#notes d’amour

[marandsviet-amour]

Les échos du passé chuchotent encore mon nom.

[nonokoko13]

Rook x Yuu

Love hunter's tricks ✨

[cinnaleaf]

ESSENCE OF US - CH 16: TIME WILL TELL

Please read responsibly. This fic will get hot and heavy as the story progresses, 18+ only MDNI | CH 15 | MASTERLIST | CH 17 (soon)

summary: a fleeting encounter with a mysterious Trent leaves you wondering if fate is playing a bigger match. your paths continue to cross in unexpected places as the fragrances around you mirror the growing tension between you. maybe it's just a coincidence..or maybe its destiny in the making.

warnings: angst, fluff, language, therapy representation, mentions of mental health, scenes inspired by serendipity the movie, writer/reader inside joke wc: ~11.9k (sorry) 💌: idk how slot got in here but im rocking with it song inspo: The Sun x KYLE ft. Bryson Tiller & Raphael Saadiq

The first year after your break up with Trent went just how you would expect it to go – terribly.

It felt like trying to unspool a stubborn thread that wouldn’t come undone. The breakup coupled with Les Notes d’Amour no longer existing due to sabotage and betrayal left you feeling emptier than ever. You spent weeks replaying the sequence of events trying to pinpoint the exact moment your dreams turned into ash. Ember was nothing more than a pawn for Aaron’s game. She became a vehicle for him to drive his petty vendetta into the heart of your life. Her misguided attempts at gaining his approval quickly backfired and left her a jobless criminal. 

Tara on the other hand, was nothing more than a girl who loved a gossiping yap session, though she was more careless than malicious. None of it mattered anymore though. You already lost everything, including the one person who may have been able to help you navigate it all. You figured it would be easier to cut ties in order to protect him from the wreckage you became. 

The tears came first – there were enough of them that you were genuinely surprised you were somehow still hydrated. They started off as silent tears that soaked into the plush folds of your pillow at night, but then they turned into loud ones that made your chest heave in the shower when no one else was around. You thought the tears would stop as time went on, but they never really did. Instead, they settled into an ache that you became used to. 

The first few months of the year were spent in bed, trapped between the walls of your apartment while the rest of the world passed by. Your days blurred together into one endless loop of doom scrolling, ignoring calls, and deleting messages. Trent’s messages came frequently at first. He went back to the simple texts he used to send when you first started dating, but each notification alert struck you like lightning.

I miss you.

Talk to me Y/N. Please.

I don’t understand why you’re shutting me out.

I love you. I always will.

You couldn’t bring yourself to open any of them, or even read the previews for long. If you let the words sink in for too long, you knew you’d let the warm cadence of his voice play in your head…and you knew you would cave. You couldn’t afford to cave. 

So you blocked him – his number, social media, email, everything.

You thought that would be the end of it, but then an account by the name of ‘scentimental’ followed you. You wanted to relock your account after your break up but never got around to it. The instagram follow made you take a second glance, almost as if your intuition knew something you couldn’t quite place just yet. You weren’t in the mood to entertain any random accounts, but you tapped on the profile anyway. It had one post featuring a blurry picture of a perfume bottle on a window sill with a caption:

Some things don’t fade, no matter how hard you try.

You stared at it for a long time as your finger hovered over the profile. The bio was empty, the follower list was suspiciously small, and the account only followed you and a few random fan accounts. You immediately received a DM, sensing that same magnetic feeling you always felt with Trent. That feeling was something you missed, so you opened the DM, chasing the feeling one last time.

Hey, Y/N. Love your work! I saw something that reminded me of you the other day. You’ve been really quiet lately. Wondered if you were still out there making the world smell better?

The messages were vague, but not vague enough for you not to peep what was going on based on the phrasing and timing. This wasn’t a random account at all; it was Trent’s burner account. You stared at the messages for a while, hovering your finger over the block button.

“Seriously?” you muttered while shaking your head. He couldn’t possibly believe you wouldn’t notice, the man wasn’t subtle at all. He could have at least followed a few more accounts and pretended a little better, but it was clear he would do anything to get even a small snippet into your life now that you had locked him out. You let out a deep sigh, pressing the block button without bothering to send a reply as you tossed your phone on the bed. 

As more months went by, the twins had become your lifeline to the outside world. Ezzie made it her personal mission to pull you out of the pit you sunk into. One day, she showed up with her hands full of groceries as the sound of the door opening broke through the silence of your apartment. She didn’t bother knocking anymore because she knew you wouldn’t answer.

The soles of her trainers stamped against the hardwood floors as she cut through the silence with her voice. “You should really start locking the door properly. What if it wasn’t me? What if I was some random person here to steal all your stuff and murder you?”

Your body was buried underneath a weighted blanket and you didn’t bother looking up. “They would be doing me a favor honestly. I don’t care anymore.”

Ezzie set the bags down on the kitchen counter with a huff, scrunching her face up in frustration. “You’re really dramatic. Just lock the door, okay?” You let out an irritated sigh as she started unpacking groceries filled with ready meals, snacks, and fresh fruit. She knew you probably wouldn’t eat any of it, but she bought it anyway – every week.

“You really shouldn’t spend your money on me” you mumbled as your voice muffled through the thick layers of the weighted blanket you were huddled under.

“I shouldn’t have to, but here we are. Someone has to take care of you if you won’t.” She rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter while crossing her arms. “I should charge you an inconvenience fee. Do you know how hard it is to carry all of this every week? I hate manual labor.”

“Maybe you should’ve stayed home then.” you shot back very weakly.

“And let you rot in here?” she quipped. “No way. Ziggy would’ve sent me up here anyway. He’s downstairs by the way. He didn’t want to deal with your sulking today.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You’re literally sulking right now.” She motioned toward you huddled underneath the blanket, toying with the remote because the episode of Grey’s Anatomy you were watching had just ended in Derek’s death. That episode usually made you cry, but all you could do this time was shake your head and change the show to something else just as equally depressing. 

“Before you tell me to leave, I’m not. I don’t want to hear your ‘woe is me’ speech. I brought snacks and I’m staying until you eat something that’s not depression air.”

You peeked out from under the blanket, squinting at her like you were seeing daylight for the first time in weeks. “I don’t need you to babysit me, E.”

“Umm. Clearly, you do.” She walked over to the couch, plopping down next to you. “You’re acting like life ended when Love Notes burned down. I get it was really bad and you’re torn up about it, but you’re still alive Y/N. You have people that care about you. You can’t just give up like this.” Your sister’s voice softened at the end. She wouldn’t say it outright, but this was a lot worse than last time and your behaviour scared her.

“You don’t get it” you muttered, pulling the blanket back over your head. 

“No. I definitely don’t” she admitted frustratingly. “You can’t keep hiding from the world. It’s not a healthy way to cope.”

You sighed and pushed the blanket off as you sat up. “What do you want me to do then, Ezzie? Pretend everything is fine when it’s not? My career is gone, my shop is gone. Trent’s gone. Everything I’ve ever cared about is just...gone.”

Ezzie frowned. “Trent is not gone. You pushed him away.. there’s a difference. Love Notes may be gone, but that doesn’t mean your career is. You’re acting like this is the end of your story when it’s not. You can still keep going and rebuild something.”

“No. I don’t want to rebuild.” you snapped as your voice cracked. “I’m tired. I’m really so fucking tired.”

Ezzie pouted her lip and reached out to give you a hug. “But you can’t stay here forever. I won’t let you.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hall and Ziggy appeared in the doorway with an unreadable expression. “Can I come in or is this intervention for girls only?” he asked dryly.

Ezzie rolled her eyes. “Come in. Maybe you can knock some sense into her.”

Ziggy walked over and dropped a bag in front of you. “Brought some food,” he said casually. “I thought maybe you would eat it if it was something you like.”

You looked at the bag, shaking your head as your stomach knotted. “I’m not hungry but thank you.”

Ziggy gave a disapproving look but didn’t push it. He sat on the floor next to the couch, sprawling his long legs out in front of him. It seemed like he had the growth spurt of a lifetime as soon as he started academy. He took his hoodie off, revealing the Liverpool emblem stitched on the corner. You froze as you eyed the crest – it sent a pang straight through your heart. You looked away, pretending to adjust your blanket, but in reality, you wanted to cry. You hated that something so simple made you feel this way, but it did. 

Ziggy was on his phone, rapidly tapping his fingers to fill in the awkward silence. “You know…” he started casually, not looking up. “Trent asks about you.”

His name made you stiffen instantly as your hands clenched the blanket. “Ziggy..”

“What?” he asked innocently, as if he didn’t just bring up the person’s name you were desperately trying to avoid. “Just saying he’s concerned. He’s not doing so well either.”

“Ziggy. Stop.” Ezzie said, leaning over to grab his hoodie. She flipped it over so that the emblem was hidden, then she shot him a death glare. “Don’t bring him up right now.”

“I’m not bringing him up” Ziggy voiced defensively. “I’m just saying he cares. He asks how she’s doing every time I see him. That’s all.”

You exhaled, feeling extremely guilty about how you ended things with Trent. “You don’t have to tell him anything. He’ll get over it eventually.”

“Yeah, I know. But he’s really persistent. I don’t think he’s doing it to be annoying. He just really –”

“Isaac.” Ezzie cut in, so irritated that she used his legal name. “Let. It. Go.”

He sighed, scratching his head. “Okay! Damn. I’ll drop it.”

The room went silent aside from the chatter coming from the tv and the sound of Ezzie unloading groceries in the kitchen. Ziggy picked at a loose thread on his joggers as he glanced up at you before quickly looking away. “It’s hard to see you like this Y/N. You don’t even leave from here.”

“I do leave. Sometimes.” you retorted. 

Ziggy arched his brow, not buying your statement at all. “When? When do you leave? Because you’ve been in the same spot every time I come over here. And I’m here a lot.”

You slumped further into the couch, rolling your eyes. “I go places. I don’t need to announce when I go somewhere. I’m not a child.”

“Yeah? Where did you go last?” he challenged, putting his phone back in his pocket.

You opened your mouth, but the brain fog had gotten to you so bad that you couldn’t think of something plausible quick enough. “The shop down the street” you muttered, not sounding convincing at all.

Ezzie popped her head out from the kitchen with a box of cereal in her hand. “She’s lying. I have her location on and the little circle never moves from here. She doesn’t even check for mail.... I do.”

You let out an irked sigh. “Okay. I don’t leave that often. Happy now?”

“No.” Ziggy replied flatly. He gestured toward the untouched takeaway bag. “And you don’t eat either. Y/N you look...bad. Like a sad Victorian child. You need to eat something.”

“Wow. Thanks.” You glared at him, taking all offense. 

Ezzie walked over setting water in front of you. “He’s trying to say we’re worried about you...but in his own way.” she said gently, pointing toward the takeaway. “Maybe just take a bite? At least try it…”

You stared at the bag. You wanted to eat, but your brain wasn’t connecting to any of your hunger or thirst receptors and you just felt numb the majority of the time. The thought of eating anything besides crisps here and there made your stomach churn.

“I’m not hungry.” you repeated the same as earlier.

Ziggy threw his head back, groaning dramatically. “Y/N come on. We’re not leaving until you eat something. I got pad thai.”

You sighed, pulling the bag towards you. The smell of the food was comforting, although you still weren’t all that hungry. You grabbed the container of pad thai and pulled the lid off. Ziggy and Ezzie eyed each other as you took a bite, doing the twin telepathy thing they always did since they were little.

“See? Not so bad, right?” They spoke in unison eerily. 

Them speaking in unison always freaked you out a bit and you found yourself frowning while lazily chewing a mouthful of noodles. “It’s really creepy when you both do that...but the pad thai is fine. Thanks.”

After an unplanned but filling dinner, Ziggy tilted his head, watching you carefully as you wrapped your blanket around yourself again. “What’s your game plan?”

“My game plan for what?”

“To get better,” he said simply. “You can’t stay like this.”

You recently scheduled an appointment for a therapy session, but no one else knew besides Camille. You fidgeted with the edge of your blanket and sighed, finally admitting you were at least trying to be better. “I have an appointment with a therapist in a few weeks.”

Ezzie’s face lit up with excitement. “Really?!”

Ziggy looked skeptical and eyed you to see if you were telling the truth. “Forreal? You’re actually gonna go?”

You glanced between the two of them. They were 17 now, and the tables had flipped. Instead of you trying to take care of them – they were taking care of you like you were their kid, and it made your heart hurt. It wasn’t fair to them and you knew it.

“Yes Ziggy.” you replied in annoyance. “It’s just one session so don’t get too excited. But I’ll see where it goes.”

“That’s just the first step,” Ezzie smiled softly. “I’m proud of you.”

Ziggy nodded, agreeing with his twin but he tried to play it cool. “Yeah, same. Just don’t cancel. Gotta see it through.”

You sighed, scrolling through your phone while cuddled into your blanket. “I’m not going to cancel. Promise.”

The day of your appointment, Camille’s car glided through morning traffic while soft R&B played in the background.

“Nervous?” she asked, glancing over at you from behind her Loewe sunglasses. You were staring out the window, nibbling on your fingernails as the buildings blurred past you.

“No. Not really.” you lied, feeling your stomach knot together.

Camille knew you better than that and was skeptical, but not pushy. “Dr. Ali is good...like really good. She won’t sit there and make vague comments like ‘How does that make you feel?’ She’ll push you but not in a break you down type of way. She’ll build you up with what’s already there.”

You arched your brow up, pulling your gaze from the window. “How do you know so much about her?”

Camille smirked. “I do my research, babe. Never underestimate my sleuthing skills. You think I’d let my bestie walk into a dodgy therapist’s office? Not a chance. Dr. Ali went to Harvard, has years of experience and will probably be able to read you with just one look.”

“That sounds terrifying actually.”

“She’s not terrifying” Camille replied, making a sharp turn that made your body tilt a little. “She’s just real. You honestly need someone like that. I can only do so much. Just let her help you..even if it’s just to unload.”

You felt a pang in your chest and tugged at the hem of your jumper. “Maybe..”

The car pulled into a building with glass windows that reflected against the bright morning sun. Camille turned off the car and turned to you. “I’ll wait here. If you go in and decide you hate it, that’s fine. But at least try first.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you stepped out the car with your emotional support water bottle, clutching it in your hand as you entered the building.

The waiting area was pretty minimalist and didn’t have anything that was overstimulating. There were a few plants scattered around to add greenery to the muted calming space. You checked in at the desk and sat down, fidgeting in the chair as you waited for your name to be called.

“Y/N?” a soft voice called out.

You looked up and saw a woman who looked like she was in her early 40s standing at the door. She had warm brown skin, curly medium length hair and wore trousers paired with a tailored blazer. You were imagining some old, decrepit lady, but this woman seemed very approachable from the start.

“I’m Dr. Ali” she said with a welcoming smile. “Come on in.”

You followed her into her office, which was just as inviting and warm as the waiting room. Her office had a large window that let in natural lighting, shelves lined with trinkets and books, and plush seating that could make anyone feel comfortable. As you sat down, she settled in the chair across from you.

“So, Y/N. Tell me what brings you here today.”

You didn’t know where to begin as you searched for an answer. “Umm....I guess....everything?” you said in a weak voice.

Dr. Ali nodded. “That’s okay. We can take it one piece at a time. Start with whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You sighed, taking a drink of water from your water bottle, though you weren’t really thirsty. You were carrying the water bottle around more as a coping mechanism than anything. “I really don’t know where to start. My relationship ended, my career went up in flames..literally. And my family…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “Everything just feels fucked up and broken.”

Dr. Ali’s expression didn’t change, but she eyed you with calmness in her eyes. “Sounds like a lot of loss,” she said gently. “What was your relationship like?”

“Good. Really good for the most part, actually. His name is Trent. He’s a footballer. You’ve probably heard of him before.”

She didn’t confirm or deny, instead gesturing for you to continue.

“He’s amazing,” you admitted quietly. “He was always supportive and everything I wanted a boyfriend to be. But being with him meant attention. People started lots of rumours and just spewed utter nonsense. And when my shop burned down because of someone I thought I could trust…it felt like too much. It felt like I would just be dragging him into my mess.”

Dr. Ali leaned forward, keeping a curious but non judgemental tone. “So you let him go to protect him?”

You nodded, staring at your hands. “It felt like the right thing to do at the time. But now I really don’t know. I don’t know who I am anymore, honestly. I feel really lost.”

“What about your family? You mentioned them earlier.”

You laughed dryly, no humour laced within. “Well that’s super complicated” you muttered. “My parents are more focused on appearances than the people behind them. They only care about me being the perfect daughter so they can parade me around for their own gain. They don’t really know me. They don’t even know my favorite color and it’s right in front of their face.”

Dr. Ali tilted her head with a calming expression that invited you to continue. “That’s a heavy burden to carry. Do you think that influenced how you approach things in life?”

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat as you swallowed. “It’s not just me though. My brother and sister feel it too. They’re twins..only 17 but my parents are the same with them. They pretty much treat us like trophies waiting to be displayed. And I have to make sure they don’t end up like me.”

Dr. Ali quickly wrote something down before she spoke again. “So you feel responsible for protecting them too?”

“I’ve been responsible for them since they were born” Your voice cracked. “My parents cared more about grades and achievement. The love and support was all on me. I helped them with their homework and packed their lunches most times. Sometimes it feels like I’m more of a parent than a big sister.”

The therapist kept her eye on you and the silence encouraged you to open up more. This woman was good as hell and you had barely been in there for 10 minutes.

“Now it’s like the roles are flipped” you continued, fiddling with the opening of your water bottle. “Since my shop burned down they’ve been taking care of me. Ziggy brings me food and makes sure I haven’t died off somewhere. Ezzie tries to get me out of bed or make me laugh. It’s like they took everything I taught them and turned it back on me.”

“That sounds like a testament to how much you mean to them. But I can see how it feels strange to have the roles reversed. Especially when you’ve never experienced those roles from your parents before.”

You felt tears begin to sting and fill your lash line as your throat tightened. “It does and I hate it. I hate that they feel like they have to take care of me because I can’t take care of myself right now. I should be the one doing that for them..not the other way around.”

“What about your parents?” Dr. Ali asked gently.

You let out a sharp exhale feeling bitterness rise within you. “They don’t give a fuck. They only call when they want something or to ask about Trent. My mum’s never even met him but was so interested because of who he is. Being with him validated me in their eyes and now that I broke up with him and have nothing they can capitalize on I’m back to being the invisible daughter. I’m only worth something if I make them look good.”

Dr. Ali made another note, keeping her voice steady and calm as she spoke. “It sounds like you spent a long time trying to fill a role they created for you. Have you ever been allowed to figure out who you are outside of that role?”

Her question made you freeze and you thought about it for a second, but you couldn’t answer. Dr. Ali’s question was forcing you to confront something you really never allowed yourself to think about.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally. “I don’t think I have.”

For the rest of the session, you talked about the destruction of Les Notes d’Amour and how it left you feeling like you lost a piece of yourself. You also talked about Trent and how letting him go was the hardest thing you ever did. When the session ended, Dr. Ali walked you out and gave you reassurance.

“Healing isn’t linear Y/N” she said as you reached the door. “But you’re here and that’s a good start.”

Camille glanced at you as you sat in the passenger seat of her car. “Well?”

You leaned back with a deep exhale. “She’s good.”

“Told you” Camille smirked, starting the car. “So you’re going back?”

You nodded, giving her a small smile back. “Yeah. I think I will.”

For Trent, the first year without you was just as brutal. Trent didn’t expect the breakup to hit him so hard, but it did. At first he thought he could push through the pain by burying himself in training, matches, partying, or anything else to avoid the emptiness he felt in his heart without you – but it never worked. Everywhere he turned, you were there. He could see you in the way Ziggy smiled. Sometimes he would hear someone laugh and the faint sounds of your laugh would come resurfacing back to his memory. He heard your name in the most unexpected places. He felt you in the soft floral notes of Enchantée – your very first creation and his mother’s favorite perfume that filled the air whenever she hugged him. 

You were in the bed he couldn’t sleep in anymore due the void of warmth from where you used to lay. When he did sleep, he would reach out for you out of instinct at night, only to be met with cold sheets instead of the softness and warmth of your skin.

He tried everything to feel close to you again. His texts went unanswered, his calls you never picked up. He sent thoughtful gifts but they always came back marked Return to Sender. On Instagram, he still had your profile saved under his recent searches. He knew your posts by heart because it was the only connection he had to you outside of Ziggy. When you blocked him there, it felt like he had been punched in the gut, but he didn’t give up. He created a burner account – scentimental – a little nod to what brought the two of you together. He thought he was subtle enough leaving a simple message, but you preed it immediately and blocked him there too. He logged in a week later and saw the dreaded User Not Found when he tried to search your profile again.

“How did she even know it was me? Is she psychic or something?” he muttered to himself, staring at the screen in frustration. He threw his phone on the couch and sank into it, covering his face with his hands. He spent the majority of the year chasing after someone who felt like a ghost, knowing he would never catch up.

That night, Trent found himself slouching on the couch, trying to distract himself with the latest season of Love Island. It wasn’t really the same binge watching it without you. You always made watching it more fun from your commentary. He loved that you mocked the drama, laughed at the crazy flirting, or yelled at the screen whenever someone made a questionable decision.

On the screen, an islander named Cassie was crying in the corner of the villa while a boy named Logan was pacing in front of her, furious.

“So you’re just gonna do this now after everything? You’re pulling the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ card?” Logan shouted with his overly groomed brows arched in frustration. “That’s real fucking cliche. Play it up for the cameras, yeah?”

“I just need time!” Cassie wailed with mascara running down her cheeks. The girl looked a hot mess, honestly. “I can’t give you what you want if I don’t know who I am right now!”

Trent tilted his head at the tv in disbelief. He shoved a handful of crisps into his mouth to keep from yelling at the screen. Logan groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You said you cared about me Cassie. It was all bullshit?”

“I DO care about you but I need space!” Cassie countered, breaking into another sobbing spell.

Trent grabbed the remote to turn the volume up. He could hear it just fine, but the parallels were striking and felt eerily familiar. The universe was funny in that way. He leaned forward, staring at the screen like it was going to give him the solution to his real life problem.

“Fucking hell” he muttered as Logan stormed out of frame. The scene then shifted to a confessional where Cassie started sobbing about how much she wanted it to work but needed to protect her peace first.

“Protect her peace?” Trent repeated out loud to no one in a sarcastic tone. “What the fuck does that even mean?” He turned the volume back down, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t bear to hear it anymore when it felt so eerily similar to what happened the night you broke up with him. “This is fucking stupid. I hate this show. Cassie’s a fucking producer plant, no shot this isn’t scripted.”

A few weeks later, disappointed chatter from the crowd was heard at Anfield after a terrible match. Trent was bent over with his hands resting on his knees. He was exhausted more than usual. Sweat dripped down his face, mixed with tears that weren’t quite visible to the naked eye. The score was 1-2, mirroring a devastating loss. Trent misplaced a pass during the last crucial minutes of the game, basically handing over a winning goal to the rival team. He walked off the pitch, avoiding eye contact with everyone else as he made his way down the tunnel. Slot was waiting near the changing room with his arms folded.

“Trent!” Slot called out in a sharp tone. “Need to talk. Now.”

Slot stood off to the side, piercing his gaze on Trent. “What the hell was that out there?” It was clear Slot was frustrated with Trent’s performance.

Trent shifted around uncomfortably. “It was a mistake. It happens.”

“A mistake?” Slot repeated in disbelief. “This hasn’t been a one time thing Trent. It’s been going on for weeks. Your focus is shit out there, your passes are sloppy as fuck and your energy is damn near nonexistent. You think you’re on holiday or something? People are starting to notice. You’re supposed to be a leader on this team and you’re not acting like it.”

“I’m trying,” Trent muttered with a tight jaw.

“Not good enough,” Slot snapped, stepping closer. “I can’t afford to put someone on the pitch who’s not mentally there. Pull your weight. Whatever you have going on in your personal life needs to be sorted out. Because if this continues, you’re going to find yourself benched. I didn’t plan on bringing Ziggy on this early, but the kid’s good at multiple positions. I’ll put him in your spot if you don’t fix it.”

The thought of being benched and replaced with Ziggy while he watched from afar made his stomach knot. He nodded stiffly. “Understood. I’ll fix it.”

Slot patted Trent on his shoulder, giving him a small smile. “You’re a great player Trent. But you need to think about what brought you here. For your own sake and the team’s.”

When Trent walked into the changing room, the usual post match banter was replaced with mostly silence. Trent sat down, staring at the floor while still in his kit. He felt a familiar presence and looked up to see Mo standing in front of him with his arms crossed in concern.

“You alright, brother?” Mo asked, low enough so no one else could hear.

“Nah. Not really.” Trent admitted with a heavy sigh. Mo sat down next to him, concern still etched on his face.

“What’s going on? You’re not yourself.”

Trent debated brushing Mo off, but the deep concern in Mo's eyes made him decide against it. “It’s a lot. The games, pressure...personal stuff. Don’t even know where to start.”

Mo nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe you should talk to someone. I’m not going to get all up in your business but it could help if you talk to someone professionally.”

“Like who?” Trent asked, frowning. “A therapist or something?”

“Yeah” Mo said, shrugging. “No shame in it. Everyone’s been there. Another perspective could help you get out of your own head..”

Trent leaned back against the wall with his legs stretched out in a manspread. “Nah..I don’t know about that. Feels like I’m admitting I’m weak.”

Mo chuckled lightly. “It’s not. I can give you a contact. She’s a family friend – Dr. Ali. She’s very good.”

Trent stared at Mo, weighing the suggestion. “You think it’ll help?”

“Inshallah. It’s worth a shot. You never know.”

Mo gave Dr. Ali’s contact details to Trent discreetly. Trent saved the number, staring at it before he put his phone back up in his bag. It could be the first step to getting back to where he needed to be.

Or at least figure out where the hell he went wrong.

When Trent arrived at therapy, he expected something a lot more clinical and overly sterile, but Dr. Ali’s office wasn’t any of that. There were no blaring fluorescent lights making his eyes hurt or making him feel like he was being interrogated like a prisoner. She had a diffuser that filled the therapy room with a lavender scent. It would usually be comforting, but it made him uncomfortable because it reminded him of you.

“Trent” Dr. Ali greeted in a professional tone, extending her hand. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Trent wasn’t sure if comfort was an option given how he’d been feeling lately, but he nodded and sat in the chair, leaned back enough to look relaxed but not like he wanted to be there any longer than he had to. The therapist watched him carefully, waiting to see what he would do next. She wasn’t in any rush, and it threw him off.

“Ever been to therapy?” she finally asked while sitting in the seat across from him.

Dr. Ali’s lips quirked, but not in a patronizing way. “Fair enough. The first time isn’t easy for most, but no pressure. Start with whatever you want to. Or we can just talk and get to know each other.”

Trent’s knees bounced restlessly while he sat, shifting around nervously. He couldn’t believe Mo had somehow talked him into this. He felt a bit stupid to try therapy. In his mind, it was too formal for what he was going through. He felt like he overreacted by even showing up to the place at all.

“Not sure what to say really. Feels pointless.” he muttered while frowning.

“You’re not the only one who says that. It can feel like that at first. But you’re here and that’s something.”

Trent’s jaw clenched as he looked up at her. “Yeah? So what’s it mean then?”

“That you want things to be different.”

He huffed and looked away, knee bouncing harder. “Maybe but I don’t know. My mate, Mo, gave me your contact. Said you were really good or something.”

Dr. Ali hummed softly. “Mo Salah, right?”

“Yeah..he said I should talk to someone.” Trent tugged at the string on his joggers, feeling exposed all of a sudden.

“And why do you think he said that?” she asked.

Trent exhaled. “Because I’ve been playing like shit on the pitch. I haven’t been right since…” He trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Since??” Dr. Ali prompted him to continue, gentle with her tone.

“Since my ex. Y/N.”

Dr. Ali paused her pen over her notebook before jotting down a note. “Tell me about her and your relationship.”

Trent’s throat suddenly went dry. He rubbed his hand down his face, staring at an area on the floor. “I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s smart...but stubborn as hell. She ran a shop called Les Notes d’Amour and made fragrances. It was her dream.”

“So you met her through her work?” Dr. Ali asked.

“Nah...well..sort of. We kept running into each other like it was serendipity or whatever. It sounds mad but that’s what it felt like. We met on a train, then at some café, and again at her friend’s launch. Next thing I knew I was walking into her shop asking for a custom scent. After that I was done for.”

Trent smiled faintly but then it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. “Her shop burned down because of her ex and an assistant. Then everything fell apart from there.”

“And you blame yourself for that?”

Trent’s head shot up. “No but at the same time, yes. I promised I’d protect her and I don’t feel like I did a good job of doing that. Feels like I could’ve done more, y’know? It’s been a year and I still think about her every day.”

“And thinking about her everyday...what does that look like for you?”

Trent looked at his hands. “It’s stupid stuff. I’ll hear someone that has her name on tv and my heart sinks for a second. My mum wears this perfume Y/N made. It’s called Enchantée and every time I smell it, I think about Y/N. I see her brother in training every day and I want to ask about her, but I can’t anymore because I know he’s trying to protect her.”

Trent went quiet for a while but then he continued. “And then at night..I’m always reaching for her and she’s not there. It sucks because I’ve tried to reach out and it’s gone nowhere.”

“What happens when you try to reach out to her?”

Trent laughed bitterly. “I’m blocked everywhere. I made a burner Instagram account just to check her page. I thought I was incognito and sent a simple message but she blocked me there too. Don’t even know how she figured out it was me behind it.”

Dr. Ali lifted a brow. “Why did you send that message?”

Trent scratched his head, embarrassed. “I just wanted to see how she was doing. We went from talking everyday to nothing. Feels like quitting something cold turkey and I hate that. It’s like I lost her forever.”

“What do you think stops her from contacting you?”

Trent shrugged in frustration. “I guess she didn’t want to drag me down with her but I didn’t see it that way. I would help her through anything..even now I still would.”

The therapist’s pen tapped against her notebook as she watched Trent. “You carry a lot of unresolved feelings about your breakup with her. And a lot of guilt too.” Trent didn’t respond and bounced his knee more.

“Let’s switch gears and talk about football for a minute. How’s that been going?”

Trent scoffed and shook his head. “Going like shit. I can’t focus at all. I replay every mistake in my head and I can’t let it go. I’m letting everyone down.”

“What happens when you make a mistake on the pitch?” she asked in a curious tone.

“I think about it for the rest of the game. Then it just spirals and one mistake turns into a lot more. I can’t get my head back in it and it used to be my escape.”

Dr. Ali leaned forward. “In therapy, I typically teach people how to break those cycles. We can’t change the past, but...we can change how we react to it and replace those thought patterns with healthier ones.”

“So what? You’re saying I need to let go?”

“I’m saying I can help you understand and process those feelings” she corrected in a soft manner.

Trent leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “I still don’t know if this therapy thing is for me.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to decide today.” she said with a smile. “We’ll work on it and see where it goes.”

“Yeah. Okay, sure.” he nodded with uncertainty, but felt less resistant than before.

“Same time next week?” she asked.

Trent stared at the floor longer than he needed to, and then sighed before nodding. “Yeah..same time.”

The second year without Trent wasn’t as bad as the first. You weren’t fixed, but you weren’t broken down either. Therapy helped you alot, and you began to move forward, even if it was just little baby steps. You had a new house, a new routine, and a new normal.

When you started packing your apartment up for the move to Manchester, it felt bittersweet. It was painful, but necessary. The last room you packed was your bedroom. Ezzie and Ziggy helped in their own way, which barely involved any packing. Ziggy was sprawled across your bed scrolling through his phone while Ezzie sat on the floor putting clothes into a box you tossed her way.

“Are you gonna miss living here?” Ezzie asked, looking up at you.

“Maybe a little..but it’s time” you said in a low voice, crouching down to pull out the drawer in your vanity. You reached behind it to make sure you weren’t leaving anything behind, and you felt something hard against your fingers. You tugged at it, revealing your old and dusty perfume diary. The diary had all of your old formula notes and ideas in it. You sat on the floor, staring at the cover like you had just seen a ghost.

“What’s that?” Ziggy asked, giving a quick glance and then going back to his phone.

“Nothing” you answered quickly, flipping it open. It wasn’t nothing. The pages still smelled like bergamot as you flipped through. You landed on a page that had Trent’s handwriting on it. It wasn’t something you saw before, and it made you take a second glance.

I want you for as long as the stars shine.

You scoffed, laughing before you could stop.

“What?” Ezzie looked at you, curiously.

“Nothing. Just a reminder of how stupid I am.” You snapped the notebook shut and tossed it to the nearest box. Ezzie stared at you, but then she decided to let it go.

Ziggy still had his face in his phone but suddenly spoke up with perfect timing. “Trent’s still with his new girl by the way. Alannah.”

“I don’t think I asked.”

“Yeah but I’m telling you.” He flipped onto his back with a groan, his muscles still sore from training. “She’s leng but boring as fuck.” Ziggy propped his phone on his chest, trying not to laugh while he continued to spill the tea. “Forreal though. She’s got no aura. She’s fit, yeah, but she reminds me of mum’s chicken.”

You raised your brow, trying to hold in your laugh. “Mum’s chicken??”

“Dry. No flavor.” Ziggy emphasized, motioning like he was trying to season a chicken breast with something other than salt and pepper. “She’s fucking weird too. She won’t drink water unless it’s a certain temperature and she swirls it first like she’s in the movie ‘Get Out’ or something.” He mimicked her, twirling his fingers in an invisible glass. “Then she won’t sip it unless there’s a straw.”

Ezzie cackled loudly from across the room. “Shut up! You’re lying.”

“Swear down!” Ziggy held up his hand, completely serious. “Watched her do it at a team dinner and Trent just sat there like it was normal. Like bro..say something. Blink twice if you’re in the sunken place.”

You pursed your lips together, trying not to burst out laughing. “And what does she look like?”

Ziggy shrugged, dramatically. “Exactly like you would expect. She looks like a walking Lululemon advert.” 

Ezzie snorted, tossing a pair of jeans in a box. “So she looks like every beige aesthetic girl on Tiktok then?”

“Yeah! Exactly that!” Ziggy pointed at his twin like she cracked a code in his mind.

“Leng, but boring beige girl who swirls her water while wearing Lululemon, huh?” you snickered while shaking your head. “Perfect match if that’s what he wants.”

Ziggy scoffed, sitting up. “Nah, he looks miserable. I asked him about her and guess what he said?”

“What did he say?”

“He said.. she’s nice.” Ziggy mimicked Trent’s voice, void of any enthusiasm. “Not she’s amazing or that’s the girl of my dreams. Just.. nice.”

A tiny smile cracked through your expression, but then it left. Dry chicken or not, she was there and you weren’t. Ziggy noticed your shift and he stopped teasing. He scratched his jaw, briefly stroking the facial hair that had grown on his face.

“Anyway she’s not that great. She’s boring. You’re–” He stopped mid sentence, looking at Ezzie for help.

Ezzie shot him a look that told him to shut up, then she finished his sentence for him. “She’s not you Y/N.”

And maybe that was the problem. 

When you finally arrived at the house in Manchester, it felt like you were closing one chapter and opening a new one. The new house had enough room for the three of you now that you all had officially gone no contact with your parents. It was in a comfortable neighbourhood, where neighbors said hello but didn’t pry too much.

It was a place to breathe...sort of.

Most of your breathing now consisted of R��veur wafting through the air wherever you went. Thanks to Camille’s ability to persuade you into continuing to sell the scent at department stores through her manufacturer, the fragrance had spread in popularity over multiple continents. It was surreal to smell something that used to be so personal to you on strangers. Men walking past you on the street were wearing it. People’s husbands were wearing it on a simple shopping trip to Tesco. Even teenagers who were way too heavy handed with their sprays were wearing it. It followed you everywhere – almost like the universe was taunting you. You didn’t love the idea of smelling your past on a stranger’s skin, but it brought in a lot of money. Rêveur used to be you and Trent’s creation, but now it belonged to the whole wide world.

“You gotta stop frowning when you smell it” Ezzie told you one morning while lounging on the couch in one of your old hoodies. “It’s iconic now. You’re a fragrance legend.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “It literally feels like it’s haunting me. It’s meant for my footballer ex, but now Steve from accounting is wearing it to Piccadilly station on his morning commute so I can afford to live.”

Ziggy walked in mid rant, dropping his bag on the floor after training. “You didn’t have to keep selling it. I would’ve made sure you were good.”

He was right. Ziggy had been grinding through the academy the past two years and started training alongside the first team. Ezzie’s calendar was filled with castings, campaigns, and now New York Fashion Week. You were proud of them, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for the life you had before Les Notes d’Amour burned down. Including the life you had with Trent – especially now that Camille was engaged to Jules. She Facetimed you religiously during her wedding planning. You could see the huge diamond ring on her finger sparkling at every angle of light every time she called.

“I can’t deal with him right now” Camille sighed one night, pacing around her living room. You could see Jules in the background, quietly scrolling through his phone and wisely pretending he didn’t exist. Camille had become a bit of a bridezilla since the engagement.

“He thinks sage and laurel are the same color Y/N.”

You held back your laugh, not wanting to set Camille off. “Maybe he just doesn’t care which colors you choose?”

“Of course he doesn’t care. He’s a man.” she responded flatly, tearing up. “I can’t have sage at my wedding Y/N.. it’s sooo tacky. It has to be laurel.”

“So we’ll do laurel then. It’s not that deep.” you reaffirmed her, still not trying to laugh at Camille’s new bridezilla persona.

“It is that deep,” she snapped. “I really can’t deal with this right now.”

You nodded, letting her spiral in the same way she let you when you were worried about something miniscule. As you listened to her ramble about the difference between the shades of green, you started zoning out. You wanted to tell her about your decision to sell your formulas to a fragrance house during NYFW since you hadn’t told anyone else yet, but you couldn’t find a way to bring it up. So you kept it a secret – from everyone.

Little did you know, Trent was headed to New York too – but with Alannah.

The week of NYFW, Trent was in a quiet hotel room with Alannah as she tapped her nails against her phone screen. She sat on the bed in another Lululemon set that was void of any color besides neutrals while her hair was held up with a claw clip. The girl really had no fashion sense at all – not like you did. She looked like she was ready to head to pilates at any given moment. They matched at least – Trent wore his tracksuits as always, while she always wore Lululemon. Alannah irritated Trent though. Everything about her was aesthetically curated, clean, and so devoid of anything interesting or chaotic that it was extremely eerie. He didn’t want someone perfect, he wanted you. 

Trent stood near the window, staring at the city traffic and people watching. New York was a lively city that moved fast, but in the hotel room it felt like life had been sucked out of him.

“Babe?” Alannah said suddenly while looking up from her phone.

“What?” Trent answered with agitation in his voice, his back still facing her.

“I didn’t want to say anything but...I found the ring.”

“Huh?” For a second, Trent thought she was joking.  “What ring?”

“Don’t be daft Trent.” she giggled. “The little velvet box in your drawer? Are you planning something?”

He turned all the way around now, blinking. “Planning what???”

“Babeee. You know what. We’ve been together a while so it makes sense to head that way. I’ll pretend to be shocked when you ask” she winked.

The silence was awkward…very awkward. Trent looked at her like she was an idiot. “Alannah, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“The engagement RING. I’m not stupid. I saw it.”

Trent ran a hand over his face, trying to process how he wanted to continue, but then he gave up. “Yeah, no. That ring isn’t for you.”

Silence.

Alannah looked as if the perfection in her had short circuited, clearly the girl wasn’t used to being told no. No matter how hard she tried to force it. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s not for you” he repeated more clear this time, painfully obvious to him but not to her.

Her face contorted into a mix of embarrassment but also anger as she processed his words. “Then who the hell is it for Trent?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s just not for you.” he muttered while turning back to the window.

“It doesn’t matter?” Alannah’s voice went higher. “You’re serious? I’ve been with you for almost a year. Met your mates, travelled, pretended to care about football. And I’m just some placeholder?”

“I’m not about to argue with you right now.” Trent turned back to her, his tone flat. “Not in the mood for it.”

“Oh, we are” she shot back, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. This was the most personality she’d shown since meeting him at the club one night. “You don’t want to have sex anymore, you barely spoke on the plane ride here, and now I’m finding out there’s a ring that’s not for me? You’re wasting my time!”

“Then leave.” Trent said in an unbothered tone.

Alannah’s mouth fell open, caught off guard. “Are you serious?”

“Full stop” he shrugged. “I’m not marrying you. Never planned to, never will. I don’t feel that way about you.”

He didn’t mean to be that harsh about it, but there was no point in keeping up with the charade anymore. Alannah fumbled with her bag as she stormed out the room in tears. “You’re such a dick. And you’re not that cute by the way. Let’s see who’ll put up with all your bullshit like I did.”

Trent didn’t answer and instead watched her as she slammed the door so hard the empty hangers rattled in the hotel’s wardrobe.

“Glad that’s over with.”

A few minutes later, Trent headed outside with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets as he walked through the Lenox Hill area of Manhattan. He had no idea where he was going, but he needed to breathe in something else that wasn’t stuffy hotel air or Alannah’s suffocating perfume that he never liked. He wandered aimlessly past the people of New York City, letting the noise of the city drown out his thoughts. He really only dated Alannah to keep the other side of his bed warm, but she could never compare to the way he felt with you. He was checked out of that relationship from the moment it started. She couldn’t be you – no one could.

Eventually he stopped. Looking up to see he was at 225 East 60th Street

Serendipity 3 was a cozy spot he never heard of before that was known for selling frozen hot chocolate and had grown in popularity because of a 2000s rom-com film. He could see a couple sitting off to the side, sharing a hot chocolate at a small table with twinkling lights. They looked like they were on their first date, but he saw the way they looked at each other. It reminded him of the first date he had with you.

Then he smelled something. Vanilla and amber. Vanille Étoilée.

The nostalgic scent of you made him freeze on the spot. He whipped his head around, eyes darting through the crowd. He saw a familiar silhouette walking a bit further ahead, just turning the corner. He thought it was you, but he couldn’t be for sure.

“No shot…” he whispered, heart racing. He started weaving through people in a speed walk with the smell guiding him like a thread. When he reached the corner, he looked down the street but he didn’t see anyone who looked like you. There were nothing but taxis, Uber Eats bike couriers, and faceless strangers walking by. He stood there, looking around in a dazed state, staring at everything but also nothing at all as the noise of the city became the soundtrack of his confusion.

In a city like New York, you had to be a fast walker. You were a few blocks away now, but you smelled him too when you turned the corner. The faint scent of Rêveur enwrapped you, bringing back a flood of memories. That wasn’t out of the ordinary for you now that the scent had become a bestseller. You shook your head, laughing to yourself. You figured it was just another stranger wearing a scent you once created for the love of your life. Nothing more.

You couldn’t be any more wrong, but neither of you turned back.

“I’m losing it” Trent whispered to himself, dragging his hand across his face. 

Maybe he was, but the universe had other plans.

An hour later, you found yourself inside Bergdorf Goodman on 5th Avenue. The marble floors reflected the ambient lighting of the circular chandeliers above. The department store was filled with luxury goods like Gianvito Rossi, Moncler and Saint Laurent. You weren’t looking for anything specific, just window shopping and killing time before your big meeting. The fragrance section immediately drew you in. You looked at them all until you saw one single bottle of Rêveur sitting on display. It really was a bestseller. 

You walked over to it, reaching out for the bottle instinctively as your fingers brushed the cool bottle. Another hand met yours at the same time and you froze, smelling the scent of bergamot, lavender, sandalwood and apple drifting into the shared air.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to–” Trent’s voice stopped mid sentence. His familiar voice threw you for a loop in the sea of American accents. You felt your heart drop as you glanced up, trying not to give away how rattled you were. Trent’s hand pulled away a bit, almost like he wasn’t sure whether to back away or stand his ground.

“Oh.” The word slipped out before you could think of anything else. “It’s you. Hi.”

Trent tilted his head, a small smile appearing on his lips. “It’s me. Hi.”

The silence stretched longer than it needed to as the magnetic tension you used to feel reappeared. You were painfully self aware of everything – how the bottle felt, how good Trent looked, how fast your heart was beating, and how Vanille Étoilée and Rêveur were enwrapping to create one intoxicating scent.

“I didn’t know you shopped at Bergdorfs…” you said finally, looking him in the eye as you pulled away from the bottle of Rêveur. 

“I don’t” Trent shrugged, stepping closer to you. “Was just walking by and something pulled me in.” He eyed the bottle, grabbing it and resting it in the palm of his hand as he smiled back at you. “Guess I know what now. It’s the last bottle.”

“And here I was thinking I was special,” you smiled back.

“You are.” The words slipped out so naturally you weren’t sure if he meant to say it out loud.

You glanced back at the bottle of Rêveur in his hand and cleared your throat, trying to find anything to talk about to settle the awkwardness. 

“So..um..you still wear it then?” you finally asked.

“Never stopped.” He tilted his head, searching your face for something. “Can’t bring myself to switch but it’s getting harder to find nowadays.”

You bit your lip, trying not to show your widening grin. “A number one bestseller will do that.”

“I guess so” Trent’s gaze drifted to your left hand and you clocked it instantly. He was checking to see if someone else had scooped you up.

“Looking for something?” you teased, cocking your brow.

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh..nah. Just checking. You’re not all that easy to keep up with these days. You even blocked my burner.”

You blinked, surprised he brought it up, but then you smirked. “...Scentimental. Really Trent?”

“I thought it was a good name” he defended himself with a sheepish grin. “How did you know it was me?”

“You were following a JudeTrent fan account and then you sent me a DM that sounded exactly like you. Didn’t take much. You’re not that subtle.”

“Ah, damn. I thought I was incognito enough” he muttered with a soft laugh.

“You weren’t. But A for effort.”

Trent’s gaze on you softened and he felt an itch to reach for you, but he couldn’t – you weren’t together anymore. He hesitated during a pause of silence, then spoke up. “So how have you been?”

You shrugged, trying to be nonchalant even though you were everything but. “Busy…”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” You glanced down at your phone, your pulse spiking as seconds ticked by. You needed to go but you didn’t want to be the one to leave first. 

“You free? To catch up, I mean..”

You heard the vulnerability in his voice and it immediately made you want to say yes, but you forced yourself to keep it together. “I have a meeting. I’m already cutting it close.”

His jaw tensed, but he nodded. “Right. No problem.”

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “But maybe if it’s meant to be, we’ll see each other again?” 

“You think so?”

You nodded, giving him a bittersweet smile. “Yeah. It’s worked before, right?”

“Guess so.” Trent smiled just enough to make your chest ache. You stepped back, walking away before looking over your shoulder. “Bye Trent. Nice seeing you again.”

“Bye Y/N…”

The further you walked away from him, the harder it was to breathe. You didn’t look back again, but you could feel him watching you leave. As you disappeared into the crowd, Trent stood there – frozen in place as he inhaled the faint remnants of your scent in the air.

“If we’re meant to see each other again..we will.” he said to himself.

After you left Bergdorf’s in a hurry, your heart was racing. It felt like no time had passed between you, even if it was somewhat awkward. You had no time to think about that though. You had an important meeting to get to.

Or so you thought.

By the time you arrived, you were already running a bit late. You glanced at your phone, sighing heavily as the lift dinged with each floor. When you finally arrived, you bolted to the receptionist’s desk.

“Hi. I’m here for the meeting with the fragrance house.” you said, a little breathless.

The lady at the desk gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry Miss L/N, but that meeting ended over an hour ago.”

Your stomach sank. Thanks to jetlag and a five hour time difference, you miscalculated the time of the meeting. You fumbled for your phone, scrolling through the calendar. The meeting time was clear as day – an hour earlier than what you originally thought.

“Would you like me to reschedule?” the receptionist offered in a kind voice.

“No.” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s fine. Maybe it’s just not meant to be. Thank you though.”

You walked back to the lift with your shoulders slumped. When the doors opened, you barely noticed the person already in there until they spoke up.

“Y/N right?”

You turned to see a girl in head to toe athleisure, swirling a straw around in the drink she was carrying.

“Yes?” you replied hesitantly. 

She smiled a bit too knowingly. “I’m Alannah. Trent’s ex.”

You were confused, but you kept your expression neutral. “Oh. Hi.”

As the lift descented, an uncomfortable silence filled the tiny space. You could feel Alannah’s gaze on you and it made you feel weird. Something about this girl was strange – Ziggy was right. Her perfume wasn’t a vibe either, it smelled awful.

Coco Mademoiselle, you thought to yourself. In this day and age??

“He’s mentioned you before,” Alannah said in an eerie tone, cutting through your internal judgement. “I mean..obviously not to me directly but..”

You scrolled through your phone, avoiding the awkwardness as best as possible. “I’m sure he has.”

She tilted her head, studying you. “That ring is for you, isn’t it?”

You stiffened, unsure of what she was getting at. “What ring?”

Alannah scoffed in disbelief. “Cut the bullshit Y/N. I know why you’re here. Me and Trent broke up today and all of a sudden you’re here too? I’m not fucking dumb.”

You gave her the nastiest side eye, putting your phone back in your pocket. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to..but it’s definitely not me. It feels like you’re projecting. Maybe sort that out before you come for me babe.” You stepped out of the lift and into the lobby before she had a chance to say anything back, and before you had a chance to give her the filthiest read of a lifetime.

When you got back to your hotel room, you flung yourself on the bed with a groan, rubbing your temples. Trent, Alannah, and the missed meeting. It all felt like some lame, poorly written story on wattpad, but this was your real life.

It was supposed to be easy to get lost in a big city like New York, especially during NYFW, yet somehow you kept running into the past. You didn’t understand it at that moment, but the universe was slowly resewing the loose thread that connected you to him – waiting for the perfect moment to sew the final figure 8 knot in place.

A few months later, you were back at Anfield and it felt surreal. It had been over two years since you last set foot in the stadium. But now you were wearing your own surname on a shirt instead of Alexander-Arnold. The number 16 was displayed on the fabric, representing your brother’s first team debut. Ezzie was beside you, documenting everything on Instagram with her phone.

“This is so weird” you admitted as you sat in your seat.

“So don’t make it weird. We’re here for Ziggy, not Trent.” Ezzie affirmed, sitting beside you. “You probably won’t even notice he’s there.”

She couldn’t be more wrong. The entire game it seemed like him and Ziggy were attached at the hip, mirroring each other alongside the pitch. During the second half, Trent had a near perfect assist and Ziggy was able to score a goal on his debut night. Both of them were obnoxious as hell when they celebrated – they were still doing their crazy handshake that had somehow become even more ridiculous. 

Although the game ended in a draw, Ziggy and Trent’s performance was the highlight of the night. The crowd dispersed from the stadium and you found yourself looking up at the sky – tonight there was a full moon. You decided to stay behind, letting Ezzie head home without you so you could process all the happenings of the night.

The last time you were here your heart was full of love and chaos, but now it was filled with remnants of the past and the newfound pride you felt for Ziggy. It was nice seeing him live his dream, but it was bittersweet at the same time because every time you saw a smile on your brother’s face...Trent was right beside him. 

You made your way down to the pitch, walking to the center. You sighed, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the chill of the night as you tilted your head back, taking in the moon in all its glory.

“I didn’t think you would stay.”

His voice startled you. Mostly because of how much you missed hearing it. You turned around and Trent was standing at the edge of the center with his hands in his jacket pockets. The view of him alone nearly knocked the wind out of you. You had no idea he was still watching every full moon with you while you were apart for two years.

“I just needed a minute,” you replied softly.

Trent walked toward you slowly, trying to figure out if he was welcome or not. You didn’t move, so he continued to bridge the gap.

“Hell of a debut, yeah?” He nodded toward where Ziggy scored his first goal.

You nodded, smiling shyly. “He really thrives under pressure.”

“Nah, that’s all you.” Trent replied in a warm voice. “He’s lucky he has someone like you to keep his head on straight.”

You glanced away from him, taking in the view of the moon again. “Just doing what I need to do. He’s too young to handle it alone.”

Trent sat next to you, but kept a comfortable distance. He looked up at the moon, and then back at you. You found yourself instinctively scooting toward him. You convinced yourself it was because you were cold, but you knew better.

“I missed you,” Trent said, breaking the silence. His guard was fully down, emotion in every word.

“Trent…” you began, but he shook his head.

“Just let me say it Y/N” His eyes searched yours and you felt goosebumps appear on your skin. “I miss you every single day. I tried to move on..I really did. But I can’t. I miss you so much it hurts.” You felt a lump in your throat as tears welled in your eyes. You were trying so hard to keep it together, but you were crumbling fast.

“I thought I was doing you a favor.” you admitted in a trembling voice. “I was really depressed Trent…I didn’t want to drag you with me.”

“I would’ve stuck beside you through it all.” 

“I know,” you whispered. Tears started spilling down your face. “I didn’t mean what I said to you that night. I was angry..hurt..really scared. And I only blocked you because hearing about you or even looking at you hurt so bad. I couldn’t be what you needed me to be.”

Trent moved his hand and brushed them over your knuckles lightly. He searched your eyes and you could see the pain of all the months he spent wondering. 

“Never needed you to be anything but yourself, Y/N. I don’t care if you’re not perfect. I fell in love with you because you never tried to change yourself for me. I fell in love with every bit of what makes you, you. I just wish you would’ve given me a little longer. Been lost without you ever since.”

You glanced down as your tears fell more quickly now. Trent cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were glossy, filled with tears threatening to overflow. “You don’t get it Y/N. I’ve never seen you as someone that needs fixing. I love you the way you are. Through the good and the bad I’ll always love you no matter what.”

“I– I love you too....I’m sorry” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to do you like that. I honestly just didn’t know what to do. I–”

A faint crack of thunder made you pause. Trent’s thumb traced over your cheek, wiping away the tears that kept falling no matter how hard you were trying to keep them in. His gentle touch felt just as familiar as the moon hanging above you both.

“I didn’t know how to come back to you.” you murmured in a soft tone.

“I’d wait forever for you baby” Trent replied, barely audible over the soft drizzle starting to rain over you. “I only want you.”

“Trent..” You said his name like it was the only word you ever wanted to say again. Another clap of thunder broke from the sky as Trent pulled you into him, placing his hands on your waist. You couldn’t hold back anymore and found yourself wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The moment you kissed him, it felt like you were kissing him for the first time all over again. Every part of you felt like it was being stitched back together with each movement of his lips against yours – like a stitched figure 8 knot.

When the rain began to fall harder, Trent pulled away breathlessly to take off his jacket, holding it above you to shield you from the rain, then he smirked at you.

“If it’s meant to be, we’ll see each other again.”

“What?”

“That’s what you said to me in New York” he reminisced. “You looked me dead in the eye at Bergdorf’s and told me that. Then you walked away like it was nothing.”

You let out a laugh. “And here we are..seeing each other again.”

“After two, long and miserable years.” he chuckled sarcastically, walking you toward the tunnel. You felt guilty, so you didn’t say anything back, but Trent sensed it immediately.

“I’m not saying that to guilt you.” he added. “I just don’t want to waste any more time wondering if I’ll see you again. I don’t want to leave it up to fate or serendipity or whatever we’ve been calling this.”

You didn’t want to leave it up to fate either. Not anymore.

“Trent..I really don’t want this night to end..” you admitted quietly. “I missed you so fucking much.”

He gave you a big grin, making your heart skip a beat. “Then let’s not let it end, yeah?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come with me” he said, very matter of fact while smiling. “Anywhere. Right now.”

“Anywhere?” you asked softly.

“Anywhere.” he repeated, leaning in closely to kiss you again. “As long as I’m with you.”

thank you readers ily 🫶🏽

[yuri-is-online]

Hi, there (again)!

If it's not too much trouble, make a second and last request, I can request

Pronto: (5) seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

With Trey, Silver And Sebek?

In case of passing me orders you can discard my order. Take your time and at your pace, bye 🌠🌌✍️💐

5. Jealousy pt.1- seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

Hello again yourself! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that this was the most popular prompt huh (ﾟωﾟ；) Sorry I took so long to get back around to this one, I hope it was not too frustrating a wait I find it a bit difficult to wrap my head around Sebek.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, Rook is a bit dramatic (Trey), light injury but nothing descriptive (Silver), some misunderstandings quickly cleared (Sebek). The rest of the event requests can be found here.

Trey

"My beloved, hath thou truly forgotten me? Tis I! Your sweetheart!"

In a scene out of a particularly annoying, tropey rom com, the thought dead lover throws themselves into the... indifferent arms of a most unwilling extra around whose shoulders have been draped a lab coat to serve as a makeshift cape. Trey should be focusing on his strawberries, or maybe the grip he has on the watering can, but it is getting much more difficult to ignore the farce going on just out of his line of sight. Sure, Trey trusts you, he isn't worried you are going to leave him for Rook of all people he's just worried that you're uncomfortable. That's it. That's why he keeps glancing at the lab coat and not listening to the dialogue.

"Thine eyes doth not deceive thee?" You know you're supposed to put effort into line delivery, but you literally just got this script ten seconds ago so you hope Rook' expectations are low. "I hath been adventuring in a distant land these many moons, thinking only of returning to thee and thine-" your face immediately wrinkles "Rook I'm not saying this shit."

"Non non," Rook shakes his head, dropping character only for a second "You will not be saying them, your character will be saying them." He settles back into his role making doe eyes up at you as you swear you hear the sound of something snapping just behind you. Probably your patience.

"Thine eyes doth not deceive thee, I hath been adventuring in a distant land these many moons, thinking only of returning to thee and thine embrace." the script calls for Rook to dip you, but instead of Le chasseur d’amour you find yourself gently pulled back by your makeshift cape into the arms of a knight.

"Sorry," the "cape" falls to the ground as Trey spins you into a dip, complete with the lengthy kiss the script called for "but I don't have anything cool to say." And yet the way he holds you, the strain in his smile and the angry slit his eyes have slimmed to is very cool. Very rare is the sight of genuine frustration on Trey Clover's face, rarer still the glare. Rook is well and truly enraptured, and now it's your turn to feel jealous.

"Chevalier des Roses! I certainly hope I did not overstep-" That bastard is grinning, almost like he was deliberately trying to poke the bear.

"Of course not." Trey pulls you up, arm wrapped firmly around your waist. "I just need to get a new watering can from storage and was wondering if Yuu wanted to come with me." Ha "ask" as if he is intending on letting you go, his grip hasn't loosened one bit.

Silver

"I'm sorry we weren't able to be of more help, prefect." The kitchen ghost's mournful face looks painfully out of place, you're so used to seeing their big smiles you almost feel like you're the one who screwed up.

"It's ok, really! Please don't feel bad, I'm not going to quit just because we had one little accident." Technically, it was not a little accident, otherwise you would still be wearing your clothes and not a master chef approved chef's jacket, but in pursuit of enlightenment one must be willing to make a few sacrifices. If making coffee could be considered a culinary pursuit.

"I'm very glad to hear that," some of the ghost's usual pep returns, along with it his seriousness as an instructor "but no more attempts today, you hear me? Make sure to put a compress on your arm when you get back to Ramshackle and put some ointment on it. I'll never forgive myself if your burn gets worse." You give a mock salute, carefully cradling the single thermos of coffee you had managed to salvage from your lessons close to your chest with your non injured arm.

"Aye aye captain, I'll make sure to come back to pick up my shirt after I've changed." And you did fully intended to do that if you hadn't run into the exact person your little delivery was for on your way back to your dorm. Silver pauses when he sees you, with a strange tight look on his face you don't recognize that doesn't disappear as you get closer. If anything it gets worse, and he doesn't snap out of it even when you're directly in front of him.

"Silver?" You try one more time and he startles, face slipping back into his normal listlessness.

"Sorry, I don't really know what came over me." So he says, but his attention remains firmly fixed on the coat even if his look is passive. "I didn't realize there were Master Chef classes going on."

"Oh there aren't, I just had a small accident." You say, subconsciously reaching for your sleeve as if you can hide a burn by drawing attention to it. It's a reflex, much like Silver's reach, his fingers careful not to irritate the bruised skin. "Silver?" You ask, trying to find the words you need to reassure him.

"I don't like red on you." He says, so oddly serious it takes you a second to realize he isn't really looking at the burn, no his attention is on your chef's jacket and it's offensive Heartslabyul badge. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me... I should be more concerned about the burns."

"Funny," you laugh ignoring his embarrassment "I think green looks nice on you."

Sebek

Sebek isn't very good at saying what he means. You know this, you love him in spite of this. It makes him feel very lucky, and he has no real problem telling people this. Silver was by far the person who heard him brag about you the most, even if he attempted to downplay just how happy he was to be with you it wasn't like he could hide very much from his friend. Which was what made this situation so... confusing. Hurtful even, Sebek doesn't have words for what he is feeling because "jealous" just feels petty but "distressed" feels pathetic. And he is neither of those things. In his opinion. Because being jealous is something insecure people do, and he is not insecure nor does he not trust Silver.

So why then why is he in so much physical pain?

"Hmph, I expect short sighted napping from Silver, but I was starting to expect better from you." Sebek can't tell who is more surprised that he isn't shouting, you or him. Hell, his tone is so normal Silver hasn't moved from his slumped position against one of the courtyard apple trees. You had been lying on the grass, waiting for him he knows as a fact even if his hammering heart is doubting it.

"Sorry, I couldn't wrap my head around some of the figures Crewel went over in class so I was up late studying." You sit up as you answer him, Silver's jacket falling off of your shoulders and taking Sebek's narrow gaze with it. "I guess I lost track of time."

"Did you ask Silver for help." It's a question but he doesn't voice it as one, there's genuine hurt on your face that pushes him back from anger into embarrassment and shame. You just look confused, looking down at the coat crumpled across your legs then back up at his still on his person and-

Laughing. You start to laugh and the lightest twinge of anger returns firmly setting his face into a cross between a scowl and a pout.

"H-hey I'm being serious. I'm Lord Malleus's retainer, diligent study is not something I will scold you for! I can help you stay awake!" His begging just makes you laugh harder, which should make him angrier but you're smiling. You are smiling and the silliness of the situation really settles on him. Sebek talks to Silver about you all the time, of course Silver would be just as worried as he would if he found you asleep on the courtyard green. There is no challenge to his honor or ability as a partner here, just the friendly concern over the partner of a brother knight.

"I know you are Sebek." You stand up, scrambling over to return Silver his coat before falling naturally into you place at his side and returning his smug pride to his posture. "Can I ask you some questions about those equations? I remember things better when I picture them in your voice."

"Of course!" Said voice booms back to life, the shout finally doing it's job in cracking Silver awake. "Make sure you don't take your eyes off of me for a second, Yuu!"

[willcmsv]

Soft Launch - Alain Laubrac x Fem Reader (FR)

The story that follows is in French for my French Voltaire High's fans, English version is posted there!

Requested by @babydeersblog

Synopsis: Alain et toi aviez fait connaissance au début de l’année et aviez été associé à plusieurs travaux de groupes, ce qui a permis de faire évoluer votre relation au fur et à mesure. Cependant, après avoir été moqué lorsque tu as avoué des sentiments à un garçon, tu as décidé de les garder pour toi et de ne plus faire transparaître des traces d’amour. Mais Alain te fait malheureusement ressentir quelque chose que tu aimerais découvrir davantage.

Warnings: petits changements dans l'histoire de base.

Notes: n’hésitez pas à me recommander des idées de oneshots — j’écris en anglais et français!

Depuis le début de l’année, Alain et toi vous échangez des mots durant vos heures de cours. Tu as l’habitude de lui faire des petits dessins pendant qu’il t’écrit des citations ou des farces, dépendant de son humeur. Depuis son combat avec Joseph il y a quelques mois, tu es devenue la sorte d’ange gardien d’Alain, tu l’empêches de déraper et tu le défends lorsque tu en as l’occasion devant Joseph et ses amis.

Cependant, depuis ces dernières semaines, Joseph ne peut s’empêcher de vous taquiner en rappelant comment vous êtes proches et en assumant que vous vous aimez comme si cela était un jeu. Mais Joseph était comme ça. Tout était drôle pour lui et tout n’était pas grave.

Lorsque tu rentres à la maison les week-ends, tu as le droit à l'interrogatoire privé de ton frère Jean-Pierre, comme si les questions bidons de Joseph ne suffisaient pas. Pour Jean-Pierre, tu étais et resteras toujours sa petite sœur qu'il doit chérir et protéger. Il a arrêté de te voir grandir à l'âge de neuf ans.

"C'est qui Alain ?" Demanda Jean-Pierre la seconde où tu déposas ton pied à l'intérieur de ta maison.

"Un ami. Question suivante ?" Tu répondis.

Jean-Pierre fronça les sourcils. Pour lui, hors de question que tu sortes avec un garçon. Simone lui avait rappelé plusieurs fois que tu avais dix-sept ans et que tu étais assez grande pour avoir un copain, mais il était têtu et ne voulait rien savoir concernant ce sujet.

"Apparemment non, ce n'est pas ce que Joseph prétend dire."

"Joseph ! Tu le crois vraiment lui ?! C'est un idiot et il aime lancer des rumeurs sur tout ce qui bouge. Je te croyais plus intelligent…" Tu affirmas en attrapant un verre que tu remplis soigneusement d'eau.

Après ton échange avec ton frère, tu te dirigeas vers ta chambre et découvre une lettre déposée sur ton lit. Elle est signée A.L.

Tu as reconnu tout de suite l'écriture de l'expéditeur et ses phrases toujours si originales que captivantes. Tu ne pus t'empêcher de sourire à chacune de ses lettres, à chacun de ses mots, de ses actions. Mais bien que cela devrait te rendre heureuse, au contraire, cela t'angoissait.

Chaque soir avant de dormir, tu réfléchissais à ce que tu voulais vraiment. Tu avais deux choix qui se présentaient à toi : lui avouer tes sentiments et risquer de te faire humilier comme auparavant, ou les garder secrets et peut-être perdre l'amour de ta vie.

L'amour de ta vie, c'est peut-être un grand mot.

Le lundi matin, après avoir quitté ton domicile, tu arrivas au lycée un peu plus tôt. Tu espérais surtout voir Alain.

"Matinale." Une voix masculine t'interpella.

Sans même te retourner, tu pus reconnaitre cette voix entre cents, même si ce n'était pas réjouissant pour toi.

"Joseph, qu'est-ce que tu me veux encore ?"

"Qu'est-ce que je te veux ? Qu'est-ce que tu me veux plutôt."

Tu leva ton sourcil, lançant inconsciemment un regard noir à Joseph.

"Même si le lycée ne me connait pas encore sous ce nom, je suis ravi de me présenter, Joseph le Cupidon." Il se baissa en mimant une révérence.

"Joseph le quoi ?!" Tu pouffas de rire à cette nouvelle imprévisible. "Tu te moques de moi, c'est ça ?"

"Est-ce que j'en ai l'air ?"

Mon sourire s'effaça immédiatement de mon visage lorsque je compris qu'en effet, il était complètement sérieux. Mais Joseph, sérieux ou non, n'est pas quelqu'un de confiance.

"Va te chercher un autre client." Tu répondis en tournant les talons.

"Tu n'as pas envie de savoir ce que ton cher Alain pense de toi ?" Un sourire narquois se forma sur les lèvres du blond.

"Pas forcément, et sûrement pas grâce à ton aide." Tu déclares.

"C’est dommage, je connais beaucoup de choses à son sujet et des choses qui pourraient t’intéresser-" Joseph s’arrêta dans sa phrase lorsque Alain arriva.

"Ça va Y/n ? Joseph…" Alain lança un coup d’œil confus à Joseph. "On peut déjà se préparer à aller en cours, t’en dis quoi ?"

Tu acquiesces et tous les deux partirent jusque dans les couloirs. Alain s’adossa au mur.

"Si Joseph t’embête, dis-le-moi."

"C’est Joseph, il est comme ça." Tu déclares.

Alain baissa son regard, comme s'il était contrarié, et contrarié par ce qui venait de se passer.

Lors du premier cours de la journée, tu ne pouvais t’empêcher de jeter de nombreux coups d’œil à Alain qui paraissait tellement concentré sur le cours. Tu étais aussi concentrée sur lui que lui sur son cours que tu ne te rendais pas compte que son regard était maintenant tourné vers toi.

Ses yeux bleus étaient encrés sur toi. Il ne bougea même pas lorsque ton regard rencontra le sien. Tes joues prirent soudainement une teinte de rose pendant qu’un sourire narquois se dessina sur le visage d’Alain.

À la sortie des cours, tu croises à nouveau la route de Joseph qui te supplia de t’accompagner jusqu’à chez toi puisque vous habitez près l’un de l’autre.

Alain, qui marchait quelques mètres plus loin, a pu apercevoir ta silhouette et celle de Joseph marcher côte à côte. Il ne put s’empêcher de ressentir de la jalousie. Pourquoi Joseph était-il toujours obligé d’être avec toi alors qu’il rêvait seulement d’être à sa place.

***

Le lendemain, Alain et toi aviez un travail de science à terminer, un travail qui t’obligeait à travailler pendant une durée indéfinie avec lui. Tu te réjouissais déjà d’avance de te retrouver avec lui, mais bizarrement, tu ressentais de la pression, comme si cela allait mal se passer.

Tu marches rapidement vers la salle de science en apercevant Alain qui était déjà assis sur une chaise au fond de la salle.

"Je suis en retard ?" Tu demandas.

"On va plutôt dire que je suis en avance." Alain te sourit avant de te tirer une chaise.

Le travail avança plus rapidement que prévu, tous les deux étiez concentrés, mais prenaient quelques poses afin de discuter de choses plus divertissantes et amusantes que les cours de sciences.

"Toi et Joseph, il y a…" Alain commença.

Tu écarquillas les yeux avant de répondre.

"Non, non ! C’est seulement un ami, il ne m’intéresse pas." Tu t’empressas de répondre.

Alain lança un coup d’œil à son cahier sans dire un mot, comme si ta réponse ne lui convenait pas.

Ses doigts tenaient fortement son crayon avec lequel il gribouillait dans le coin de son cahier.

Tes yeux parcouraient tout son visage, de ses boucles brunes jusqu'aux courbes fines de sa mâchoire.

"Ça ne va pas ?" Tu demandas finalement.

Les yeux d’Alain se fixèrent une nouvelle fois sur toi. Ils descendirent jusqu’à tes lèvres avant de remonter à tes yeux. Bien qu’il ne parlait pas, son regard en dévoilait tellement plus.

Tes battements de cœur s’accélèrent et tes lèvres te démangeaient de l’envie de l’embrasser.

Son visage se rapprocha doucement du tien, ton cœur manqua presque un battement.

"Ça bosse dur ?" Une voix masculine lâcha.

Alain et toi vous retournez en un sursaut avant d’apercevoir Joseph dans l’embrasure de la porte. Il te souriait de manière espiègle comme s'il avait fait ça exprès. Et tu étais sûre que c’était le cas.

"Je vais te laisser, Y/n. On se remet en commun demain." Alain remballa ses affaires et te lança un bref sourire avant de s’en aller, frôlant légèrement Joseph.

"Ça t’amuse ?!" Tu déclares.

"J’ai cru que tu n’étais pas intéressée ?" Un sourire narquois apparut sur les lèvres de Joseph.

***

L'après-midi, tu t'étais rendue à l'infirmerie pour prendre des médicaments pour soigner ton mal de ventre irrépressible. Avant que tu puisses à nouveau enfiler ton gilet, la porte s'ouvrit sur Alain.

"Hey..."

"Je- Je ne pensais pas voir quelqu'un ici à cette heure." Il affirma.

Son nez saignait légèrement et tu pouvais remarquer du sang sur ses phalanges.

"Tu t'es battu ?" Tu demandas directement.

Il ne répondit pas, ses lèvres se pincèrent et il détourna le regard. Des fois, le silence est plus fort que les mots.

Tu mouillas un coton avant d'attraper doucement sa main pour la désinfecter.

"C'était pas moi… Je n'ai pas commencé." Il murmura.

"C'est trop simple de dire ça à chaque fois, Alain."

Il inspira et expira un 'oui' silencieux et serra les dents lorsque tu appuyais sur sa plaie.

La proximité entre vous deux te permettait d'entendre les battements de son cœur et de sentir son regard sur toi pendant que tu désinfectais soigneusement sa blessure.

En déposant le coton sur la table à côté de vous, tu sentis la main immobile d'Alain frôler légèrement ta cuisse lorsque tu te déplaças.

Tu mordilles ta lèvre pour dissimuler ta préoccupation. Chacun de ses mouvements, de ses regards ou de ses mots te procurait toujours une sensation qui était impossible à décrire.

Il était devenu de plus en plus compliqué pour toi d'assumer tes sentiments sans toujours imaginer le pire. Cependant, tu voulais que ça marche avec Alain. Tu sentais toujours des papillons dans ton ventre lorsque tu le voyais te sourire dans la cour, ou lorsqu'il dissimulait des lettres dans ton sac. Sans compter les fois où tu pouvais croiser son chemin, comme dans l'infirmerie par exemple.

Tout te menait à lui et tu ressentais quelque chose de différent, quelque chose de captivant.

***

Le lendemain, après la fin des cours, Alain t’avait invité pour faire un tour en ville. Au début, vous marchiez en silence. Tes interactions avec lui n’étaient jamais aussi gênantes, et l’ambiance était presque pesante actuellement.

"Désolée pour hier…"

Alain tourna sa tête, presque étonné que tu t’excuses.

"Ce n’est pas ta faute." Il répondit brièvement.

Tu te mordais les lèvres, tu ne savais pas comment rendre l’ambiance plus joyeuse ou seulement moins morbide.

"Joseph est-" Tu commences avant de te faire interrompre par Alain.

"C’est toujours Joseph, Y/n. Sauf que Joseph prend un malin plaisir à t'embêter, je le remarque très bien. Il faut que tu l'ignores, parce qu'il ne va pas s'arrêter si rapidement. Alors arrange toi pour qu’il arrête, ou je vais m’en occuper moi-même."

Lorsqu’il finit de s’exprimer, tu n'as pu t’empêcher de sortir un court ‘non’ de ta bouche. Tu ne voulais pas qu’ils s’en prennent aux mains comme toujours.

Tu attrapes son bras pour le pousser légèrement vers toi. Soit tu attendais et tu risquais peut-être que la situation dégénère ou se finisse autrement que prévu, soit tu prenais ton courage à deux mains.

Alain te regardait de nouveau avec un regard rempli de désir. Tu ne savais pas ce que ce regard voulait exactement dire, mais bien que tu ne veuilles pas te tourner des films, il n’était en aucun cas amical.

"J’aimerais t’avoir à moi pour une fois… pour pouvoir agir sans que quelqu’un me coupe à chaque fois…" Alain affirma.

Vous arrivez dans une petite ruelle. Vous marchez de plus en plus lentement et vos corps se rapprochaient au fur et à mesure que vous avancez, jusqu'à ce que vos mains se frôlèrent à plusieurs reprises.

Vos deux regards se croisèrent lorsque vous sentez la main de l’autre. Alain s’avança devant toi et s’arrêta soudainement, ce qui mena à ton arrêt à toi aussi.

"Y/n, j'aimerais tellement que tu sois plus confiante, tu es jolie et intelligente. Ne te cache pas et ne te laisse pas marcher dessus par qui que ce soit."

Tes sourcils se levèrent lorsque tu entendis ses mots. Tes joues devinrent immédiatement rouges malgré le fait que tu essayais de les cacher.

Alain se pencha lentement vers toi, sa main se tendait vers ton bras. Il n’osait pas la poser autre part et attendait surtout une réponse de ta part pour le faire. Ses yeux se baissèrent de nouveau vers tes lèvres. Cependant, cette fois-ci, il ne détourna pas le regard. Malgré l’hésitation, il posa enfin ses lèvres sur les tiennes et tu répondis immédiatement au baiser. Ses lèvres douces s’appuyèrent contre les tiennes et bougeaient à la même allure que les tiennes.

Quelques secondes plus tard, vous reculez tous les deux vos visages et vous regardèrent dans les yeux avant qu’Alain t’affiche un sourire doux.

"Je n’aurais pas pensé faire ça ici… mais c’est même mieux." Il sourit et posa enfin une main sur ta taille.

Tu fus prise par les émotions et atteins à nouveau ses lèvres pour l’embrasser. Il appuya fermement sur ta taille en même temps que ses lèvres s’enfoncèrent dans les tiennes.

Sa respiration chaude soufflait contre ta peau et tu la sentais s’accélérer doucement.

Tu sentis ses lèvres former un sourire contre les tiennes et tu ne pus t'empêcher de sourire à ton tour.

De nouveau, tu sentais comme une sensation de flottement dans ton estomac. Sa main qui caressait tendrement ta taille et les mouvements de vos lèvres les unes contre les autres ne faisaient qu'empirer ton cas.

Cependant, ce que tu ne pouvais pas savoir était que du côté d'Alain, des tonnes d'émotions et de sensations envahissaient également son corps et faisait palpiter son cœur en rythme avec les battements du tien.

1758 mots.

[bitesonmyneck]

Any of these gothic/slutty perfume brands or scents you'd recommend???

JUMPING FOR JOY AT THIS ASK

okay so disclaimer i haven’t tried all these myself (some of them are still shipping sigh), some of these are challenging fragrances, not every fragrance works with everyone’s skin chemistry, price point varies wildly, etc etc etc whatever. 🚨 i accidentally wrote a whole essay instead of just giving yall a list, be warned 🚨

for my taste in “gothic” perfumes i really use a pretty broad definition of the word “gothic,” but if you scroll through my blog a bit you probably understand the type of thing i like. i tend to like churchy scents or anything that leans towards something more melancholic.

les liquides imaginaires makes a lot of more subversive fragrances, but lacrima is my personal favorite. when i tried this one, i almost only smelled the incense on the opening, but as it dried down, it smelled like, eerily exactly what a catholic school smells like. now i didn’t go to a catholic school (god bless), but i did sing in a lot of catcholic churches and schools for the choirs i was in and it’s like a photorealistic recreation. i asked my friends who went to catholic schools to smell it and they all agreed. it’s that old, damp building that’s got faint trances of holy reverence and frankincense. lacrima’s notes are: elemi, benzoin, palisander rosewood, pink pepper, castoreum, and moss.

filippo sorcinelli has some fucking wild fragrances and easily some of if not the coolest bottles i’ve ever seen. i just bought a sample of reliqvia and im so stoked to try it. it’s supposed to be a very visceral depiction of the suffering of christ and also draws from very old, grand italian churches. like, the bottle literally has a nail from the cross on its design. stealing these from the website and not fragrantica, reliqvia’s notes are: (‘subject’: patchouli, incense, cashmere wood, guaiac wood, sandalwood / ‘counter subject’: orange blossom, scots pine, cloves, lentisk, amyris / ‘tail’: elemi, sweet orange, black currant, nutmeg, smoke notes, tobacco leaves).

relique d’amour by oriza l. legrand is another one i have on the way that im very excited for, although i admittedly know nothing about the brand. from what i can tell, its a combination of damp cellar and incense (old church yet again) and funereal lilies. someone on fragrantica said it smells like the mystic part of catholicism. very exciting to me. its notes are: (top: pine, herbal notes / middle: lily, incense, powdery notes, elemi, pepper, oak, myrrh / base: moss, woody notes, pepper, musk).

serge lutens is that girl for gothic perfume. depending on your niche, they have a bunch of really cool stuff, but tbh i wish the bottles had a little more swag. i got a sample of de profundis, which is supposed to be very melancholic. it’s got mums and soil and incense notes, which to me really just sounds like an actual funeral procession. people say it’s very hazy, almost phantasmic. its notes are: chrysanthemum, green notes, soil tincture, plum tree, and incense. i also picked up a sample of la religieuse, which like, i can’t even try and describe what the story behind this one. i just wanted one that was melancholic yet definitely feminine-leaning as opposed to unisex (although scents really should not be gendered. i’m just aching for some gender euphoria). its notes are: jasmine, musk, incense, and civet. also i got a sample of l’orpheline, which is described by others as being just very dreary. someone on fragrantica said that its cleanness reminds them of a freshly showered corpse. its notes are: black pepper, dry woods, and incense.

i can’t write much on this one because i just haven’t paid much attention to it, but i know funerie by pineward is pretty cool. it’s dead roses, smoke, cedar, and i am not kidding ! one of the notes in this perfume is blood ! the description is “rites of the dead, a shroud of bleakness. feasting fungi and wilted roses nestle atop charred pineboards and a base of heavy resins and incense. (a challenging perfume”. so i guess if you wanna smell like the ending scene from the vvitch this is probably the perfume for you. its notes are: dried rose, leather, incense, smoke, oud, myrrh, mushroom, cedar, tobacco, blood.

okay. huge, HUGE disclaimer for my sexy scents. by “sexy,” i do NOT mean shit that smells good and will make people want to sniff your neck until they’re drunk on your scent. i mean sex. tableaus of dirty fornication, unclean sleaziness, and fucking. these are pervy.

if any of this sounds appealing to you, marlou is your best friend. buy the sample set from them and enjoy. i personally have only sampled carnicure from them. but christ did i love it. to me, carnicure smells like masturbating and not washing your hands after, your smell only saved by faint traces of baby powder. like, imagine hooking up with a really toxic dude who wants to cum on your face and then doesn’t help you clean up, but then you’re late to something and hastily, sloppily clean up in the bathroom and only have time to save yourself by spritzing on his mom’s very vintage, powdery perfume. it’s not overpoweringly sleazy—i managed to get away with wearing it in public—but when i’d go back to smell my wrist, i’d get those beautiful, dainty violet notes, and then my lips would curl into a scandalous smirk at the raunchier notes. its notes are: (top: violet, orange blossom / middle: sandalwood, patchouli / bottom: musk, civet, labadanum). the other one i want from them is ambilux. dude, i don’t even know what to say about this one. one review (and god i love whoever wrote this, thank you “billy loom” on fragrantica) said it smells “as if i’m in the room when some of the most depraved images i’ve encountered in flickr are being taken.” so think teen boy stealing a girl’s dirty panties off the floor at a house party and draping them over his face while he jerk’s off, saves only by prettier notes of… someone said baccarat 540 ? werk. its notes are: (top: cumin, pink pepper / middle: incense, ylang-ylang / base: castoreum, costus, immmortelle).

scentsplit isn’t on my level of pervy perfumes, i guess, because i couldn’t get a sample of this one and the brand doesn’t sell a 1/2ml of it individually, but i NEED to try aftertaste by wile. there’s like barely information about it on fragrantica and i don’t even remember how i stumbled upon this one, so i’ll just quote the brand. “ash / leather / exotic saffron / musk / slick skin / disheveled nightstand. there’s something beautiful about a taste of such debauchery. the disheveled nightstand. slick skin gripping leather. a rose with a few too many thorns. disappearing into the shadows of deep and bittersweet musk, illicit and dark yet welcoming and warm despite its jagged edges. waking up to a familiar scent, yet unfamiliar face. a romance only recognized by a dinner. hard to dismiss, long after the taste.” from what i’ve heard, it’s definitely the most traditionally sexy of the perfumes i’ve listed here. still that immersive olfactory experience of having sex, but girly and hot. its notes are: leather, skin, ash, rose, musk, and saffron. i’m probably just gonna say fuck it at some point and blind buy it because something is wrong with me psychologically and i like this kind of thing.

[u2fangirlie-blog]

Good Omens Aziraphale's Sad Bastard Breakup Playlist

After the breakup, Aziraphale has a new job in heaven, having taken Gabriel’s vacant position. Aziraphale is haunted by sad music reminding him of his time with Crowley. The songs are dramatic, tragic, melancholic, angry, wistful, romantic, and sentimental. How does he listen to music at his new job in the head office? Are material objects allowed? Does he keep a secret stash of tea, cake, and records and a phonograph player in his office? Does he have a celestial radio that can tune in Earth radio stations? Does he sneak off to Earth to hang out in record shops and bookstores? Or more dramatically and emotionally torturously, does he remember every note, every nuance, every feeling, of every song and replay them in his mind? He's stuffing his face with angel food cake and tea while crying and listening to sad bastard songs and hiding from Michael and the Metatron.

See note after list on song selection process.

Songs include:

“Lacrimosa” – Mozart, Requiem in D Minor, Vienna Mozart Orchestra

“Commendatore” – Mozart, Don Giovanni, Amadeus film soundtrack

“Ja, tot katoramu vnimala” – Rubenstein, The Demon, Nicolai Ghiaurov

“D’amour l’ardente flemme” – Berlioz, The Damnation of Faust, Maria Callas

“Liebestod” – Wagner, Tristan and Isolde, Waltraud Meier

“Ach ich fuhls” – Mozart, The Magic Flute, Gundula Janowitz

“Thy hand, Belinda … When I am laid in earth” – Purcell, Dido and Aeneas, Janet Baker

“E lucevan la stelle” – Puccini, Tosca, Placido Domingo

“Celeste Aidia” – Verdi, Aida, Mario Lanza

“Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen” Mahler, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau

“Der Wanderer” – Schubert, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau

“Love is a Plaintive Song” – Gilbert and Sullivan, Patience, D’Oyly Carte Opera Company

“I am a Courtier Grave and Serious” – Gilbert and Sullivan, The Gondoliers, D’Oyly Carte Opera Company

“The Gentleman is a Dope” – Rodgers and Hammerstein, Allegro, Blossom Dearie

“A Hymn to Him” – Lerner and Lowe, My Fair Lady, Rex Harrison

“Could I Leave You?” – Sondheim, Follies, Alexis Smith

“We Do Not Belong Together” – Sondheim, Sunday in the Park with George, Bernadette Peters and Mandy Patinkin

“On My Own” – Schonberg, Les Misérables, Frances Ruffelle

“As Long as He Needs Me” – Bert, Oliver, Judy Garland

 “Stranger in Paradise” – Wright and Forest, Kismet, Richard Kiley and Doretta Morrow

“A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” – Sherwin and Maschwitz, Vera Lynn

“Night and Day” – Porter, The Gay Divorcee, Ella Fitzgerald

“I’ve Got You Under My Skin” – Porter, Born to Dance, Shirley Bassey

“Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” – Rodgers and Heart, Pal Joey, Sarah Vaughan

“They Can’t Take That Away From Me” – Gershwin, Shall We Dance, Fred Astaire

“Mon Deu” – Dumont and Vaucaire, Edith Piaf

“Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” – Dumont and Vaucaire, Edith Piaf

P.S.: Aziraphale likes Les Mis because it reminds him of that time Crowley rescued him from the Bastille. Don't tell anyone. It's a big secret.

P.P.S.: “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” reminds him of the time he and Crowley got drunk in the backroom at the bookshop the day the anti-Christ was delivered to Earth. Basically, this song reminds him of every time they went out for drinks or stayed in and drank.

P.P.P.S.: “I am a Courtier Grave and Serious” was the song Aziraphale planned to play when trying to tempt Crowley into learning the gavotte. It reminds him of the ball in the bookstore when he finally danced with Crowley.

P.P.P.P.S.: “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” is as close as Aziraphale can get to telling the world and Crowley to eff off. He has no more effs to give. Or at least he’s trying to convince himself he no longer gives a f***. He’s going off to his new job at the head office and Do Good.

Note on song selection:

I selected songs that thematically fit with the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley. I think the songs tell a story of Aziraphale’s struggle to reconcile his conflicted motivations. They reflect Aziraphale’s fears and desires. He fears being hauled off to hell for disobedience. He fears Crowley’s death and being alone in the world. He desires to be emotionally intimate with Crowley. (Dare he risk physical intimacy with Crowley?) He feels self-righteously indignant, but he’s soft and squishy and weepy and misses his best friend.

I don’t have much knowledge of opera or musical theater, but I have some experience with choir and solo performance. I did a lot of research into opera, art songs, musicals, showtunes, and standards to create a playlist on YouTube. Selections were based on availability, popularity, and sound quality. My big question was whether or not Aziraphale is a strict originalist or if he likes different versions of songs. In some places, I chose newer versions over original versions due to the sound quality of the recordings. I tried to keep selections accessible to a wide audience with varying degrees of musical knowledge. You may not like my choices, so your mileage may vary. You can make your own playlist.

You can listen to it on YouTube.

[epopoiia-leblog]

Christmas cookies

Les ondes radio résonnent, Mariah Carey s’époumone, le chocolat fond dans la casserole. Des paroles dégoulinantes d’amour arrivent jusqu’à ses lèvres, et la cuillère de crème qu’elle glisse dans sa bouche. Une fois, deux fois, elle goûte à son mélange, y ajoute du sucre, chante à tue-tête ce joyeux hit des fêtes. Le four est déjà chaud, son corps bien enflammé, elle se déhanche et danse sous l'œil de ses sablés. Bientôt dorée leur croûte et beurrée leur saveur aussi douce que cette partition sucrée qu’elle connaît par cœur. L’odeur monte à son nez, un tendre parfum cacaoté, et la note s’élève, trop haut pour ne pas chanter faux. Qu’importe dans sa cuisine, n’est-elle pas la reine ? Dans cette scène improvisée, oui, la star c’est bien elle. Maniques en mains, toque bien coiffée et tablier noué, la fumée s’échappe du fourneau, ne manque plus que les lumières, et un public pour l’acclamer. Qu’importe la cuisine dérangée, l’entassement des cocottes, bols et autres ustensiles débordant dans l’évier, les taches de gras, jets de farine de tous côtés, le goûter du Père Noël est enfin prêt. Ne reste plus qu’à lui servir son verre de lait.

[extollwest]

the lady and the cowgirl;

notes: inspired by the old west and rdr. a wlw drabble where a spoiled, aristocratic lady falls for meets a rugged cowgirl. cue the hot, lesbian sex or whatever (not actually, this drabble is very pure and super cute honestly!). let me know what you think!

The apple trees had begun bearing fruit that late summer evening when a young, well-dressed lady decided to make her home in the cool shade of their branches.

“Vivre d’amour et d’eau fraîche,” she whispered in broken French, lip curling in frustration at the sloppy attempt. 

Educated as the girl was raised to be, she despised foreign languages with a hot passion. Most attempts at learning them were futile and subsequently ended with tears of frustration.

A cool breeze swept through the orchard, kissing her rouged cheeks and mussing the bright green leaves above. They danced peacefully in the wind, rustling and crinkling in a beautiful, unified symphony.

Her back arched and hit the rough bark of the familiar tree, feeling it scrape against the soft linen of her dress. Her hand extended towards the sky, nimble fingers fluttering as the soft flares of sunlight trickled through her pale hand and down her face.

Something buzzed next to her ear, and she swatted it promptly with the back of her hand. The heat of August was bearable, yet certainly enjoyed to a lesser degree within the thick, bouffant layers of her formal dress that she half-heartedly agreed to wear that dewy morning.

In the less fortunate moments of her privileged life, she would grow painfully aware of the tight corset around her waist and how restrictive it was for her breathing. She would reach behind and untie it sloppily, letting the threads hang loosely against her back until someone ultimately reprimanded her for it. In the orchard, she didn’t have to hear anybody’s musings. Here she could forget her upbringing and legacy.

She kicked her leather boots off promptly and watched them fall into the tall grass with a soft thud. To her amusement, one of them had landed directly upright, and so she giggled loudly at the fact.

Her attention moved back to the leather-bound book resting peacefully against her tummy. She picked it up gently and skimmed through the delicate pages.

“Être né sous une bonne étoile,” she whispered hopefully under her warm breath, yet her tongue had already twisted uncomfortably and jumbled the words.

A red-hot storm began to bubble within her stomach, churning with a profound, uninhibited frustration that threatened to leap out of her lips at any moment. Instead, the young lady tucked the book closed, raised it over her head, and tossed it deep into the orchard with an exasperated grunt.

It landed within view, just between two thickets, open pages facing the azure of the afternoon sky. She sighed, eyebrows furrowed yet smiling, satisfied with her brazen impudence.

An intricate leather boot stepped out from among the rosebushes, followed by another. The lady’s gaze widened as it followed up the rugged, dirtied jeans, silver-clasped belt, leather-trimmed vest, and finally upon the worn face of an unfamiliar woman glancing down at her discarded book.

The lady froze in shock, scooting against the rough bark of the tree, deep enough for the texture to dig into her backside. Her eyes followed the woman’s movements fervently, curiously, fearfully. She leaned down and grabbed the book, skimming through the pages and smiling suddenly. It was an ugly smile, crooked and fit for a delinquent, yet earnest and uninhibited in how wide it appeared.

"Vous parlez français, ma dame?” she spoke through her grin, voice honeyed and raspy. It was a beautiful iteration, flawless and naturally flowing, yet it made the young lady’s blood curdle in horror. 

Their eyes met. The cowgirl’s eyes were sleek and cold, pupils like two oases entrapped in a sea of blue as she scanned down the lady’s vulnerable figure. Somehow, it felt like she could smell her fear, not only sense it; like a beast ready to pounce on its prey.

The girl’s throat went dry, hands fumbling with the thick skirts to reach a makeshift strap of leather on her thigh that harbored a crude, dull blade. She grabbed at the carved handle, yet her breath hitched when it stuck firmly within its holster, refusing to budge.

Suddenly, there was laughter, hoarse and gritty: a kind of powerful belly laugh that the lady hadn’t heard since coming of age.

“I don’t want no trouble, little lady. Just felt curious as to who would treat a book with so little respect like that,” she spoke calmly, seemingly unaffected by the girl’s attempt at defending herself. 

“And what’s it to you? It’s just a book,” the lady responded defensively, the grip on her knife loosening and falling to the side. She watched as the cowgirl’s honey-brown locks fell upon her sweat-slick forehead, peeking from under the wide-brimmed hat perched on her head. She smiled again, revealing a row of crooked teeth.

“A book’s never just a book. It comes embedded with a piece of someone’s soul, see?” she spoke brightly, raising the open book and tapping two fingers against the text. “Hand-printed, glued together, too. Someone out there took time outta’ their day to make this for you, blood, sweat, and all that.” 

She took a step forward, glancing at the discarded boot in her way, and kicked them to the side with her own pair. Then, she looked back up, a glint in her blue eyes. “Toss one of these away, you’re tossin’ out a piece of someone's soul with it."

[petit-atelier-de-poesie]

Quelques trucs bien. Mai 2024

Ces “Quelques trucs bien” s’inspirent directement des “3 trucs bien” de Fabienne Yvert, publié au Tripode. 

Pas 3 par jour pour ma part, mais une volonté régulière de gratitude et d’optimisme. 

Recevoir des compliments sur notre travail d’équipe et l’accueil dans le service 

Fêter les mamans sur trois générations. Échanger des plantes fleuries à entretenir comme l’amour 

Être présente pour valoriser l’établissement 

Recevoir un message de réconfort et de soutien d’une collègue suite à une crise 

Préparer le premier barbecue de la saison dans le jardin. Inviter les amis 

Jardiner en famille et planter dans le potager 

Bricoler en famille et améliorer la pergola d’une toile d’ombrage

Organiser l’anniversaire de mon fils : 24 ans déjà ! 

Aller aux bébés nageurs avec ma fille et mon petit Mateo. Être éclaboussés de bonheur 

Superviser le sauvetage d’un oisillon mésange, tout juste sorti du nid et déjà guetté par la minette. Laisser du temps aux petites ailes fatiguées

Recueillir la confidence d’une collègue. Me sentir honorée de sa confiance 

Surligner ma lecture au stabilo rose. Prendre des notes « En cas d’amour »

Mettre short et tongs pour la première fois cette année. Enfin ! 

Passer une vraie journée détente : repas en terrasse, spa et massage. Exceptionnel et délicieux ! Et cadeau de mes enfants ! 

Passer une journée en montagne avec ma fille et sa famille. Passer d’une saison à l’autre en quelques heures. Surmonter le mal d’altitude pour admirer le parc des animaux sauvages : bisons, cerfs, chevaux et sangliers, et le reste de la faune dans cet espace protégé

Passer une journée en Italie avec ma sœur et ma fille. Faire le plein de soleil et de rire 

Écouter ma nièce lire sa production d’atelier d’écriture détournant les contes classiques. Me souvenir de mes propres textes détournés. Conclure par « je me suis bien amusée » et l’encourager à continuer 

Boire un verre de vin blanc en regardant le coucher de soleil du lundi de la reprise, comme pour prolonger le temps de vacances

Répondre positivement à une invitation à déjeuner. Prévoir d’apporter une bouteille de vin blanc 

Planter et rempoter sur la terrasse avec mon fils. Arroser en attendant la pluie (pour une fois) qui favorisera l’enracinement

Accueillir un nid de mésanges sous l’évacuation de ma terrasse. Les savoir là du regard sur leurs allers et venues, et de l’écoute de leurs pépiements 

Passer du temps avec mon petit Mateo. M’émerveiller et m’émouvoir de son développement. L’encourager des deux mains  

Aller à la jardinerie pour fleurir ma terrasse de rose et de bleu 

Passer une journée pluvieuse sous la couette. Attendre le retour du soleil 

[spadecentral]

🫀 In His Head | Rook Hunt x Reader

>> requested: yes, by @pinkskybelle >> a/n: didnt do him justice pls save me

>> masterlist: 400 fllr. special , here!! >> summary: you reject rook >> reader prns: they/them >> warning(s): oblivious reader, you have an s/o

Rook hoped you would get the memo. The arrows that had messages attached to them, the little gifts; he hoped those would resonate a thought within you.

Unfortunately, you were more dense than he had realized. You would return his arrows with a smile, and read his letters aloud. Something that was meant for your eyes was broadcasted to your friend group. And they knew what was up. Of course they did. They would send him judgemental glares in the halls. And yet they never bothered to tell you. At least, when they tried to hint at it you would never understand.

But today… today you would understand. He had prepared everything. You would be awed by the beauty of what he had prepared for you. You couldn’t ignore his feelings now.

Figuring out where you were was easy. He basically knew the school from the inside out, and also knew your schedule and routes by heart. It was 12:07, and you would be eating lunch on the bleachers while you watched the spelldrive practice.

Picking up an arrow, Rook stabbed it through a note that read Please come behind the bleachers on the opposite side, le chasseur d'amour. Placing the back of the arrow on the string, he pulled it back before the twang of releasing it sounded. And the arrow stuck perfectly on the wooden bleachers you were sitting on. He watched as you read the notes aloud, and how your friends talked to you about something that you denied.

When you rounded the corner, he was nervously excited. He asked you to follow him, and you complied, nodding and smiling. Perfectly oblivious.

You followed Rook into a small clearing surrounded by trees, where he stopped and turned to look at you.

“Rook, can I ask what this is all about?” you asked, confused on why he would bring you so secluded.

“Le chasseur d’amour, je suis très amoureux de toi. A chaque instant, je pense à toi. S'il vous plaît, acceptez ma confession.” He confessed, hand on his chest and one out at you.

“I’m so sorry… could you repeat that?” you asked, not speaking French.

“Trickster,” he started, more embarrassed than before. “I am deeply in love with you. Would you do me the utmost favor of accepting my confession?”

“You… love me?” you ask.

“I always have,” he says, taking off his hat.

“Oh Rook,” you sigh deeply. “I’m so sorry.”

“Excuse moi?” He was not prepared for this response.

“I’m so sorry Rook.” you feel tears well in your eyes. “I’m already dating someone.”

“If I may,” his heart drops. “Who?”

“Someone from my home,” your lips form a sickly sweet smile. “They’re from my world.”

Oh.

He could never compete with someone from a different world. And he would rather lay down his bow than interfere with your relationships.

“I… je vois,” he wouldn’t let tears come to his eyes. He wouldn’t allow it. “In that case, thank you for your time, Prefect.”

He exited the forest without you, and was lowering the hem of his hat so as to not be seen in such a state. He wouldn’t love someone again. He wouldn’t put his heart out there. For his broken heart would never heal again.

>> twst taglist: @tulipluvlettr | @ghost-hyacinth | @oseathepebble | @ventisaircurrent | @epelys | @pastelmages | @xphantasmagoriax | @atlasnessie | @divinesapph | @ze-maki-nin | @booming-spam | @flqyd-is-lost | @v-anrouge | @cupids-chamber | @oepionie | @ravenlking | @queerlordsimon | @kyraxiyn | @rayisalive

[marandsviet-amour]

Entre l’oubli et le désir, mon cœur erre encore.

[reliquiaria]

wahhhh maia i gotta say thank you for allowing me to add another perfume to my already-long list of scents to try out! relique d’amour has such beautiful packaging omg!!! i googled the notes and it truly does sound like the description i gave you 👁️

maybe if i get this scent i’ll think of you and the same beauty you exude~

oh no ryu i should be the one thanking you for setting up such a creative ask game !!

on a side note: i really recommend getting oriza l. legrand’s sample package 👀 my favorite out of them is for sure jardins d’armide (a floral + powdery fragrance named after one of my all-time favorite characters in literature?! how could i possibly pass on it?!) but really they have an amazing catalog !!

[sarahaubel]

Concombre et fentanyl.

En route pour Paris. Encore. Et quelle impatience. Toujours. Je suis partie en lui disant « je suis sûre d’avoir oublié quelque chose ». Et maintenant là sur le quai je sais. Mes chaussettes. Par contre j’ai pris 3 livres. Au cas où. 3 livres pour une nuit mais aucune paire de chaussettes. Je devine mon sens des priorités. M’évader en puant des pieds. Quelle vie de bohème je mène. / Voiture 15 place 48. Je le note là pour pas oublier. / Le chien des douanes ne s’arrête jamais sur moi. Non pas que je transporte 3kg de fentanyl mais j’aimerais tout de même qu’il me témoigne de l’intérêt. Sa truffe humide me méprise. Il me dépasse sans un regard. Ça me vexe à tous les coups. Il n’a pas vu la hors-la-loi qui sommeille en moi. / À chaque voyage, témoin de cette scène, je m’interroge : « je suis voiture 15 place 22 » « moi aussi » elle souffle « c’est de pire en pire ». Et l’un l’autre se mènent un duel sans merci à qui a raison, à qui sortira son billet le premier, mais si regardez c’est écrit là je vous dit, et l’autre de vérifier à son tour parce qu’il doute soudain. Ils se font monter la moutarde au nez alors que le wagon est presque vide. Ce n’est plus une histoire de sièges mais de faiblesse et d’autorité. L’être humain dans toute sa splendeur. / Sinon cette nuit j’ai rêvé qu’une ancienne copine de lycée, devenue actrice depuis me présentait son nouveau-né. Il s’appelle Concombre me disait-elle les yeux pleins d’amour. Entre nous je peux feinter devant une Clitorine ou un Robert mais la garce, elle m’avait coincée avec son Concombre.

Bref voilà. Je suis dans le train pour Paris. Je vous embrasse.

[pommunist]

Chère Pommunist,

Merci pour ta patience, ta nuance et ta gentillesse à toutes épreuves. J'espère que tu prends soin de toi car même si les gens ne t'envoient pas de haine, ce type de situation peut devenir rapidement épuisant.

Je tiens à t'informer que dans un climat grandissant de mauvaise fois assumée et d'une incapacité à lire inquiétante du beau site qu'est tumblr – où il est toujours de bon goût de poster "si j'ai bien compris, le syndicat veut que Q MEURT 😨" plutôt que de relire les phrases lentement et avec le doigt qui suit la ligne – je résiste à l'envie terrible de laisser un message passif agressif d'explications en anon en ton honneur.

En effet, alors que je tapais un long message sarcastique et un peu méchant dans mes notes pour l'effacer ensuite comme j'en ai maintenant l'habitude (ça permet d'extérioriser...), m'est venue l'idée saugrenue que peut-être, sans doute, ça ne ferait pas trop de mal de poster ce message dans les asks d'une personne particulièrement obtuse... et je me suis dit que Pommunist, rayon de soleil de tumblr, symbole de patience à toute épreuve et de gentillesse sans faille dans l'adversité, n'approuverait pas. On a tous des moments de faiblesse je suppose, mais je suis contente de ne pas avoir suivi le mien, et c'est grâce à toi que ça a été possible.

(Je continue d'être aigrie cela dit. Mais aigrie selon les principes pommunistiens de respect et de tolérance.)

Bref continue comme ça, t'es incroyable, j'en deviendrait presque parasociale (/j)

(Mais entre nous........ parfois ce message ultra sarcastique dans les notes du téléphone démange les doigts........ je sais pas comment tu fais pour garder ton calme tout le temps mais j'admire........ Mais plus sérieusement, continue d'être quelqu'un de super (autant que possible, tu reste humaine !!), parce que je trouve ça vraiment cool que ta gentillesse m'ait inspirée moi et peut-être d'autres à ne pas écouter la petite voix dans la tête qui donne envie d'être méchant parfois. Dans une situation déjà tendue ça n'aiderait à rien mais parfois j'ai envie de m'énerver quand même. Bref, long message mais voilà, je t'envoie beaucoup de force et d'amour, prends soin de toi !!)

Franchement j’ai fait la paix avec le fait que certaines personnes ne savent juste pas lire quand j’ai vu un tweet qui répondait à la trad qu’on a fait de l’interview de léa en demandant quand s’etait passée l’interview (c’est literallement dans la première phrase du doc, tout en haut, écrite en gras 🫡). Et je pense que y’a beaucoup de gens qui sont tellement attachés à Q ou au serveur qu’ils vont inconsciemment chercher la moindre petite bête dans les discours d’en face pour les discréditer et se dire que tout va bien se passer, force à eux mdrrrr

Et vraiment c’est pas l’envie qui me manque des fois de passer en mode full français vnr full gilet jauné ambiance bien on brûle des poubelles dans la rue mais bon déjà qu’on galère à faire passer le message si on garde pas calme ça serait encore pire mdr

Mon astuce c’est juste de ronchonner en parlant à mes chats pour rester zen (ils captent rien ils doivent penser que je leur exprime mon amour et good for them franchement)

En tous cas trop doux ton message, merci beaucoup et plein d’amour en retour !!! Par contre, attends, t’as dit parasoQUOI ?????

/jjjjj

Je rigole dsl ça fait trop longtemps que j’avais cette image sans pouvoir l’utiliser car j’ai le malheur d’avoir la chance de pas recevoir de haine en anon 😔✊✊

Et on oublie pas que les valeurs pommunistiennes sont certes le respect et la tolérance mais aussi les droits des travailleurs, la grève, la RÉVOLUTION DRAAAAA (now playing l’internationale)

[iranondeaira]

« Aussi terrible que cela puisse être, je veux connaître la vérité, docteur. Est-ce qu'être humain est une maladie incurable ?

- Par Quino

Disons que « rien n’est plus long que la véritable naissance d’un être humain » et qu’une fois engagé sur le chemin il n’y a pas de retour possible …

D’aucuns diront " telle est la voie " , il n’y a juste aucune carte qui indique le chemin, la voie est cachée, "les morts la gardent " diront d’autres, ( désolé pour les réfs, je crois que "j’aime" amener l’autre sur des sentiers qu’il ne pense pas à emprunter … ) mais ces autres ne savent pas à quel point ils ne sont pas loin de toucher juste, ils ne savent pas qu’ils ne savent pas … après tout la composante à laquelle je fais allusion par " énigme " est dans son essence extrêmement difficile à saisir, tellement qu’on l’écarte consciencieusement je dirais même …

Vous pouvez en trouver des traces un peu partout … cela demande de s’aventurer … loin … Un certain R. Carter pourrait vous désigner d’un doigt lunaire un escalier qui descend, un café saupoudré d’épice à l’odeur de cannelle tendu par un colonel devenu vieux égaré dans un autre désert que le sien ( vous avez le choix du désert quoiqu’une ancienne légende laisse entendre à l’instar des océans qu’ils ne sont qu’une seule et même étendue de sable ) peut vous amener entre … Une grande armoire au fond d’un grenier, un échangeur d’une gare d’où partent de nombreuses traverses , un terrier, le pont d’un baleinier de l’ancien temps où d’un autre vaisseau , une vielle carte au trésor d’une île imaginaire d’une cité qui rêve … un petit théâtre parisien où ne se joue qu’une seule et même pièce d’un vieux rhinocéros ceci en attendant un certain G qui ne vous aidera pas en définitive et la pluie vous poussera peut-être à pousser la porte d’une vielle librairie ou un vieux libraire vous déconseillera un certain livre car " il n’est pas pour les enfants" … et sans savoir pourquoi vous " l’emprunterez " … en vous disant que vous le rapporterez car vous n’êtes pas un voleur quand bien même certaines choses se volent car personne ne peut vous les donner … vous essayerez de regarder entre l’encre et le papier telle cette histoire d’un perroquet qui se mirant dans un miroir chercha la troisième face … vous vous essayerez peut-être à une partie d’échec contre vous-même touchant par là même ce que les " quatre cavaliers " ( les principaux ) ont exploré sans cesse et dont ils n’ont fait que pousser la porte bien qu’ils aient ouvert la voie, vous pourrez même l’entendre entre les notes de musique d’une chanson car paraît-il que la musique donne à faire pénétrer dans les oreilles ce qui n’y est pas communément admis … du moins si vous prêtez l’oreille aux paroles ( Ne me quitte pas est beaucoup de choses mais en rien une chanson d’amour , la version de Barbara elle si ) …

ha oui et méfiez vous des mots 🎶 Les mots que vous employez n'étant plus "les mots"

Mais une sorte de conduit

À travers lequel les analphabètes se font bonne conscience… 🎶 ils se jouent de nous …

La vie est une énigme dirait une sorcière … et une réalité à vivre répondrait une autre … allons voir plus loin si vous le voulez bien pensera le marin …

D’aucuns vous diront que ça n’arrive que dans les films en oubliant ( mais ils ont oublié tellement de choses ) que les films sont une fenêtre ouverte sur … et qu’ils jouent eux-mêmes dans leur propre film sans savoir de quel côté ils sont , dans la salle où sur l’écran … tas de viandes parmi d’autres dans un troupeau parmi d’autres…

On vous parlera peut-être d’une salle des miroirs , de l’autre côté … je vais vous dévoiler un " secret " j’ai longtemps cru que c’était cet endroit qu’il fallait trouver … beaucoup le croient et je n’ai compris pourquoi que très récemment pourquoi on n’allait pas au-delà … au-delà est ce dont parlait un ermite aveugle dans un désert sur une planète de dunes … un lieu où paraît-il les femmes ne peuvent pas aller du moins est-ce les dires de sorcière qui tamisent les gens tels du matériel humain à polir … j’en ai discuté longtemps et souvent avec une de celles que je nomme les Sorcières en allusion hommage au surnom de ma mère donné par des confrères et collègues en références à cette histoire contée dans un grand livre et quelques films ( qu’elle ironie d’ailleurs qu’aujourd’hui ce livre revienne … quand on connaît les tenants et aboutissants… une tempête vient du désert … du plus profond de nous … ) j’en ai discuté souvent disais-je et j’ai fini par trouver pourquoi elles ne pouvaient pas ( du moins en partie) , il est difficile d’aller dans un endroit où vous êtes … la femme avec qui j’ai cette longue discussion depuis plusieurs années n’émettait aucune objection quant à cette " conclusion " oui il est difficile d’aller dans un endroit où vous êtes … Oui il y a un " lieu " où on n’aime pas regarder …

Et ce que ne disent pas ( Hormis si vous rencontrez un Stalker ) les contines les contes ou les légendes inachevées c’est qu’on n’en revient pas inchangé ni même indemne ( ou l’inverse ) … il y a toujours une pancarte avec une mise en garde " ne vous approchez pas du bord " " ne regardez pas en bas " …

Et très souvent dans les contes de fées " à la fin ils meurent tous " … c’est là que réside une des clés, celle qui vous amènera à rencontrer votre Ghola … et vous donnera à faire de vous avec ce que l’on a voulu faire de vous jusque-là …