baby?" He repeats, scratching the back of his neck. Soarynn hums, rocking back and forth on her heels, with Christmas coming up, it would be the perfect gift.

"Girl or boy," she says with a shrug, "I'm not picky."

She walks into his office, leaving Coriolanus to process her wish while Ceraphina runs around, touching everything she possibly can if it's in reach. "Don't touch that darling," Soarynn tells her when Ceraphina goes to touch an award Coriolanus was given by the company. It's a frosted glass ball with writing engraved on the glass, it almost looks like a snow globe which is probably why she wants to touch it.

Ceraphina pouts but doesn't complain, "Can we show Daddy my pictures with Santa?"

Soarynn sets her purse down on the nearby sofa, Coriolanus keeps his office tidy and that includes the sofa and chairs he has in the corner by the bookshelves. "Of course we can."

It seems that Coriolanus has recovered from her baby ambush and he closes the doors behind him, offering her a sheepish smile, "And you want me to start working on your gift soon?" He inquires, clearly excited about having sex with a greater goal involved rather than just an orgasm.

Soarynn smiles sweetly at him, batting her eyelashes, "As soon as possible please," she purrs.

"What gift Mommy?"

They both freeze at their daughter's innocent question, one an adult cannot truthfully answer at times, "Mommy asked for another cat," Soarynn smoothly answers, figuring it's a good lie since Coriolanus would never agree to get another cat. He can barely stand the one they have now.

Coriolanus nods, "Yes, she asked for another cat, wishful thinking if I've ever seen it but thank you both for being so swift to deliver this gift to me. I'm sure my boss will love it."

"I'm sure his wife will love it," Soarynn corrects, digging through her purse and pulling out the photos they got with Santa, "look who Ceraphina met."

His interest is piqued since Ceraphina doesn't meet a lot of people and Coriolanus reaches for the photo, "Who do we have here hmm? I see my beautiful Ceraphina and...and Santa? You met Santa without me?"

Ceraphina giggles from his teasing and runs over to him, throwing her arms around his leg, "Daddy he was at the store! I got to tell him what I wanted for Christmas and then we took a picture! And I used my best smile for the picture, didn't I Mommy?"

Soarynn places a loving hand on Ceraphina's hair, "Yes you did," she confirms. Soarynn knew that they'd be taking a lot of family photos once Ceraphina was born, and just photos in general and she knew how much Coriolanus would want any child of theirs to have a nice, sweet smile. He wouldn't stand for their child to make a fuss or whine about having to smile for long periods of time.

So once she was old enough, Soarynn had Ceraphina practice smiling in the mirror, getting the child used to the idea of using a good old Capitol smile. And it paid off tremendously, Ceraphina was absolutely precious whenever she smiled, always complimented for her good manners and attitude when it came to having her photo taken.

Coriolanus grunts and flips through all the photos, "Quite a few pictures," he notes and Soarynn rolls her eyes, remembering how she was swindled into paying for those. "Well we had to get a photo package," she says, "because nothing is free anymore."

Coriolanus smirks and ruffles the hair Soarynn just smoothed down on Ceraphina's head, "Well you look beautiful darling, just like a little princess." Ceraphina beams at his compliments, she's always been a daddy's girl and Coriolanus has been wrapped around her little finger since the day she was born. Soarynn thinks it's sweet how good he is with her, always so patient and gentle.

He'd burn the world down if someone ever tried to hurt her.

"When can we get lunch Mommy?" Ceraphina asks, always ready for a snack or a meal. Soarynn looks down at her watch, it's nearly noon. "I suppose we should start heading out," she muses, "everywhere is bound to be busy."

Coriolanus takes her hand and gives it a squeeze, "I get off in ten minutes for my lunch break, let me ask Eudora to book us a reservation."

Ceraphina gasps, delighted at the idea of having an impromptu lunch with both of her parents. With Coriolanus always at work, she spends the majority of her days with Soarynn so to have lunch with Coriolanus and Soarynn is a treat as special as any.

"Can we go to the place with the good pasta Mommy? Please, please, please?" She begs, letting go of her father's leg to cling to her mother's. Soarynn softly chuckles since she figured Ceraphina would ask about that restaurant, "We certainly can."

Coriolanus goes to call Eudora and Soarynn keeps Ceraphina entertained by holding her on her hip while they look at all the photos Coriolanus keeps on his bookshelf.

A lot of them are from events at work. Soarynn spots a few familiar faces in the photos, faces she went to school with and now they're working alongside Coriolanus with families of their own. It's amazing how quickly time passes. "Oh, there's Mr. Creed," Ceraphina points at Festus standing next to Coriolanus, neither of them smiling because men never smile for photos.

Soarynn nods, pressing a kiss to Ceraphina's cheek, "Very good darling, and there's your father getting promoted."

They look at the photograph of Coriolanus shaking hands with the owner of the company, Quintus Heavensbee. Soarynn remembers being there for the official ceremony where several men were appointed higher-paying jobs and Coriolanus had been one of them. She had been so proud, so happy for him and all of his hard work. He's worked so hard for them and that could never go unnoticed by her.

"There you are, Mommy!"

Soarynn looks at the next photo which happens to be a photograph from their wedding day. Ceraphina loves going through the photo album from their wedding, fascinated by Soarynn's wedding dress and all that took place before she was born.

The photo is a rather stiff one in Soarynn's opinion, it was in the paper if she recalls correctly and they had been instructed not to smile. Coriolanus has a hand wrapped around her waist while Soarynn stands next to him holding her white bouquet of roses. They make quite the handsome pair in her opinion.

"Where are the photos of me?" Ceraphina demands, trying to look over at Coriolanus who's shuffling through some paperwork. He points at a framed photograph sitting on his desk, "Right here darling, so I can always remember why I'm working so hard."

Soarynn rolls her eyes at his choice of words since he's used the same line on her once or twice. Ceraphina wiggles out of Soarynn's hold and runs over to see the photograph. Soarynn walks over as well, curious to see which photo it is.

Coriolanus isn't the most sentimental man, that's more in her field when it comes to their relationship but she knows how much he values family. She rounds his desk and rests a hand on the back of his chair while looking at the adorable photo of Ceraphina. She had to be at least three in this photo, with her blonde curls and blue eyes.

Soarynn sighs while remembering those sweet years. She has a pink bow in her hair and a big smile on her face. "I miss my curls," Ceraphina says, touching her now wavy hair. It almost looks straight some days which she has Soarynn to thank for. Coriolanus is the one sporting the curls in the Snow family. Ceraphina had them for quite some time but they've disappeared over the years.

"But now you look just like your Mommy," Coriolanus says proudly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Ceraphina shrieks when he blows a raspberry against her skin and pushes him away, "Daddy! Ew!"

Coriolanus and Soarynn laugh and she looks over at another photo she never noticed before. It's a photo of her. She looks much younger, probably twenty years old, well before they were engaged. She's holding Petunia in the photo, laughing and from the looks of it, they're on the penthouse rooftop. She looks so happy, so carefree. She doesn't remember Coriolanus ever taking this picture but to know that he framed it means more to her than he'll ever know.

To know that he keeps a picture of her in his office downtown, along with a photo of Ceraphina reminds her that she married the right man. A man who loves her and loves their daughter.

"Eudora was able to get us a table," he tells her, craning his neck to look up at her from his chair. Soarynn smiles and gives the back of his neck a scratch, his favorite place, "Good, we should get going then."

꧁ ꧂

On the way back from the restaurant it starts to snow.

Soarynn watches Ceraphina skip down the sidewalk while holding her father's hand, pointing at different window displays. Soarynn wishes she could photograph this moment and keep it in her pocket forever.

They finally reach his office building and this is where goodbyes must be said.

"Can't we stay with you?" Ceraphina asks hopefully, doing her best to convince him but Coriolanus shakes his head, smiling at her attempts to sway him. "I'm afraid not my darling, I have lots of meetings to attend and you'd be terribly bored."

So would Soarynn and they still have to bake cookies.

"Okay," she says sadly, letting go of his hand, "thank you for lunch, Daddy." Coriolanus smiles, pleased she's using her manners, something else Soarynn has taught her over the years. Coriolanus loves to be thanked, words of affirmation are the key to his heart.

"You're very welcome my angel," he tells her, bending down to give her a proper goodbye kiss on the cheek. Ceraphina gives him one as well, along with a hug before Coriolanus stands back up to his full height. He grins as he pulls Soarynn by her coat sleeve, leaning down to kiss her goodbye. He goes in for a passionate kiss, one that catches her off guard considering they're on a public street in front of his office building but that's never stopped him before.

Soarynn rests a hand on his cheek and sighs into the kiss, they'll definitely start on that baby-making tonight. Now that she's planted the idea in his head, he has to see it through. That's just the type of person Coriolanus Snow is. When they finally pull away, Soarynn is out of breath, "Goodbye," she breathes, giving his cheek a soft pinch.

Coriolanus gives her one last kiss before letting her go, "Goodbye darling, thank you for bringing the gift." She'd forgotten all about the gift, so much has happened today. "I'll see you two tonight," he calls before the doors to the building close behind him. Soarynn and Ceraphina both wave and watch him until he's out of sight.

"That was so romantic," Ceraphina says with a dreamy sigh.

Soarynn takes her small hand and they begin walking in the direction of home, "Your father is rather romantic," she agrees, watching more snow fall onto the ground. "It's like we're in a snow globe," Ceraphina observes, sticking out her tongue in hopes of catching a snowflake.

Soarynn hums and begins to think about having another little snowflake of their own, a sibling for Ceraphina, another baby for her, and Coriolanus.

There was a time when she dreamed of becoming a mother, of getting married to a handsome man who loved her so deeply. She often wondered how she'd know when she met the one. Then she met Coriolanus and it was like the entire universe was saying the same thing over and over to her.

'You are in love.'

Indeed she is.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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[lottluvs]

Jackie Taylor x Shy! Female Reader (but Jackie brings out your confident side): Childhood best friends to lovers.

Jackie and your parents ran in the same social circles, your fathers being especially close, while your mothers did not get along beyond polite pleasantries. You attend different schools but talk on the phone daily and see each other as often as possible. You both planned your entire future together, and you start dating. Your parents tell you that you’re moving, and no matter how much you beg to stay, it’s non-negotiable. Not long after, you find out about the plane crash.

Thank you! — 🫀

Teathered By Distance, Torn By Fate . (✉️)

gripping at the sheets as my tears stain them. crying. this reminds me of the movie ghost. ( p . s : proofread by scan , apologies for spelling errors ! ) 🌿

paring : jackie taylor x reader , c / w : character death , grieving , hallucinations , heartache , overall total devastation , fluff , hurt/comfort .

summary : childhood best friends become more , growing together , planning a future , when not only does reader move away , but the news of an unfortunate plane crash tears the two completely apart from harsh reality .

words : 5k

lottluvs , feel free to translate with credit . . open to criticism 🌱

a / n : i had to use a few time skips to pair this with all my ideas , my apologies!

Your first memory of Jackie Taylor was at her family’s Fourth of July barbecue when you were five years old. She had come bounding up to you, her confidence as radiant as the sun that reflected off her blonde curls.

“I’m Jackie,” she’d declared, sticking out her hand. “We’re going to be best friends.”

And just like that, she was right.

Your fathers worked together in the same tight-knit business circles, making your families natural fixtures in each other’s lives. While your mothers barely tolerated each other behind thin veneers of polite civility, Jackie and you were inseparable. It didn’t matter that you attended different schools or that she thrived in a social world that terrified you. Jackie made you feel like you belonged wherever she was.

Jackie always had a way of filling the silence you preferred with her own brand of light. When you shrank from new people or doubted yourself, Jackie was there to pull you forward, her hand warm and firm around yours. She made you feel safe and seen.

“We’re going to do everything together when we’re older,” she said one summer, sprawled across her pristine pink comforter, flipping through a magazine. “College, apartments, double dates. Everything.”

You didn’t know what your future looked like, but Jackie’s confidence was enough for both of you.

As you grew older, your bond didn’t fade. Even with your different schools and social circles, you talked every day—on the phone, at each other’s houses, and in the few moments you managed to steal during busy weekends. She told you about soccer practices and her drama with Shauna, and you shared pieces of your life you never thought you’d say out loud.

Then, when you were both sixteen, something changed. Jackie’s touches lingered just a little too long. Her eyes stayed on you in ways they hadn’t before. It was small at first—a brush of her knee against yours under the dinner table, a hand on your lower back that made your breath hitch. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Jackie was affectionate with everyone. But deep down, you wanted it to mean everything.

It wasn’t until the night of her family’s Fourth of July party that your quiet longing turned into something real. You and Jackie had slipped away from the crowd, sitting in the backyard under the fireworks. The colorful lights reflected in her eyes as she turned to you, her voice soft but certain.

“You’ll always stay with me, right? Even if everything else changes?”

“Of course,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.

Jackie smiled, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Good.” Then, without hesitation, she kissed you.

Her lips were soft, hesitant at first, but when you didn’t pull away, she pressed closer. It felt like everything you’d ever dreamed but didn’t dare to hope for. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours.

From that moment on, Jackie Taylor wasn’t just your best friend�� more— she was your everything.

Dating Jackie was like standing in the sun. She made you feel braver, stronger, like the world wasn’t so scary with her by your side. But she also had an image to uphold, so your relationship remained a secret. It didn’t matter. The stolen glances, whispered promises, and late-night phone calls were enough.

“I don’t get how you don’t see it,” Jackie said one evening, her head resting on your shoulder as you lay on her bed. “You’re amazing. You just… don’t let yourself show it.”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m not like you.”

“No,” she said, sitting up and cupping your face. “You’re better.”

Jackie had a way of making you believe her, even when your doubts threatened to creep in.

But good things don’t last forever.

The announcement came one chilly autumn evening: your father’s portion of his job was transferring your family out of state. When they told you, your heart shattered. You begged them to let you stay—offered to live with relatives, promised to make it work somehow—but it was no use.

When you told Jackie, the confidence she wore like armor cracked.

“You can’t leave,” she said, her voice breaking. “You promised me.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face.

Jackie pulled you into her arms, holding you like she could keep you from slipping away. “We’ll make it work,” she said, her voice firm despite the tears in her eyes. “I’ll visit. You’ll visit. It won’t change anything.”

But you both knew it wasn’t that simple.

The days leading up to your move were a blur of heartbreak. Every moment felt heavy with the knowledge that it might be your last together. Jackie kissed you like she was trying to memorize the feel of your lips, held your hand like letting go would break her.

When the moving truck pulled away, you watched her figure disappear in the rearview mirror, and a part of you broke.

At first, you and Jackie tried to hold on. You called every night, sent letters, and made plans to see each other. But life got in the way. Jackie had soccer, her friends, and the pressure of being Jackie Taylor. You had your own struggles—trying to adjust to a new school, a new life, without her. The calls became less frequent, the letters shorter.

Then, one day, the calls diminished altogether.

You tried to tell yourself it was just life pulling you apart. That Jackie was busy, and you were busy, and this was normal. But deep down, you felt the tether between you fraying.

Then the news came.

A plane crash. Survivors unlikely.

The news came over the TV, cutting through the quiet hum of your family’s kitchen. The anchor’s voice was grave, his words slow and deliberate, as though speaking them aloud would somehow make them less horrifying.

“A private plane carrying the Wiskayok High School girls’ soccer team has gone missing. Early reports indicate that the aircraft may have crashed in a remote forest area, as it has been missing for over 48 hours. Authorities have not yet confirmed if there are any survivors.”

Your fork clattered onto your plate. The world tilted sideways as the air was sucked from your lungs.

No.

No, no, no.

Your parents turned toward you, their faces blurred through the haze of panic that had suddenly engulfed you.

“Isn’t that—”

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

Heart pounding, you sprinted to your room, slamming the door shut behind you. Jackie. Jackie was on that plane.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed the corded phone from your nightstand, punching in her number. Each ring felt like an eternity, the dial tone taunting you with its silence. Then came the voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do. Leave a message!”

Her voice, so bright and alive, hit you like a punch to the chest.

You hung up and immediately dialed again. And again. And again. Each time, the voicemail greeted you, that same cheerful tone now cruelly mocking.

The phone slipped from your hand, hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled toward the shoebox tucked beneath your bed. It was filled with letters, Polaroids, and little trinkets Jackie had given you over the years. The pink friendship bracelet she’d made at summer camp when you were thirteen. The mixtape she’d handed you last Christmas, scrawled with Our Favorites in her messy handwriting.

Fumbling through the box, you found her old soccer hoodie—the one she’d let you borrow after a game when you’d complained about being cold. It still faintly smelled like her, a mix of flowery deodorant and something undeniably Jackie.

You clutched it to your chest, sinking onto your bed as your sobs tore through the silence.

“No, no, no,” you whispered, shaking your head as though you could will the reality away. “She’s okay. She’s fine. She’s Jackie.”

Your fingers fumbled to rewind the tape deck on your stereo. The mixtape clicked into place, Jackie’s familiar voice spilling into the room as she introduced the first track—“Every Breath You Take,” by The Police.

“Okay, so, this is totally a banger,” her recorded voice said, laughing. “I’m going to make you listen to it on repeat until you admit it’s your favorite, too.”

The first beat riff began, jagged and raw, and you doubled over, clutching the hoodie tighter. Jackie was alive here, in this moment. She was alive.

Desperate, you opened the drawer of your desk where you kept the birthday card she’d given you last year. It was signed in her bubbly handwriting: Happy Sweet Sixteen! To my favorite human ever. I love you more than all the Pop-Tarts in the world.

The tears blurred the words, your chest heaving as you tried to breathe.

“—every move you make, I’ll be watching you.”

When your legs finally gave out, you slid to the floor, surrounded by her things. The hoodie, the bracelet, the mixtape, the Polaroids of you laughing together at the lake. Each item was a piece of her, a piece of what you’d lost.

You grabbed the phone again, dialing her number one more time.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do. Leave a message after the beep!”

This time, you didn’t hang up.

“Jackie,” you choked out, your voice shaking. “Please, please call me back. I don’t care when, just… please.”

You knew the plane carried a phone, in your delusional confusion, you thought by calling her, she’d pick up.

The beep cut you off, and you clutched the receiver to your chest, your sobs swallowing the quiet hum of the tape still playing in the background.

The hours blurred together as you sifted through every piece of her you could find, replaying old voicemails, and clutching her gifts like they were lifelines. The sun set outside your window, casting long shadows across your room, but you didn’t move.

You weren’t ready to face a world without Jackie Taylor.

The days after the crash passed in a haze. You barely ate. You barely slept. You existed in a liminal space between denial and despair, grappling with the crushing weight of Jackie’s absence.

Your parents tried to reach you, hovering in the doorway of your room with concerned eyes. But what could they say? How could they comfort you when Jackie—your Jackie—was gone? Their platitudes of “We’re here for you” and “You’ll feel better in time” felt hollow, like someone trying to sew up a wound without stitching the edges together.

You spent hours lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, Jackie’s hoodie clutched to your chest. The cassette mixtape played on repeat, her favorite songs filling the suffocating silence. But even the music couldn’t drown out the gnawing ache in your chest.

You told yourself you needed to keep moving—go to school, do your homework, live your life. But every time you tried, the weight of grief pulled you back under. You’d sit at your desk with a pencil in hand, only to find yourself tracing her name over and over on the margins of your notebook. Jackie Taylor. As though writing it down could bring her back.

Your phone became a lifeline, a relic of hope you couldn’t let go of. You called her number every night, even when you knew it would go to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do…”

You’d listen to her voice until it hurt, your tears soaking into the receiver as you whispered into the void:

“Jackie, please. I don’t know how to do this without you, we— drifted apart I know, I fucking.. hate to admit it, but every ocean connects somehow, someway , right?”

As the days turned into weeks, people around you began to move on. The news cycle shifted, and the world seemed to forget the missing plane and the lives it had claimed. But you couldn’t forget.

You started carrying pieces of her with you everywhere. Her bracelet stayed on your wrist, the plastic beads pressing into your skin like a quiet reminder. The necklace she’d given you—a tiny star charm—rested against your collarbone, tucked beneath your shirt.

You wore her hoodie almost every day, its fraying cuffs a comfort against your fingertips. It didn’t matter if people stared. It didn’t matter if your parents exchanged worried glances. Jackie was gone, but these pieces of her felt like all you had left.

One evening, you found yourself alone in your room, the sun setting outside your window. The fading light cast long shadows across your walls, and for the first time in days, the stillness felt unbearable.

You pulled out the shoebox where you kept Jackie’s letters and gifts, spreading them across your bed like puzzle pieces you couldn’t fit back together. A folded note slipped from one of the Polaroids, fluttering to the floor.

You picked it up, unfolding it with trembling hands. It was from last summer, written in Jackie’s messy scrawl:

You’re my favorite person in the entire world, you know that? Even if you don’t believe it, I do. Don’t ever forget how much you mean to me.

Tears filled your eyes as you traced the words with your fingers. Jackie had always seen something in you that you struggled to see in yourself. Her confidence in you had been unshakable, like a lighthouse guiding you through the storm.

But now the lighthouse was gone, and you were left adrift in the dark.

The first time you returned to school, it felt like walking through a dream. The hallways were too bright, the chatter of your classmates too loud. You kept your head down, gripping the straps of your backpack like they might steady you.

In history class, someone whispered about the missing plane, and your chest tightened. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

At lunch, your friends tried to engage you in conversation, but the sound of their laughter grated against your raw nerves. Didn’t they understand? Jackie was gone. The world wasn’t supposed to keep spinning like nothing had happened.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, locking the stall door behind you as your knees buckled. Pulling Jackie’s bracelet from your wrist, you clutched it tightly, the beads biting into your palm.

“Jackie,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

The silence was deafening.

Eventually, the world forced you to keep moving, even when it felt impossible. You went to class. You finished assignments. You smiled when people asked if you were okay. But inside, the grief stayed with you, a constant ache that never fully faded.

You started writing letters to her, pouring out the words you could no longer say aloud.

Dear Jackie,

I miss you. I keep hoping I’ll wake up and this will all be some horrible dream. But it’s not. You’re really gone, and I don’t know how to live in a world without you. You always said I was stronger than I thought, but I don’t feel strong. I feel like I’m breaking.

The letters became a nightly ritual, a way to tether yourself to her memory. Some nights, you felt her presence so vividly it was like she was sitting beside you, her laughter ringing in your ears. Other nights, the emptiness was unbearable, and you cried until there was nothing left.

But through it all, you held on to the pieces of her that remained. Her words. Her gifts. Her love.

Because even though Jackie was gone, she had left a part of herself with you—a light that refused to go out, even in the darkest moments.

—

It had been nearly a year and a half since the crash. Time hadn’t healed the wound, but it had dulled the edges, turning the raw pain into something quieter, sharper. The grief was no longer a suffocating presence in your every waking moment, but it still lingered, hidden in the farthest corners of your mind. You’d learned to push it down, to carry it like a scar.

You had changed. You weren’t the same shy girl who clung to Jackie’s hoodie and cried herself to sleep every night. You had learned to move through the world without her, even if every step felt wrong. You wore her bracelet still, but her other things—the hoodie, the mixtape—were tucked away in a box at the back of your closet. You didn’t need to see them every day anymore. The memories of her were enough to carry you forward.

It was a quiet evening in your living room when the news broke. You weren’t even paying attention to the TV, your focus instead on a novel you’d been struggling to get through for weeks. The sound of the anchor’s voice was almost background noise until a familiar word cut through.

“…rescue efforts successful after nineteen months in the wilderness. A handful of the Wiskayok High School girls’ soccer team have been found alive…”

Your book slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

The screen showed grainy helicopter footage of a group of girls being loaded onto a plane, their faces obscured by heavy jackets and camera angles. The anchor continued, her voice professional but tinged with emotion.

“While the survivors’ identities remain hidden to protect their privacy, sources have confirmed the rescue of Charlotte Matthews, one of the team’s midfielders. Families of the victims are being notified, and authorities are working to provide answers regarding the fate of those still unaccounted for.”

Your heart felt like it had been punched out of your chest. Jackie.

The familiar pang of grief rose to choke you, but this time, it was tangled with something else: hope.

“Mom,” you said, your voice shaky. “Turn it up.”

Your mother, seated in her armchair, grabbed the remote and increased the volume.

The camera panned to a press conference. A man you vaguely recognized as Lottie Matthews’ father stood at a podium, his face lined with exhaustion and relief.

“My daughter is alive,” he said, his voice trembling. “After nineteen months of thinking she was gone, she’s alive—“

The room spun around you. Nineteen months. Jackie had been missing for nineteen months. If Lottie had survived… Jackie could have survived too.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the phone. You didn’t even know who you were calling—your parents, someone, anyone who might have answers.

The line rang, and no one picked up. You hung up and immediately tried again, your breaths coming in short gasps.

“Jackie,” you whispered, her name slipping from your lips unbidden. “Please.”

But the hope burned out as quickly as it flared when the anchor returned, her tone somber.

“Authorities have confirmed that several team members did not survive the crash or the conditions in the wilderness. An official list of the deceased will be released in the coming days.”

Your stomach dropped.

No.

They couldn’t mean Jackie. They couldn’t.

Your mom reached out to squeeze your hand, but you flinched away, the world a blur of sound and motion.

“I need to—I need air,” you stammered, stumbling to your feet. You barely registered your mom calling after you as you slipped out the front door into the cool evening.

The street was quiet, the faint hum of crickets filling the air. You sank down onto the porch steps, burying your face in your hands.

You had spent the last year and a half convincing yourself that Jackie was gone. Trying, trying so hard to heal, but these words— the news— made you feel like blood was spilling from a slit throat. You’d told yourself over and over that she wasn’t coming back, that you had to let her go. But now, the possibility that she might be alive clawed its way to the surface, tearing open wounds you thought you’d closed.

And yet, there was that terrible, gnawing fear that she wasn’t one of the survivors. That the next announcement would confirm what you’d been running from since the day of the crash: Jackie wasn’t coming back.

You stayed there for hours, long after the sky had gone dark, replaying every memory of her in your mind. Her laughter. Her smile. The way she’d kissed you under the fireworks.

Would you ever see her again? Or was the Jackie you’d loved lost forever in the wilderness?

The days that followed were torturous. Every time you turned on the TV or opened a newspaper, there was another update, another scrap of information that sent your emotions spiraling.

The survivors had been flown to a secure hospital. Their names were still being withheld, except for Lottie’s, whose parents had chosen to go public. Speculation swirled about what had happened in the wilderness, but no one seemed to have answers.

Then, two weeks later, the announcement came.

“The identities of the deceased have been confirmed,” the anchor said, her voice heavy. “Among those who did not survive… Laura Lee, Jackie Taylor—“

It felt like the floor dropped out from beneath you.

No.

You shook your head, the word repeating over and over in your mind.

No.

Not Jackie.

But the anchor continued, listing names you barely heard through the ringing in your ears. You couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred.

Your mother’s arms were around you, pulling you close, but the warmth of her touch did nothing to thaw the icy numbness that had overtaken you.

Jackie was gone. She had been gone all along.

The days after the announcement felt like a relapse into the darkness you thought you had escaped. It wasn’t just grief anymore—it was finality. The hope you had carried, fragile and desperate, had been extinguished. Jackie was gone. Truly, irrevocably gone.

But even as the world seemed to demand you move on, something inside you refused to let her go.

One night, you found yourself sitting in the quiet of your room, Jackie’s hoodie draped over your shoulders. You had slipped back into old habits, listening to her mixtape and rereading her letters until the words blurred together. It was the only way you knew to keep her close.

You stared at the photo on your bedside table—Jackie in her soccer uniform, her smile so vibrant it felt alive. The room was dim, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the walls.

“Jackie,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

The silence was deafening.

Until it wasn’t.

A faint creak echoed through the room, and you froze. The air shifted, growing heavier, charged with something you couldn’t name.

And then you saw her.

Jackie.

She stood in the doorway, just as you remembered her. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—were fixed on you. She was wearing the same soccer jersey she’d worn the day you last saw her, the one you had teased her for calling “too jock.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Jackie?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She smiled, that small, knowing smile that always made your heart ache.

“That’s me,” she said softly, stepping into the room.

You wanted to run to her, to throw yourself into her arms, but your body felt frozen in place.

“How—how are you here?”

Jackie tilted her head, her expression both tender and sad. “Does it matter?”

Her voice was exactly as you remembered—soft, confident, and full of that quiet assurance only she could bring.

She closed the distance between you, kneeling in front of where you sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands cupped your face, her touch impossibly— there.. warm.

“You’ve been carrying me for so long,” she whispered. “Too long.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached up to touch her face, half-expecting her to disappear. But she didn’t. Her skin was solid beneath your fingertips, her presence achingly real.

“I can’t let you go,” you said, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how.”

Jackie’s thumb brushed away your tears, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. “You’ve been so strong, even when you didn’t think you could be. But it’s time, my love.”

“No,” you choked out, shaking your head. “Please. I can’t lose you again.”

She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, and for a moment, the sadness in her gaze threatened to shatter you.

“You’ll never lose me,” she said. “I’m part of you. I always will be. But you have to let go of the pain. You have to let yourself live again.”

You clung to her, your hands gripping her shoulders like she might vanish if you let go. “Just stay a little longer. Please.”

Jackie smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the outline of your jaw. “Okay. You always were a clingy one; Just a little longer.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so soft it felt like a whisper. It was bittersweet, filled with all the love and longing you’d carried for her. For a moment, the world fell away, and it was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of her presence.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with yours.

“I love you,” she murmured. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jackie’s hand slid to your chest, resting over your heart. “Then promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll let yourself move on. Not forget me—never forget me. But don’t let this pain hold you back. You deserve to be happy.”

Your chest ached, the weight of her words pressing against the fragile parts of you. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “You’ve always been stronger than you think.”

The room grew quieter, the edges of her form beginning to blur.

“Jackie—”

“It’s okay,” she said, her smile soft and bittersweet. “I’ll always be with you. Always.”

Her touch faded, the warmth of her presence slipping away like sand through your fingers.

And then she was gone.

You sat there in the silence, tears streaming down your face, your heart aching in a way that was both painful and strangely freeing. For the first time, you felt the faintest flicker of peace. Jackie was gone, but her love remained—a steady, quiet light guiding you forward.

You pressed a hand to your chest, where her hand had rested, and whispered into the stillness:

“I promise.”

—

The journey back to Wiskayok was one you had avoided for a year and a half. Every mile felt heavier than the last, the weight of grief pressing against your chest. Yet, after that night—after seeing Jackie—you knew it was time.

Your hometown hadn’t changed much. The streets still wound through familiar neighborhoods, the same local shops still dotted the corners, and the Taylor family’s perfectly manicured house still stood as a quiet reminder of the life Jackie had once led.

The memorial was in the center of town, near the high school where Jackie and the team had spent countless hours practicing on the soccer field. It was a simple but beautiful tribute: a polished stone monument etched with the names of those who had died in the crash. Flowers, candles, and small mementos surrounded it, placed there by loved ones and strangers alike.

You stepped closer, your fingers trailing across the engraved letters, Jackie Taylor.

Her name seemed to stand out among the others, though you knew that was just your heart speaking. She wasn’t just a name on a stone—she was your Jackie. The girl who had held your hand when you were scared, who had kissed you under fireworks, who had shown you how to believe in yourself.

Your hand slipped into your bag, pulling out one of the thousands of Polaroids you’d taken over the years. This one was your favorite. Jackie was in mid-laugh, her eyes crinkled and her head tilted back, a half-eaten popsicle in her hand. You’d taken it during one of those lazy summer afternoons when the world had felt so simple, so full of possibilities.

You crouched down, placing the photo at the base of the memorial. It felt like giving her a piece of yourself—a piece of the life you had shared, one she would always be a part of.

“Hi, Jackie,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ve been… trying. I’m not sure I’m doing it right, but I’m trying.”

The wind rustled the leaves of a nearby tree, and for a moment, you could almost imagine it was her response—a soft, reassuring presence.

“I miss you every day,” you continued. “And I don’t think that will ever change. But I know now that holding onto the pain isn’t what you’d want. You’d want me to live. To keep going. To be happy.”

You took a shaky breath, brushing a tear from your cheek. “It’s hard, though. Letting go is hard. But I’m going to try. For you.”

Standing up, you took one last look at the photo, now surrounded by flowers and candles. It felt right, leaving it there—a tangible reminder of Jackie’s light in a sea of grief.

As you turned to leave, the weight in your chest felt lighter, if only by a fraction. Moving on didn’t mean forgetting. It didn’t mean leaving Jackie behind. It meant carrying her with you in a different way, one that didn’t hurt as much.

In the weeks that followed, you found yourself living in small but meaningful ways. You picked up new hobbies, reconnected with friends, and even let yourself laugh again. But you also made it a point to return to Wiskayok every few months, bringing another few Polaroids, another piece of Jackie’s memory, to leave at the memorial.

It became your way of honoring her—not by clinging to the past, but by celebrating the joy she had brought into your life.

And each time you left a Polaroid, it felt like a promise: to live, to love, to keep moving forward—even when it was hard.

In some way, it made her unseen presence feel even more lively.

[pennyserenade]

i am the way i am because my family not only allowed me to be so incredibly weird about the things i cared about, but encouraged them. when i was five and discovered that the love of my life was zac efron, my mother bought me a backpack with his face on it so i could attend kindergarten with it. she also bought me a subscription to those teen magazines because he was in them a lot. when i liked wrestling, my great grandmother would watch it every monday night, and my mother bought me everything: shirts, tickets to live matches, action figures. everything. when i liked the beatles, every single one of my family members would gift me beatles stuff, and when i was 17 my mother took me on vacation to san francisco just so i could visit the park george harrison went to in 1967. there’s literally no way in hell i was ever going to grow up to be even mildly embarrassed about being passionate

[girlivealwaysbean]

sometimes my bestfriend is like an angel in disguise istg

[ca-d]

I like when you love something so much and you can remember where it stems from 🕯️

[girl-bateman]

Some days I'm pretty content with my childhood other days I'm ripping my hair out because it just doesn't add up !! someone is hiding things from me !! I don't trust anyone !!

[milo-is-rambling]

I forget how much I hate the taste of vodka but the whipped cream vodka is so much better my god

[not-the-grave]

the depth of abandonment trauma i'm discovering i have is kind of insane

[readymades2002]

it is very frustrating because my mom does not know What The Deal Is but she certainly Suspects (for good reason. to be fair to her.) and she has Insinuated and she has Implied but she has not asked anything specifically. and its...not unreasonable for her to do this i guess because the last relationship i was in i didn't tell her for a year and a half. because the relationship BEFORE that was my first and it was with a girl and i asked her EXPLICITLY AND URGENTLY to not tell my dad about it because he was a massive homophobe and i knew this and saw this where she did not and she told him anyway and i have not trusted her since though, having few other options, i have continued to confide in her things that i should not confide in her that have then mysteriously made their way through all our shared coworkers back to me. and its.....its so. i don't know what to do about it. she..."stalked" is the wrong word but she followed my blog against my wishes and knowledge as a child and the more i lost trust in her and stopped talking to her the more she pried into my private life. i know my sister had similar experiences with her. and it has created this cycle where i keep trying to keep her out for my own privacy and dignity and safety and she just gets even more desperate and pathetic trying to get in after breaking my trust over and over and OVER again but i live with her and depend on her for far too many things and so it just. is this. awesomesauce

[the-ellia-west]

HOW TO WRITE ROMANTIC ATTRACTION FOR DUMMIES

For anyone who wants to learn, (especially aro/ACE, aspec, ect.)

Requested by the lovely @darkandstormydolls

Alrighty! Welcome back or welcome to my blog! I'm dipping my toes back into the category of posts that gained me my exposure!

So if you're here, you want to know how to write romantic attraction/romance!

Strap in and let's begin!

(Pls spread this to people you think would benefit from seeing it, or anyone who requested it bc I forgot, ANY ASPECS)

Step one -

Your characters must admire one another at the beginning, Romantic feelings usually do not present themselves as obvious until you really think them through, meaning your characters may not notice they have a crush until it's too late

These are general statistics and light stereotypes. So feel free to not use this tip:

Male characters usually tend to notice physical things first, like body shape, hair, skin, clothing, the way their lover moves, ect

And Female Characters Generally tend to notice more small things and personality-based traits first, like their lover's humor, speaking mannerisms, shifts in expression, ways they fidget, emotion in their voice, ect.

And someone who is in love will generally show more interest in this particular person's movements, actions, words, and anything in general.

Step 2 -

The character will show more interest in sharing their love language with their lover/crush

Physical touch - People with physical touch love languages may want to hold hands, cuddle, hug, or just lean on their crush whenever they are close to them moreso than they want to with others

Gift giving - Gift givers will want to get more gifts more often for their crush, probably thinking of them whenever they see little trinkets or wanting to get them big gifts for special occasions or signs of appreciation

Acts of Service - Acts of service people will offer to do extra favors and a bunch of extra stuff they don't have to do twice as much as normal

Words of Affirmation - Flattery, they will generally flood their crush with kind words and compliments

Quality time - Quality time people will want to spend time with their crush at almost every turn, and when they want company, will turn to their crush first

Step 3 -

After a while, these urges while become very prominent and more noticeable to the person having them

They may find themselves fantasizing about their crush or having them show up in their thoughts more and more, feeling nicer and happier when they're around, or when they're thinking about them

Smiling when they think about them, cutsey little fluff thingies like that

A crush is essentially: I want to date that, I want to be near that always, I want to marry that, I want that to snuggle me (or other love languages)

Or in simpler terms: if that asked me out, I would say yes (or at least want to say yes if your character is in denial)

Step 4 -

The character's urges to be close to this person grows strong enough that they do smth about it, whether prompted by another character. Or they just don't know I how to not anymore (like when you wanna eat candy and you don't want to, but you do anyway bc I JUST NEED THE CHOCOLATE OKAY?)

(Or for Aro/Ace, garlic bread)

People who are in love are generally very prone to be all dreamy and poetic and VERY EXTREMELY BIASED towards their crush

Then Yada Yada they kiss & shit

You're welcome, BYEEEEEEEE 👋

Happy writing!

Love you! Thanks for reading, And Ghost Tumblr Mother says go drink some water and have a snack, you've earned it, and you are beautiful <333

Have a good day! :]

@blue-kyber @thisisntrocket @cosmolumine @i-do-anything-but-write @paeliae-occasionally

@supercimi @the-letterbox-archives @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @artsandstoriesandstuff

@corinneglass @wyked-ao3 @urnumber1star

[rqnarok]

old man!logan obsessing over his pregnant wifey

headcanons - cws/tags: smut! mdni. breeding kink. lactation kink. pregnant sex. dom/sub dynamics.

a/n: okie a lot of u asked for a part two of this blurb, here ya’ go my loves! <3

Logan Howlett used to think he wouldn’t be a good father. Hell, with that temper and attitude? He was sure he’d be the worst one. 

But you don’t seem to agree with him on many things—especially his self-destructive thoughts. I mean, that’s why you let him knock you up in the first place. You’d grin seeing your belly round and full of his babe, tits plump and leaking.

You are too beautiful to behold, “My pretty fuckin’ wife.” A sight that has Logan’s libido reaching its peak, the ones he thought he was not capable of anymore as an old man. 

Yet here he is, dick hard and balls full each time he sees you. 

Shit. You look so soft, walking around the house barefoot and swollen with his offspring. A sick and possessive side of him loves knowing that when you are out in public, it’s apparent that you’re taken by him, carrying his child. 

Pregnancy grants you a restless glow that makes it harder for him to say no to you. “W-wan’ you, please, Lo—” When you beg him to stuff you up full, who is he to deny his wife? Deny the mother of his child? 

He turns into a madman at how your leaking tits bounce up and down when you ride his girth, at how your breasts seem to look when you wear those tight tops, at how your nipples are poking all the damn time, and at how you are hornier than ever.

Yeah, he caught you hiding under the sheets rubbing your swollen clit and fingers deep in your own dripping cunt with his name rolling off your tongue — thinking he’s still doing his late night shift. 

He fucks you as much as he can, the positions getting more and more adapted as your stomach grows, sometimes filthier than ever, “Put your legs up here, baby. Can’t have ya’ sore now, can we?”

His favorite position is still you on your back, thighs spread apart, and belly full on display. “Ya’ got me so fuckin’ hard, pretty.” He doesn’t give a damn that his aging body feels aching—he could watch this for hours. Your face contorted with pleasure as his fat cock thrusts in and out. 

Oh, Logan’s nasty. He says he tries to ‘relieve’ your pain by sucking at your sensitive, leaking nipples while plunging his cock inside of you. “Mhm, such a sweet wife for your old man.” Pumping your full womb while he laps at your milk. 

The almost 200-year-old man believes he has gained stamina—now that he has more responsibility. He’s always ready to load you up for days on end. And that’s exactly what he’ll do for the next few weeks. Molding his cock inside you before sex starts to get all too much for his pregnant wifey. 

Logan’s a natural caretaker. It shows when you’re hitting the post-orgasm soreness and barely do anything except breathe heavily. He never forgets to show his affection, scratching his scruffy grey beard on your neck before softly kneading sensitive parts of your body. 

“Let’s get ya’ cleaned up, mama.”

A bad father? Logan Howlett buried all of his dictionaries and named you his language. 

[deanwinchesterwebsite]

"This is uh. When I was growing up me and my dad used to go at it all the time. Over almost anything, but uh, I used to have really long hair way down past my shoulders, I was 17 or 18, oh man he used to hate it. And we got to where we were fighting so much that I'd spend a lot of time out of the house. And in the summertime it wasn't so bad, 'cause it was warm and your friends were out. But in the winter I remember standin' downtown and it would get so cold, when the wind would blow. I had this phone booth that I used to stand in and I used to call my girl for hours at a time just talking to her all night long.

"And finally I'd get my nerve up to go home. I'd stand there in the driveway and he'd be waiting for me in the kitchen. And I'd tuck my hair down in my collar and I'd walk in, and he'd call me back to sit down with him. And the first thing he'd always ask me was what did I think I was doin' with myself? And the worst part about it was I could never explain it to him.

"I remember I got in a motorcycle accident once and I was laid up in bed and he had a barber come in and cut my hair. And man, I can remember telling him that I hated him and that I would never ever forget it.

"And he used to tell me 'Man, I can't wait until the army gets you. When the army gets you they're gonna make a man outta you. They're gonna cut all that hair off, and they'll make a man outta you.'

"This was I guess in '68 and there was a lot of guys from the neighborhood goin' to Vietnam. I remember the drummer in my first band comin' over to my house with his marine uniform on, saying that he was goin' and that he didn't know where it was. And a lot of guys went and a lot of guys didn't come back. And a lot that came back weren't the same anymore.

"And I remember the day I got my draft notice. I hid it from my folks, and three days before my physical me and my friends went out and we stayed up all night. And we got on the bus to go that morning, man we were all so scared. [Laughs]. and I went, and I failed. [Crowd cheering.]

"And I came home, — [laughs] it's nothing to applaud about — But I remember comin' home after I'd been gone for three days, and walkin' in the kitchen and my mother and father were sittin' there, and my father said, 'Where you been?' and I said, uh, 'I went to take my physical.'

"He says, 'What happened?' I said, 'They didn't take me.'

"And he said, 'That's good.'"

-Bruce Springsteen, on Live/1975-85

[backinmyphase]

Not fulfilling meals

Summary: As the days go on, the Gojo estate remains cold, as you and Satoru didn't really talk to each other. Would your arranged marriage ever be bearable? Well, Gojo wants to try.

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 2980 words

Part 1 Masterlist

Author's note:

Well I guess this is my 100 followers special?? Like you guys are so sweet, how did I deserve your kind comments?? I hope you like this part too <3 (This will be a slow burn, I'm sorryyy :'), if you want to be added to the taglist, just say so it's no problem <3 your comments make my day :))

The jujutsu world was Gojo Satoru's world.

He knew, he was the strongest. He knew, he destroyed the balance of the jujutsu world just by being born. He knew, it was expected of him to keep this power in the hands of the Gojo clan.

He knew, he should marry and get an heir. An heir, who would be even stronger than him.

But he was selfish. Wanted to live his life, without a timer that says when he should have a kid.

He wanted to have control of his life. And if that was so selfish, well then he would gladly be it.

That's what he always thought. But right now, as he didn't see you for the third day in a row, he felt guilty.

Guilty, because he didn't really dislike you. Hell, he didn't even know you. He disliked that you two had to marry. Hated, that it wasn't his choice.

The last days were colder than usual. He felt your presence in this house and that you avoided him like the plague. Everytime he sat down at the table in the living room to eat, he would hear the words you threw at him.

He should be glad. You said, you wouldn't bother him and you kept your word. You didn't even come out of your room when he was around.

So why did he hate it?

He sat at the table in the living room with his breakfast. And he waited. Waited, even though he had to do missions. Waited, even though his brain was telling him to leave.

He waited.

'SO EXCUSE ME. IF I THINK MY HUSBAND DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME AT ALL!'

His phone rang and a message from Suguru popped up.

"Where are you, Satoru?"

Satoru should stand up an leave. Should eat and leave. But his consciousness didn't want him to leave. His phone rang again. Should he leave or stay?

He waited.

'AND IF I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MYSELF SUFFER THROUGH IT!'

His empty plate looked at him. His own reflection raising an eyebrow at his behavior.

He stood up. Slowly he moved to your door. Looked at the closed door and wondererd if he should knock. Just ask you to eat with him.

'I DON'T WANT-'

He turned around and went to his missions, like he was supposed to. Like his senses told him.

~

Your room was so cold. Even when you hid under your supposedly warm covers, you started to shiver at the thought that you will always sleep here.

You were scared.

Gojo was longer and longer in the living room, every morning he made himself ready to leave. And today morning he was in front of your room.

You were so scared of the conflict with him.

Not that you felt guilty, you didn't feel sorry for what you said or anything like that. But the overwhelming fear that he would tell his clan members about the issues in your marriage would mean your doom.

Today was a meeting with your mother and the higher ups.

Your mother made clear that the meetings will be on a regularly basis in the letter. And she hoped that 'you could deliver good news'.

She meant deliver a kid.

No, your blanket didn't keep you warm. And it didn't protect you from all evil like your child self foolishly thought.

~

"You are late." As Satoru's best friend looked at him, he almost looked concerned.

"Sorry, slept in a bit." Satoru didn't look him in the eyes. "Where is the mission?"

Suguru inspected him a bit and then waved his hand. "Don't bother, I will do it today. You can rest today."

Satoru laughed a bit, but was confused when Suguru didn't laugh with him. "Wait, you mean that?"

"Yeah, Satoru." Suguru sighed. "You look like you need a break. And maybe," Suguru's voice grew a bit softer.

"You could talk to her about it, instead of working yourself dead."

Satoru scoffed as he looked to the side. "She doesn't want to see me. Like ever."

The following silence spoke loudly. And Satoru knew that it was his own fault.

But what was he supposed to do now? What did you want from him? How should he know, when you two didn't talk? How?

"Just go home Satoru."

~

"Don't raise your head to high. Just because you are married to Gojo, doesn't mean you will get the same treatment." Your mother pressed her lips together disapprovingly.

"Yes, mother."

She nodded and sighed as you waited for the other Clan members and higher ups to show up.

Your hands were shaking so you kept them hidden in your lap trying to gain the control other them again. But your anxiety grew by every second.

You weren't made for this pressure, this life. You weren't made for being the wife of the strongest.

You felt weak.

"They are here." A servant announced and your heart felt like it exploded.

"Good. Let them in." Your mother spoke calm and collected, like the power of the jujutsu society wasn't in her house. How did she become so untouchable?

As the door opened, you could feel the atmosphere becoming more sharp.

The higher ups were old. But that just made them more menacing for you. Those people were always just some force that would control your purpose, to you.

Now that force stood before you.

You looked down at your hands and you could feel their stares. Your hands were sweating madly as you began holding your breath.

You felt so small.

Gojo would keep his head up. He wouldn't fall into himself, he wouldn't care about their stares. Why couldn't you be like that?

Because you weren't born like him.

"Mrs. Gojo." The voice of an eldery woman. "How did you sleep tonight?"

What did they want from you? Why were you his wife, for God's sake? Why did you have to be a girl? Why, why, why?

"I slept well, thank you." You tried everything to keep your voice steady in front of them. Just try to not look so weak, okay?

"So can we asume an heir is on the way?"

"What?" Too surprised, you raised your head forgetting your mother's words.

And that made the stares just worse. The eyes were piercing you.

"You didn't sleep with him?" An old man looked disapprovingly at you. A man you didn't know.

He looked at your mother. "I thought we made it clear, that the heir was top priority!"

Your mother's eyes were boring into your head. "You did, and she knows that. I hope she knows her duties as his wife."

She didn't even talk to you. "I know." you looked down again. "We just didn't have the time to get to know each other-"

"What does that matter?" The eldery woman from the beginning sounded annoyed. "Knowing each other wasn't really your duty."

Your vision started to get blurry. Why?

"Well you at least talked about the honeymoon, right? Then you have time for your duties." You didn't know if your mother was trying to help you, or was trying to help the higher ups.

"No, we didn't really-"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, FOR WHAT DID YOU THEN HAVE TIME?" The man was yelling now. "WE GAVE YOU FOUR DAYS! WHAT WERE YOU DOING?"

It was difficult to breathe. Your mouth was hard to open and dry. Your neck was feeling sore, because of the looking down. Your eyes were...

Why did you even show up to the meeting?

Gojo wouldn't have bowed to their will. He would stand up. But you can't.

You just can look down.

"This will be more work than we hoped." You didn't try to differentiate their voices anymore.

"You have a lot to learn about how things work here." You felt like being pushed down onto the ground.

"Mrs. Gojo."

~

Satoru was feeling sick. You were nowhere to be found and he knew nothing about anything. The Servants couldn't tell him anything either.

First he thought you just needed a bit time for yourself and went for a walk or something.

That's what he thought ten hours ago.

Before he spend the whole day with megumi and tsumiki. Before he came home at 8 pm and you were still not home.

Was this it? Did you hate him this much, you would just leave?

Maybe he really fucked up that bad.

And as he was pacing up and down in the living room, dinner still untouched on the table, he felt terrible.

He didn't feel bad, when he skipped the meetings. No, he felt bad after he saw who he was hurting.

He was an asshole.

Why did you have to remind him of that? Suguru was doing that enough already. But when you did it, it stung much more and he didn't know why.

"Mr. Gojo?"

He flinched as he heard the voice of the little girl. Another reminder of you. The servant girl who was named Hina. Which he didn't know.

"Yes?"

"The food is cold. Should we make it hot again?"

Oh. The food.

As he looked at the planned dinner he felt sorry for making her work again. And you also had to eat today.

"Wait. My wife isn't home yet, we will wait for her."

The girl blinked two times before slowly nodding. "If you wish so." With that she took the food with her to the kitchen.

Satoru didn't know what to do. You were such a mystery to him, would you really go as far as just leaving and never coming back?

He didn't know. Satoru stood there in the living room clueless. Didn't know if his wife would just run away or not. Ironic, isn't it?

Where were you? What should he do?

'SO EXCUSE ME. IF I THINK MY HUSBAND DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME AT ALL!'

He sat down. And he waited.

~

You were tired. So, so tired.

The meeting was long. Countless yelling and accusations at you. Tips for in bed and advice how to convince him to sleep with you.

You felt sick.

Sick, because they want to hear from you weekly, how your 'sex life' with Gojo is going. All these old people obsessed with making a new prodigy for their schemes.

"You are replaceable." They told you. "We can find a new wife to get an heir."

"So stop, resisting."

"Do it for your Clan."

These people weren't right in the head. They were truly sick.

And as all these faces left, normal breathing was allowed. Your heart was working overtime all these hours and you felt dizzy.

"Why are you still here? Go home and start fufilling your duties."

Your mother still sat next to you, angry and stone cold.

"I don't know him." your voice was shaking. "I can't-"

"I didn't know your father too." Her voice was sharp. "Still I had priorities. And those should be your Clan."

Her body seemed like a statue. Unshakable.

"Mother, I don't think he wants-"

"NONSENSE!"

Her sudden yelling made you flinch. She took a breath and then spoke in her unshakable voice again.

"He is a man. They always want. And one day he will just take."

She stood up. She didn't seem unshakable anymore. No, she was more unreachable, it wouldn't matter what you said.

"Your car is ready to leave." That were her last words before she left.

You were always left alone.

~

As you took the final steps to the Gojo estate, you felt tired like never before. Only now you realized that you haven't eaten since breakfast.

You hoped Hina didn't worry to much and they had something ready. You just wanted to eat and sleep.

'Maybe I won't sleep so badly tonight,' you thought as you rang the door bell. 'Since I can't even stand properly, from all the sitting. And I should get my own key, since'

The door in front of you swung open with force and blue eyes were locked in yours.

"Where-"

He stopped himself as he looked at you. There was something in his look that you couldn't put your finger on.

"Are you okay?"

His look was becoming unbearable for you, so you looked down.

"Yeah."

He just nodded and let you in. You hesitated before going in, not knowing what to do in his presence.

As you looked around, you noticed the empty dinner table. But what really caught your eye was that his plate was clean and not even touched.

"Hina," He remembered her name? You thought he would never... "We can eat now."

We?

"Or have you eaten already?"

You didn't dare look at him. What was all this about? Why was he even talking to you?

"No." you cleared your dry throat. "I haven't eaten already."

He hummed and ordered Hina and the other chefs to warm up dinner.

Hesitant, you sat down at the other side of the big table. Awkwardly you looked around, feeling out of place, because of the sudden attention.

"Why are you already home? You worked longer the last days. You weren't here before 11 pm." Finally you found your voice.

Gojo looked at you and firstly didn't say anything. Then he looked away and cleared his throat. "I... Just had no missions today. So I came home early."

"Oh."

Hina showed up like a savoir for this conversation and brought dinner.

But she brought for two persons.

"You haven't eaten already?" you looked down at your plate, trying to eat normally but your position was so stiff it wasn't easy.

"No, i-" he stopped in his sentence and looked down at his plate. "I wasn't really hungry till now."

You just nodded, while trying to eat as quiet as possible. The silence between you was palpable. The only sond was the slicing of the knives.

You tried to keep yourself steady. You really shouldn't eat too fast or he would think you were running. Which you technically were, but he didn't have to know it.

"Where," Gojo tried to sound casual. "Where were you?"

You stopped eating and thought about what you should say. He shouldn't know about the meetings. Shouldn't know that you were 'trained' to be his duties fulfilling wife.

"I visited my mother." Technically not a lie. "She wants to meet me regularly."

He nodded and continued eating. Looked like he was satisfied. He shouldn't think you were unfaithful or anything like that.

"Do you have a good relationship with her?"

Your eyes widened and you looked up to really look him in the eyes. Those beautiful eyes.

"Good enough." your voice was barely a whisper. But he nodded like he was listening carefully to everything you said.

"Should I come with you some time?" he leaned a bit back in his seat. "Or do you think she doesn't want to see me?"

As you thought about all the times your mother ranted about Gojo because of his irresponsibility, you couldn't help but chuckle. "I don't think so."

His position stiffed a bit. "Why do you think so?"

"She thinks you are careless." Your voice was growing cold. "Because the meetings you missed, Gojo."

"Oh. Yeah right." He looked down again and mumbled something incoherently.

You didn't ask what he said.

The silence between you came back as you finished your meal. And as you were finished, you stood up taking your now empty plate with you.

"I will bring that in the kitchen." You could finally turn away from him and his eyes. "Good night."

You didn't really expect an answer. But Gojo seemed to like to surprise you.

"Good night, sleep well. You look exhausted, try to rest now."

Your traitor of a heart started to pound louder, like you were in a bad romance novel. Your mind told it to shut up, while you walked out of the reach of his eyes and presence into the kitchen.

You walked to Hina and handed her your plate with a smile, while telling yourself to breathe normally.

"Thank you, dear, it tasted fantastic."

The girl smiled back at you. "Happy to hear that, Mrs. Gojo. We were also happy to see you two eating together."

"Oh well," you waved her statement away. "It won't happen again I think. Was just a coincidence."

The girl in front of you looked confused and shook her head. "No, Mr. Gojo specifically ordered to wait for you to eat dinner. His food was ready 2 hours ago."

You couldn't help but blink at her. He waited for you?

A tiny little hopeful thought slid into your head, speaking quietly but still steady.

Maybe-

~~

It was already later than usual as Satoru sat in the living room. His breakfast still untouched he fought with himself.

Your door was still closed.

No, one evening couldn't open a locked door so easily. And as he stared at your empty seat he wondered. Why was this table even that big?

He should change that.

Did you always wait for him to leave before you ate?

Weren't you hungry?

'I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MYSELF SUFFER THROUGH IT!'

His phone rang as a new message popped up. It was from Suguru.

'Are you still home, Satoru?'

He stood up. This was dumb. He was acting dumb.

He knocked at your door. "Are you coming for breakfast?"

~

Maybe Satoru wasn't all bad.

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