#she laughed and said that’s fine if you care

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Northern Oaths

Summary - The fearless princess, captivated by the raw beauty of the North, faces a harrowing ordeal when abducted. Lord Cregan Stark, mesmerised by her charm and charisma, is driven by deep concern to rescue her, braving the dangers of the wild to save her.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Velaryon reader

Warnings - Violence (injury)

Word count - 2698

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"I am more than capable of completing the journey on horseback, just like the others," I declared confidently, my fingers gently tracing the silky mane of the horse before me.

"Princess, I only mean to suggest that a carriage might offer a more comfortable option," Lord Stark replied, a hint of concern in his voice. I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head in amusement.

"Lord Stark, my title may be 'princess,' but that does not mean I shy away from riding such a magnificent creature," I said, smiling as I carefully wove a braid into the horse's white mane, mirroring the intricate braid that adorned my hair.

"Of course," he conceded with a respectful nod. "Though I can only hope this fine beast provides as satisfactory a ride as your dragon," he added, a twinkle of humour in his eyes.

I chuckled at his words. "We best not let Silverwing hear such talk—she's rather possessive," I teased, swinging myself gracefully into the saddle.

As we began our journey to the Wall, the cold Northern air filled my lungs, invigorating and fresh. The landscape around us was a vast canvas of snow-draped hills and ancient trees, their branches heavy with frost. 

The North was wild, untamed, and breathtakingly beautiful.

Cregan rode beside me, his horse moving with practised ease through the snow-covered terrain. I took in the landscape, the wild beauty stretching out before us. 

"There's something captivating about the North," I remarked, my voice thoughtful. "It's untamed, yet undeniably beautiful."

Cregan glanced over at me, a faint smile curving his lips. "The North's beauty isn't always apparent at first glance, but it reveals itself to those who take the time to understand it."

I nodded, feeling a quiet understanding in his words. "I can see why your people hold it so dearly. There's a raw honesty to the land, something that feels... unspoiled."

He regarded me with a look of quiet appreciation. "It's rare to meet someone who sees the North as more than just a harsh, cold place. You seem to understand its true nature."

I met his gaze, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Perhaps it takes a certain kind of person to appreciate it. Someone who doesn't mind looking a little deeper."

"Or someone who values strength and resilience," he added, his tone thoughtful. "The North may be unforgiving, but it has a way of revealing what truly matters."

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Comfort is all well and good, but it's often overrated, don't you think? I've always believed that a challenge is where you find the most reward."

Cregan's eyes flickered with something unreadable, though his expression remained composed. "Then the North might be exactly where you belong, Princess."

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that made me pause. Our exchange was subtle, an unspoken understanding that lingered in the crisp air between us. 

We spoke of the land, but it was clear that our words carried another layer of meaning, one that neither of us needed to fully articulate.

As our conversation continued, one of Cregan's men, a younger rider with a mischievous glint in his eye, drew his horse closer to us. He had been listening quietly, but now a playful smile crossed his face. 

"Begging your pardon, Princess," he said, glancing between Cregan and me, "but it seems to me that you handle a horse as well as any Northern rider. Perhaps you'd care to prove it?"

Cregan's expression tightened ever so slightly, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "That's not necessary," he interjected smoothly. "The road ahead is treacherous, and a race could be dangerous in these conditions."

I scoffed lightly, meeting Cregan's gaze with a challenge of my own. 

"Lord Stark, do you truly believe I would back down from a bit of friendly competition?" I asked, my tone teasing but resolute. "I've faced worse than a little snow."

The young rider grinned, clearly pleased with my response. "A race it is then, Princess," he said, his enthusiasm infectious. "We'll start on your count."

Cregan sighed, his protective instinct warring with his knowledge that he couldn't stop me. "Very well," he said quietly, though the concern in his voice remained.

I turned my attention to the rider, feeling the thrill of the challenge stir within me. "On three, then," I said, my voice steady with anticipation. "One... two... three!"

In an instant, we were off. The cold air rushed past my face, and the snow crunched beneath the horses' hooves as we sped across the landscape. The thrill of the race consumed my focus. I urged my horse forward, feeling the powerful muscles move beneath me as we cut through the snow, the land itself almost falling away in the rush.

Beside me, the rider pushed his horse to match mine, his competitive spirit driving him forward. 

As we disappeared from their sight, the other men exchanged grins and murmurs of approval, but it was Cregan's gaze that lingered on me, a mixture of respect and something deeper.

I finally pulled my horse to a screeching halt when a group of men suddenly blocked our path. Their appearance was jarring, dressed in heavy, untamed furs that spoke of a life lived in the harshest of conditions. 

The young rider beside me did the same, his expression shifting from excitement to alarm as we realized we were no longer alone.

I cast a glance over my shoulder, noting with growing unease the considerable distance we had put between ourselves and the rest of our group. A cold dread began to seep into my bones, replacing the thrill of the race.

"Apologies," I said, trying to maintain my composure as one of the men stepped forward, his rough hand reaching for the reins of my horse.

"Princess," the rider beside me murmured, his voice low and tense. I frowned at the worry etched across his face.

"These men are wildlings," he explained, his voice barely above a whisper. The term meant little to me, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Aye, we are," one of the wildlings confirmed, a dark grin spreading across his face. "And if such royalty is riding these roads, then I believe we deserve an introduction." 

His hand shot out, gripping my arm with a roughness that made my breath hitch. I recoiled, shaking him off with a sharp twist of my wrist. 

"Lord Stark will have your heads," the young rider beside me interjected, his voice filled with defiance as he dismounted his horse and moved protectively to my side. "She is his guest."

"Shut up, boy," the wildling snarled, shoving him aside with a brutal force that sent him stumbling.

Before I could react, more wildlings emerged from the shadows, surrounding us with predatory intent. Panic surged through me as the man who had grabbed my arm yanked me off my horse, his grip like iron as I struggled against him. 

"Let me go!" I shouted, thrashing wildly as they dragged me away from my horse.

The rider attempted to intervene but he was quickly overpowered by the wildlings, who struck him down with ruthless efficiency. I fought with every ounce of strength I had, but the wildlings were relentless, their hands bruising as they forced me through the snow-covered forest.

"Lord Stark will find you! He will—" My words were cut off as one of the wildlings, a hulking brute with a cruel sneer, struck me hard across the head. 

The world spun violently, my vision blurring as pain exploded in my skull. I tried to stay conscious, to fight, but darkness closed in, my strength fading with every passing second.

The last thing I heard was the distant sound of my screams, echoing through the cold, unforgiving wilderness as I was pulled further away from safety, until finally, everything went black.

Back with the others, Cregan kept his pace steady, though his thoughts lingered on the race ahead. He couldn't help but feel a nagging unease. The thrill of the race was one thing, but the North was unforgiving, its dangers lurking just out of sight.

It wasn't long before the silence of the snowy landscape was shattered by a distant, panicked shout. Cregan's heart dropped as he urged his horse forward, the other men quickly following suit.

As they rounded a bend in the trail, the sight that met them was chilling. My horse lay sprawled on the ground, its beautiful silver-braided mane stained with blood. 

The elegant creature that had carried me so effortlessly mere moments ago now struggled weakly, a painful whine escaping its throat. Blood soaked the snow beneath it, turning the pristine white ground into a gruesome scene of red.

Cregan dismounted in one fluid motion, his eyes scanning the scene with mounting dread. Near the fallen horse, the young rider who had joined in the race lay slumped, his body bruised and bloodied. 

His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle. His hand pressed weakly against a gash on his side, blood seeping between his fingers.

Cregan rushed to his side, dropping to one knee as the men formed a protective circle around them, their eyes scanning the forest for any further danger. 

"Where is she?" Cregan demanded, his voice sharp with fear and urgency. "What happened?"

The rider coughed, blood staining his lips as he struggled to speak. "I tried...tried my best," he gasped, his voice filled with pain and guilt. "Wildlings... they ambushed us. They took her."

Cregan's heart pounded in his chest as the rider's words sank in. 

"They took her?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper as if saying it out loud would make it more real, more terrible.

The rider nodded weakly, his eyes clouded with pain and regret. "I fought... but there were too many. They overpowered us... they knocked her out and dragged her into the woods. I'm sorry, my lord, I—"

"Don't," Cregan interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "You did what you could. We'll get her back."

He turned to his men, his expression hardening into one of grim determination. 

"Search the area," he ordered, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "We need to find their trail. They can't have gone far."

The men nodded, their faces set with resolve as they spread out. Cregan stayed beside the injured rider, his jaw clenched as he surveyed the bloodstained snow. The sight of my horse, now struggling to breathe, filled him with a cold, simmering rage. 

This was his fault, he should have insisted on staying close, should have anticipated the dangers. I was out there, in the hands of wildlings, and every moment that passed put me in greater danger.

I woke to the sharp sting of cold air against my face, my body aching from the rough treatment I'd endured. Disoriented, I tried to move, only to find my hands bound tightly behind my back and a coarse gag tied around my mouth. 

Panic flared as I struggled against the restraints, my breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

The dim light filtered through the rough walls of a small, makeshift shelter. The air inside was thick with the scent of damp earth and unwashed bodies. My head throbbed from where I'd been struck, the pain radiating down my neck with each movement.

A shadow loomed over me, and I froze, my eyes widening in fear. A man with tangled hair and a filthy beard was kneeling beside me, his rough fingers combing through my hair as if inspecting it. 

His touch was far from gentle, tugging at the braids with a crude fascination. I recoiled inwardly, a shudder of revulsion passing through me, but I was helpless to stop him.

"Pretty princess," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "Never seen hair like this. Like silver... like moonlight."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the horror of the situation, but the terror gnawed at me, refusing to be ignored. My mind raced with thoughts of escape, but every idea crumbled against the reality of my bindings and the presence of the wildlings who had captured me. 

I could hear their voices outside, speaking in rough tones, the words indistinct but filled with a sinister edge.

Suddenly, the shelter was filled with the sounds of chaos, shouts, the clash of steel, and the unmistakable thud of bodies hitting the ground. My eyes snapped open as the wildling beside me stiffened, his hand falling away from my hair as he reached for his weapon.

The noise grew louder, closer, and I could hear the unmistakable sound of swords cutting through the air, of men fighting for their lives. My heart leapt with hope, even as fear clawed at me. 

Was it possible? Had Cregan and the others found me?

The wildling cursed under his breath, his attention now fully on the commotion outside. He scrambled to his feet, drawing a crude blade as he moved toward the entrance of the shelter. 

Before he could step outside, the flap was thrown open, and Cregan burst in, his sword dripping with blood, his eyes blazing with fury.

The wildling barely had time to react before Cregan's sword flashed in the dim light, striking him down with a swift, decisive blow. The man crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as Cregan turned his attention to me.

The fierce determination in his eyes softened the moment he saw me, bound and gagged on the cold ground. He dropped to his knees beside me, his hands trembling slightly as he quickly cut through the ropes that held me captive.

"Princess," he breathed, his voice thick with relief. "I'm here. You're safe now."

As the bindings fell away, I pulled the gag from my mouth, and a sob escaped my lips before I could stop it. The fear, the helplessness, the dark possibilities of what could have happened, it all overwhelmed me in that instant.

I looked up at him, seeing not just a lord, but the man who had risked everything to bring me back. Tears streamed down my face as I reached out for him, needing to feel something solid, something real.

Cregan gathered me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest as if he could shield me from the horrors I had endured. 

"It's alright," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "You're safe, I swear it."

I clung to him, the sobs coming harder now, the terror of the past few hours releasing itself in waves. His presence was the only thing grounding me, keeping me from falling apart completely.

Cregan held me through it all, his hand gently stroking my hair as he murmured soft reassurances. The sounds of battle outside faded, replaced by the distant, muffled voices of his men securing the area. 

In that moment, all I could focus on was the steady rhythm of Cregan's heartbeat beneath my cheek, a reminder that I was no longer alone, no longer at the mercy of those who had taken me.

Finally, as the tears began to subside, I pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. 

"I was so scared," I finally managed to whisper, my voice trembling and weak. "I—I thought..." My voice broke, and the words wouldn't come.

Cregan's thumb brushed away a tear from my cheek, his expression filled with a sorrow so deep it made my heart ache.

"I know," he said softly, his voice filled with a deep, unspoken regret. "And I apologise I wasn't there sooner."

I shook my head, my grip on his arms tightening. "You found me. That's all that matters."

He nodded, his gaze intense as he searched my face, as if reassuring himself that I was truly there, unharmed. 

"I won't let anything happen to you," he vowed, the weight of his words settling between us like a promise etched in stone. 

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of the battle, the cold, and the lingering fear, I felt something else, an undeniable bond forged in the crucible of danger. 

I clung to the knowledge that Cregan had saved me but more than that, I held onto the realization that in his arms, the cold wilderness of the North didn't feel so wild anymore, it felt like home, like safety.

 After all, there has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath.

A/n - There was sm more I wanted to add and once it hit over 2.5k words I realised I had to reel it in lmaoo

[lucimaaie]

we ✧.* tlou

pairings - santa barbara!ellie x reader

summary - ellie promised herself she wouldn’t get attached to anyone after santa barbara, look how that turned out.

warning - angsty, not proofread cause i wrote this pretty quick, short (as always),

After Santa Barbara, Ellie had no plan for the future. She’d left Dina and JJ and let Abby go. She knew would still have nightmares and the pain wouldn’t leave her. What else was there to do?

Maybe that was the reason she fought you as you tried to take care of her. “Leave me alone!” She said as you’d tried to help her up from the water, raising her arm around your neck. Thinking about it now, the memory of her weak attempt to tussle you made her laugh.

You fought as hard as she did despite being starved and traumatized yourself. She didn’t know your story, just that you were the only one who didn’t want to kill her as soon as you came out of that crowded cell. You knew that she was immune and that was it. Nothing else was important in the moment. Nothing she wanted to tell you anyway.

You took care of her so much she started to feel guilty for not returning the favor. Cleaning her wounds, taking first watch, giving her whatever food you two had left. Ellie questioned whether it was pity or too good to be true, that you’d try something the moment she relaxed. But as she got stronger, nothing bad happened. You cared for her all the same.

So she cared for you. She watched your back and let you sleep a bit longer since she knew her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. She held you the way you held her when she awoke screaming. Gave you light kisses everywhere to distract you (and her) from a haunting past she knew nothing of. Conversations weren’t your speciality. You didn’t know a lot about each other, but you knew each other.

Eventually, you got lucky and found an abandoned cabin far away from Santa Barbara and quickly settled in. It wasn’t big and there was one bed, but it was shelter. Ellie didn’t want to call it home just yet.

“We should move south.” Ellie blurted, shaking the snow off her boots onto the porch. She could already hear your lecture about letting the cold in, but that wasn’t her focus. Did she just say we? “I mean, nevermind. Here’s fine.” It wasn’t. It was cold as hell and she was tired of the cold she’d been in her whole life.

“No, why south?” You said as you adjusted the small sticks that provided at least a little warmth in the small space. Ellie came to sit down next to you, leaving no space between you. She looked at you, admiring how the orange light shone on your face.

“It’s hotter.” She held your gaze as you listened intently. “Probably make hunting easier.” Ellie knocked her shoulder into yours without much force.

“You ever been south?”

She shrugged before shaking her head. “Nope.” She looked at the fire. That might be a downside of south. No more needing to snuggle up to you to not freeze to death. South you probably have to give each other some space to cool off. “Was just a thought.” She scratched her ear. “What’d you do while I was out?”

“Counted our supply. put on the fire. cleaned our clothes. a bunch of nothing.”

“What about eating?”

“uh-no. forgot that part.”

“Course you did.” She sighed, rising to her feet and look around for the bag you two stuff all cans in. All your belongings in the cabin were generally pre-packed in case you had to run, but still the fact that you’d been able to accumulate these things together made her feel something she couldn’t describe. Annoyance was part of it. that she got so attached to you after she promised herself she wouldn’t. that it just complicated things. But that already happened the moment you’d kissed and let things go further.

“here.” She used her knife to open the can of beans and sat back next to you, handing them over.

“you do know we sleep in the same bed, right?” You hesitantly took the can and swished them around with the spoon.

“trust me i know, but i don’t need you losing body fat and clinging to me like a koala.”

“you’ve never even seen a koala.” You said, taking a bite of the beans. not bad but not good and most importantly not expired. You set the can down in the middle of you, signaling that you wanted to share. She shook her head and sighed as you pushed the can closer to her, your eyes saying ‘please.’ She took a small bite just to appease you and shoved it over to you. “just shut up and eat.” she swiped her thumb over the edge of your lip. “and stop eating like that. we’ll get you more food tomorrow.”

Hours later, ellie shot up in the middle of the night, her heart feeling like it would burst out of her chest at any moment. She choked on her own breaths as she buried her head into her knees. “it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real—“ She mumbled the same words you did when you saw her like this.

“ellie?” You sat up as well, watching her with concerned eyes. She started to sob as she heard your voice, whether out of fear or relief you didn’t know but you didn’t give it much thought as you ran your fingers through her hair, letting her cry in your lap.

Eventually her tears stopped, leaving her with a pounding head and the comforting silence you provided. Her head rose from your lap and she pulled you into her, not willing to let go. Her head rested on your shoulder as her hands roamed under your shirt. There were no words for a while.

When there were words, they came quietly. “el?” you whispered. She didn’t respond for a while, still stuck in her swarming thoughts. “yeah?”

“where are you from?” It felt like a random question to ask, but there was no way you were gonna ask what she dreamed about.

She blinked for a few seconds, surprised. It was a simple question, yeah, but it could lead to other questions. she was scared to answer and ask back. “boston, i guess.”

“oh.”

“why’d you ask?” She let her head fall back on the pillow and tugged on your shoulder, silently asking you to turn around. And you did, facing her.

“i guess i just realized i never knew that stuff about you.” You said, fidgeting with her hands as you awaited her response. It felt like some dangerous territory, you weren’t supposed to cross. That was weird, you already crossed other, farther lines. “should i have not asked?” You whispered, tentatively.

“no, you..” She cleared her throat. “you can ask.” She finally looked at you, eyes soft with fear, pain. “i just..i don’t wanna talk about it all.”And go back there, she wanted to say.

“you don’t have to.” You scooted closer to her, laying your head on her shoulder.

Elie wrapped her arms around your back, her legs around yours, and looked at you. She let out a deep sigh as her heart beat for a different reason this time. “we don’t have to talk about it all. not right now.” we, there was a we. she wasn’t make it up. “okay,” She kissed your forehead.

thank you for reading!

[captainuranium543]

Ft headcanons nobody wanted part 2

-natsu will occasionally get genuinely jealous over his friends owning appliances for heating. Why should they need those things when they have him, if they just call him over her do a way better job then any of those stupid gadgets. He finds out gray owns a hair dryer and immediately becomes a jealous ex girlfriend. He confronts Lucy in her apartment one night acting so serious he she doesn't even get mad that he broke in, then just goes "care to explain this?" And puts a lighter on the table.

- Wendy is very very quiet. Creepily so. Not elaborating but I think you can imagine the kinds of situations this leads to.

- Mira's eyes glow in the dark and it creeps everyone the fuck out

- erza has the worst hoarding problem. Her dorm room is entirely piled floor to ceiling with boxes of meticulously organized random items she refuses to throw out for some reason

young Mira: "alright this is ridiculous why do you even have this"

Young erza: "say what you want but when you need 746 packets of Mcnolias sweet and sour sauce and find your supply baron I'll be laughing"

- levy is one of the few members of the guild who actively sought it out to join. Before fairy tail she was an orphan and a student studying magic. She left to join fairy tail to learn more about magic in general from real world experience.

- laki will sometimes build creepily realistic wooden statues of her guild mates and leave them around in inconspicuous places so when you find them they scare the shit out of you. Sometimes she hides them too well and it takes years to discover them.

- Lucy has actually written several unpublished novels and the only other person who's ever seen them is levy. Lucy thinks their crap but levy carefully annotates every single one.

- laxus used to occasionally be forced to go on jobs with erza and Mira when they were young both to help and to make sure they didn't kill each other and he hated it.

- I think I might have said this before but I firmly believe levy, Lucy, freed and jellal later on all form a book club because they love reading, the problem is they all have vastly different tastes in book so they can never decide what to read each week and usually just end up playing Scrabble and talking shit about their various teammates

"please guys trust me this one's good"

"I am NOT reading Colleen Hoover Lucy and that's final"

- this one's based on city hero but I personally believe erza and Erik find a shocking common ground over motorcycles. Erza likes vehicles in general and Erik took up bike racing as a hobby, since discovering this is the longest they've been able to be in the same room together without someone throwing a punch.

- Wendy visits lamia scale regularly still to hang out with chelia. she usually brings romeo and they all go out to do whatever dumb kid stuff they want. (Tbh I just like her having friends her own age)

-lucy sometimes randomly lets her rich girl's heritage show in random conversation and it's always jarring. You'll be having a normal chill convo with her and then she'll look you dead in the eyes and ask you what colour your personal carriage was growing up.

- Natsu is genuinely a really good cook he just has a terrible taste so nobody wants to eat his food. For reference he only ever cooks his food because he enjoys doing it to him it tastes fine either way.

- if you had asked the fairy tail guild who the scariest guild member was in early season 1 the answers would have been erza, guildarts, laxus etc all the usual suspects. Once season 2 starts however the answer is unanimous. It's juvia. Juvia is fucking terrifying when she gets mad. You don't realize how scary water can be until it's filling your lungs and as your vision blurs until all you can see is her merciless stare.

- Mira and freed can drink blood for demon reasons. gray can too after getting devil slayer but he thinks its gross. Surprisingly so can gajeel because of the high iron content.

- gray the type of guy who's bed has only the smallest thinnest blanket on his bed and usually it's on the ground cuz he gets too hot

- meanwhile erza is the type of girl to have so many pillows, blankets and plushies on her bed you wonder how she fucking sleeps in it. Mf has a NEST.

- Lucy isn't even surprised anymore when she finds people in her house, she doesn't know how they keep getting in and honestly she doesn't care anymore she's to tired to deal with it.

- freed plays a lot of really fucking weird instruments. Idk it just seems like something he would do.

- bixlow can speak most languages and it's always really surprising when he randomly says smth like "oh yea I can speak ancient nirvid no prob" like that's totally normal

- if laxus and freed ever did get together (in my heart it's cannon) evergreen and bixlow would be their biggest haters. Yea they love them and they're happy for them but also EW. GROSS. GET A ROOM.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 8

"I cannot believe you told my wife your date was with *Lena Luthor*," Alex whispers mid-yell, "before you told me!"

"Would it have changed your recommendation?"

At that, Kara hears Alex pause to consider.

"No," comes the final response. Then, "Did it work?"

Kara flushes-- she'd certainly gotten the reaction she'd been looking for. She just isn't sure she wants her sister to know that they hadn't fully resolved that desire.

"Well enough," Kara returns, settling on an incomplete truth. She'd explain the rest later... eventually.

A muttered curse issues over the line. "Jesus. How did this even happen? Wait-- what happens now? Esme said her next show is in, like... 16 hours, in Denver."

Kara smiles into the phone. "We stay in touch."

She's already received a picture via text, showing Lena with a tongue-out wink and a playful peace sign. Another photo had revealed a sticky bun, with a note that Lena had gotten Jess to swing by Noonan's on the way to the airport.

Though the sight of the sticky bun had made her hungry, the selfie made her pause to absorb the image. From the relaxed tousle of Lena's wavy hair, to the ray-bans hooked on the collar of her shirt, and the luxury of the private plane lurking around the edges.... she wonders if Lena realizes just how far she's letting Kara in, allowing her to see Lena in so personal a setting.

Kara's response had been simple. "Fly safe."

It had earned her a floating heart emoji and a promise to touch base upon landing.

"That's it?" Alex asks, pulling Kara back to the present.

Kara huffs a laugh. "What did you expect? She wasn't going to cancel half a national tour for personal time with someone she only met two days ago."

"Well why not? You're worth it."

"You're only saying that because you're my sister," Kara counters. "Besides, I don't want that for her."

Seeing Lena on stage had proven it's something the woman enjoyed. She thrived on the experience of it, and so did the thousands of fans who came to see her.

Which is why, a few hours after Lena's first Denver show would have concluded, Kara is surprised to receive a call from Lena. They'd facetimed when she'd landed, so the lack of video is her first clue that something isn't right.

"Hey," Kara greets, pressing the phone to her ear as she wipes sleep from her eyes. She'd meant to stay awake to check in herself, but not even a book had been able to keep her from dozing off.

"Hey."

Lena's voice is somber. It's such a difference that a wave of concern wakes Kara the rest of the way.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

There's a short pause before Lena responds. "Nothing."

"How was the show?"

"Fine. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be calling so late. I just... I wanted to hear your voice." Lena pauses again. "Is that weird?"

"No." Kara listens closely to the quiet that follows, as though it might give her some insight into what was happening on the other end of the line. "Lena..."

"Could you... talk to me?"

"About what?"

"Anything. Just... so I can listen."

Kara's brow furrows. She fights the impulse to dig deeper, to push to find the why. She doesn't need to know. Lena has asked for what she needs-- and it's something Kara is able and willing to give.

"Did I ever tell you that I didn't always live in National City?"

Lena hums a negative, prompting Kara to continue.

"I'm actually from a town up the coast. Midvale. I miss it sometimes. The stars mostly. In high school, I had friend named Kenny, and we would take his telescope to the old barn, and we would chart the skies together..."

Kara goes on, relating many and more of the troubles she and Kenny had gotten up to in those days. She was careful to steer clear of his murder, and the bullying they'd both experienced. Lena needed distraction, not more heartache.

As she speaks, Lena hums occasionally, sometimes even giving a chuckle. When the sounds of her following along peters out, Kara pauses to listen if Lena notices the stop. When no reaction comes, Kara smiles to herself.

"Lena?" she asks softly. "Still there?"

No answer comes, but when Kara increases the volume on her phone, she can hear the steady inhale and exhale of sleep. Kara listens for a few heartbeats more.

"Sweet dreams, Lena."

[pickingupmymercedes]

Not even ours (3/3) - Lewis Hamilton

Sequence: It comes with the territory / Hardest truth / Not even ours

This one can be read as a one-shot, but some context might be lost.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angst, pure angst

wordcount: +2k

a/n: Right person wrong time. It's gonna hurt, sorry.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

She hadn’t spoken to her friend in weeks, maybe months.

It wasn’t on purpose, not at first, but as time passed, she had found it easier to shut everyone out. It wasn’t personal—at least, that’s what she told herself—but somewhere along the way, she’d pushed her away, too.

Y/n sat across from her friend in the café, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her cup, the weight of her decision hanging in the air like a storm cloud she couldn’t escape.

Her throat felt tight. Their eyes holding onto each other’s with a tenderness she hadn’t seen in so long, and it made something inside her ache.

Her friend tilted her head, watching Y/n with a careful, concerned expression. "You seem... lost," she said gently, her voice cutting through the dull hum of the café.

Y/n opened her mouth to respond but found herself swallowing the words that sat on the edge of her tongue.

Lost. Yes, that was exactly how she felt.

But how could she explain to someone else what she hadn’t even fully admitted to herself?

"Do you remember when we used to come here every week, no matter how busy we were?" her friend continued, a small smile playing on her lips. "We’d talk about everything, laugh about the dumbest things. It feels like you’ve... disappeared. Where’s my Y/n gone?"

That question.

Y/n had asked herself the same thing, in front of the mirror, in the middle of the night, and every time she forced herself to smile when she felt like falling apart.

Where had she gone?

Y/n sighed, rubbing her temples as the weight of it all pressed down on her. “I’m fine. Really.”

But her friend wasn’t buying it. “Are you? Because the Y/n I know wouldn’t let herself disappear like this.”

That hit harder than she expected.

She could feel her chest tighten, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. And she wanted to be angry, to lash out, to defend herself—but there was no point.

Her friend wasn’t wrong.

“I’m just… going through some stuff,” she admitted, her voice sounding small even to herself.can

She reached across the table, her fingers grazing Y/n’s. “You don’t have to go through it alone. But you have to take a step back and figure out if this is really making you happy.”

Happy? She almost laughed at the word, but it caught in her throat.

Happy.

When was the last time she’d even thought about that? About whether she was happy in this whirlwind she’d been caught up in?

“I…I don’t know” she whispered, the truth spilling out before she could stop it and it tasted bitter, like an admission of failure.

She looked up at her, her heart heavy. She wasn’t angry, not really, but the realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

She had been losing herself—slowly, without even noticing. And now… She wasn’t sure there was anything left to hold onto.

The other woman’s grip tightened on Y/n’s hand. “Then it’s time to figure that out.”

When she got home everything was too quiet.

Too calm, almost.

The walls felt like they were closing in on her, and she couldn’t stop the pressure building in her chest.

She needed to let it out.

Lewis was in the living room, casually flipping through sheets of data, completely unaware of the storm brewing a few steps from him.

Y/n stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight—so familiar, so calm— made something inside her snap.

“You just… you just sit there,” She blurted out, her voice shaking with the suddenness of her own words. “Like everything’s fine. Like we’re fine. How can you do that?”

He looked up, confused, the papers still in his hand. “Y/n, what—what are you talking about?”

She paced the room, her hands shaking as she tried to find the words.

But they wouldn’t come.

All she had was the overwhelming need to scream, to lash out, to do something, anything, that would make the suffocating feeling go away.

“I don’t know!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore, Lewis. I just—”

Her throat closed up, and the rest of the words stuck, tangled in a mess of emotions she couldn’t unravel.

He stood up, his face etched with concern as he approached her slowly. “Hey, hey… come here.” He reached for Y/n, his hands gentle, trying to calm her, but it only made the frustration worse.

“No!” she jerked away, tears stinging her eyes as she pushed his arms back. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to fix this! I’m not some problem you can just solve.”

He blinked, hurt flickering across his face. “Y/n, I’m not trying to—”

“I don’t even know what you’re trying to do!” she cut him off, the words spilling out faster than she could stop them. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I feel like I’m drowning, and you—you don’t even notice.”

His brows furrowed, and he stepped closer again, this time slower, more deliberate. “I notice,” he whispered, his voice pained. “I notice every single day.”

The raw honesty in his voice broke something in her.

Her shoulders slumped, and she felt her resolve start to crumble.

He reached again, his arms wrapping around her this time, and she let him. Sagging into his chest, but it wasn’t comfort she was seeking.

Everything felt like too much. The air in the room was too thick, her skin too tight, her thoughts too loud.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

All she knew was that the ache in her chest was unbearable, and if she didn’t do something—anything—she was going to fall apart right here in front of him.

Without thinking, without pausing to consider what she was doing, Y/n surged forward, her lips crashing against his.

It wasn’t a kiss born of passion or love—it was frantic, desperate, a plea for something solid in a world that felt like it was falling apart.

She poured everything she had left into the kiss, as though if she could just hold him close enough, she could escape the storm raging inside her.

Her fingers dug into his shirt, clinging to him like he was her lifeline, the only thing keeping her from sinking.

But instead of comfort, all she felt was the growing panic that even this wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

His hands came up to cup her face, but instead of pulling her closer, he held her in place.

His lips stilled, unmoving, and when he pulled back, his eyes searched hers, a with a mix of sorrow and pity.

“Y/n, stop” he whispered, his voice firm, and the words hit her like a blow.

He was looking at her like he understood, like he knew what she was trying to do, but it only made it worse.

He knew, and still, he wouldn’t let her try and run from this.

His eyes were filled with so much hurt, so much confusion, but he held her gaze. “This isn’t what you need right now. This isn’t what we need.”

His voice wasn’t harsh, but the rejection still cut deep.

Tears filled her eyes as she stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together.

But it was no use. Everything was spinning, and now she didn’t even have him to anchor her.

“You don’t know what I need.” she spat, her voice sharp and bitter, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren’t true.

He knew her better than anyone, and that was the problem. He knew she was falling apart, and he wouldn’t let her use him to keep pretending everything was okay.

She wiped her mouth, feeling foolish, like she had just tried to put a Band-Aid on a wound that was too deep to heal with a kiss.

It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for herself.

She couldn’t tell how long she locked herself in the bedroom for, curled up on the corner, her mind racing and heart aching.

It felt like hours when there was the knock on the door.

“Y/n?” her friend’s voice was gentle, cautious. “Let me come in.”

Y/n didn’t respond, but after a moment, she creaked the door open, and the woman stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room before landing on her trembling figure.

She couldn’t even look at her. She didn’t want her friend to see her like this—so lost, so broken. But she didn’t push. She sat down next to Y/n on the floor, the silence between them heavy.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” Y/n mumbled; her voice hoarse.

Her friend nodded, her hand finding Y/n’s and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore” Y/n choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how I got here.”

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears started to fall, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, the weight of everything finally crashing down on her.

The pain and confusion spilling out in waves.

Her friend rubbed her back, her touch gentle. “It’s okay to feel lost, Y/n. But you don’t have to stay lost.”

When the tears finally stopped, she stood up, giving one last reassuring look. “I’m just a call away if you need me.”

Y/n found Lewis outside in the garden, sitting on the edge of the patio, staring out into the darkness. The night air was cool, and she could hear the distant hum of traffic, as though the world beyond their little bubble had no idea it was falling apart.

“Lewis,” she called softly, stepping outside.

He turned at the sound of her voice, but didn’t rise. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—those eyes she had once found so comforting—looked tired, worn out by the weight of what neither of them wanted to say.

She swallowed hard as she walked toward him, her footsteps slow, each one more difficult than the last.

She didn’t sit down right away, just stood beside him, looking at the familiar outline of his form against the night, the way his hands rested limply in his lap, as though even they had given up.

For a moment, the silence between them felt like a chasm—an endless stretch of space that neither of them could cross.

It hung there, heavy and suffocating.

"I don’t think I can keep doing this," she choked out, the tears she had been holding back from him finally breaking free.

Her voice was raw, each word scraping painfully out of her like she was admitting to a failure she didn’t want to face.

His hand stilled and the night went quiet, the silence deafening.

She could feel his breath hitching, the weight of her words sinking in. His face was stricken, heartbreak written in every line of his expression.

He stood slowly, his brows furrowing as he took in her words, as if he hadn’t really heard her. "Y/n—"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she interrupted, her hands shaking. “What happened earlier, that’s not who I am. It’s not who I want to be. And you don’t deserve someone who can’t keep up, who’s falling apart.”

She took a breath, trying to steady herself, but it wasn’t working. The truth was out, and it hurt so much more than she thought it would.

Lewis stepped toward her, his arms reaching out as if to steady her, to hold onto her, but she shook her head. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please don’t.”

The look in his eyes almost undid her.

He was breaking, too. She could see it—how much this hurt him, how much he was holding back.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stood there, staring at each other, neither wanting to be the first to walk away.

“You deserve better,” she whispered, her voice cracking. "I’ve lost myself, Lewis. I’m not me anymore, and I don’t know how to find my way back. I love you so much, but I can’t keep drowning like this."

He let out a shaky breath, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t trust himself to move. “I noticed” he whispered finally. “I noticed every single day.”

His voice broke, and Y/n could see the raw pain in his eyes—the realization that this wasn’t something he could fix now.

His hand then found her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

She leaned into his touch, savoring it, knowing this was the last time she’d feel it.

And she closed her eyes, the memories of their life together flashing before her—the way he used to laugh when she teased him about his messy habits, the late-night conversations that seemed to go on forever.

They had built so much together, but somewhere along the way, she had lost herself and their lives with it.

“This… this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “But no love is worth losing my sanity over. Not even ours.”

His breath hitched, and Y/n could feel the conflict in him—the pain of wanting to hold on but knowing he couldn’t.

"I don’t want to lose you" he whispered; his voice thick. "But I can’t see you like that, Y/n..."

Her heart shattered at his words. She reached for him, her fingers brushing against his skin, warm and familiar, and it took everything in her not to pull him into her arms and never let go.

"I love you too much to keep pretending everything’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m falling apart, and it’s not fair to you.”

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers, his breath shaky. “I don’t want to let you go” he whispered, his voice so broken it made her chest ache.

Tears spilled freely down her face as she shook her head, her fingers gently caressing his cheek. "I know," she whispered. "I don’t want to go either. But I can’t stay. Not like this."

He swallowed hard, his other hand guiding her chin so she was looking into his eyes.

The way he looked at her—the way his eyes, brimming with unshed tears, locked onto her—was like he was seeing Y/n for the first and the last time all at once.

"I’ll miss you" he breathed as he embraced her, the soft tremor in his voice shaking her.

"I’ll miss you too" she whispered, the words tasting like ashes on her tongue.

She tried to keep herself together, but the cracks in her heart were spreading, deepening, until she could barely breathe.

"I wish..." he breathed into her hair, his voice thick with emotion, but then he stopped, his words dying in the air.

"I know" she whispered, her heart breaking all over again.

There were so many things they wished for, so many things they wanted, but none of them mattered now. And they both knew it.

The quiet that settled between them was full of everything they couldn’t say, everything they were too afraid of.

She wanted to tell him that she wished things were different, that she wished she was stronger. but she couldn’t.

All she could do was hope that this wouldn’t hurt as much in a few weeks. But deep down, she knew it would.

Tears welled up in her eyes for the last time when she stepped away from him for the last time "I need you to know it’s not your fault, Lewis. You’ve been nothing but amazing."

His thumb brushed over the arm he could reach, almost as if he was drawing comfort from the motion. "It doesn’t make it easier, though, does it?"

She shook her head. "No. It doesn’t."

She wanted to stay like this forever, to keep holding on to him, but she knew she shouldn’t. They had already decided this was the end, and dragging it out would only make it hurt more.

"I should go" she whispered, voice cracking.

"I know" he replied, though the words felt like daggers.

She wanted to beg for him to get her to stay, but that wouldn’t be fair.

He shifted slightly, untangling their fingers, and the loss of that connection made her heart stutter.

She watched as he slowly backed away, his eyes still locked on her, like he was trying to memorize every detail of her face before it was too late.

As she turned to leave, her steps felt heavy, each one more painful than the last. She glanced over her shoulder, catching one final glimpse of him—standing there, watching her with that sad, broken smile.

He looked back, his eyes heavy with pain, and for a brief moment, she thought he might say something more, something to make this easier.

But he didn’t.

And then she was gone.

She had never felt so hollow, so empty. She had never known that love could hurt this much.

But now she did.

______________________________________________________________

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[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 8 - Last Night | ‘Act II’

word count - 10.9k

Jude leaned casually against the kitchen island, a drink in hand, as he made small talk with the girl who had been eyeing him all night. She was attractive, with hair that fell in waves around her shoulders and a confident smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was saying something about her job, but Jude’s mind kept drifting, his thoughts unwillingly turning back to you. As the girl laughed at something he’d said—a joke that felt hollow even as he told it—Jude’s heart twisted uncomfortably in his chest. Everything about this felt wrong. The way she looked at him, the way she leaned in a little too close, the way her laughter felt forced. She wasn’t you. She didn’t make his pulse quicken, didn’t challenge him in ways that both frustrated and fascinated him. She didn’t make him feel like he was teetering on the edge of something incredible and terrifying all at once. The girl’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he forced a smile, trying to engage in the conversation. But as she spoke, he found himself comparing her to you in every way. The way her laugh wasn’t as genuine, the way her eyes didn’t light up with that same spark of mischief. She was perfectly fine, but she wasn’t you. Jude’s grip tightened around his glass, his knuckles turning a shade lighter. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be talking to this girl, this close to her,  trying to convince himself that he could be the person he used to be—the one who didn’t care, who didn’t get caught up in feelings he couldn’t control. But with every passing second, it became more and more clear that he couldn’t do this anymore. He didn’t want to. Before he could extricate himself from the conversation, he felt a familiar presence at his side. He turned to see Trent standing there, a look of confusion and concern etched across his face. Trent glanced at the girl Jude was talking to, then back at Jude, his brow furrowed.

“Jude,” Trent said, his voice polite but laced with underlying tension. “C’mere for a minute, mate.” Jude hesitated, caught between the girl’s expectant gaze and Trent’s pointed look. Finally, he nodded, excusing himself from the conversation with a forced smile. As he and Trent stepped away, Jude could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a mix of guilt and frustration churning in his stomach.

“What the hell are you doing? You need to drop this shit. You know what you're doing, mate. ” Trent asked quietly once they were out of earshot, his tone more confused than angry.

“It’s nothing, bro. Just talking.” Jude ran a hand over his hair, exhaling sharply.

“That didn’t look like nothing. I thought you were with Y/N. What’s going on? You have a fight? I thought things were good.” Trent’s eyes narrowed, clearly not buying it. 

“Nah, we’re good. I am into Y/N,” he admitted, his voice low, “but we’re not… She’s not my girlfriend, okay? It’s not like what you have with Whit. It’s so different.” Jude felt a pang of shame at Trent’s words, but he tried to shrug it off, to play it cool. 

“Why not? You like her, she likes you… She’s flown to Spain twice to fucking see you. Why are you holding back?” Trent crossed his arms, his expression growing more serious.  Jude opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. How could he explain the fear that gnawed at him—the fear of losing himself in someone else, of being vulnerable in a way he’d never been before? The truth was, he did want what Trent had with Whitney. They we’re engaged, they had a baby, they had lived together for years, but the most enviable aspect of it, they were unequivocally in love. He envied it more than he cared to admit. But the idea of giving himself over to something so uncertain, so unpredictable, terrified him.

“I’m not ready for that,” Jude said finally, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “I’m not like you, Trent. I can’t just… dive into something and hope it works out.” Jude took a deep breath. 

“I’m not hoping bro… I put work in. We put in effort for it to work out. You should too. Stop dragging her around if you aren’t ready. It’s fucked up. Jude, I’ve known you a long time, and I’ve never seen you like this. Y/N means something to you—more than any of the other girls you’ve been with. Don’t throw that away because you’re scared.” Trent’s expression softened, his concern for his friend clear. Jude looked away, his jaw clenched. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to confront the truth that Trent was so easily pointing out. “If you don’t want her, don’t fucking do this, tell her.” But he couldn’t deny it, either. You had gotten under his skin in a way that no one else ever had. You were all he could think about, even when he tried to distract himself with someone else.

“I do want her. I just don’t know what to do,” Jude admitted, his voice strained. “It’s like… she’s all I can think about, even when she’s not around. And that scares the hell out of me, bro.” He sighed.

“Then stop fighting it,” he said simply. “You’ve got something good with Y/N. Don’t mess it up because you’re afraid. Trust me, it’d be worth the risk.”  Trent placed a reassuring hand on Jude’s shoulder. Jude swallowed hard, the weight of Trent’s words sinking in. He knew his friend was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Still, as he glanced back at the party, at the girl he’d been talking to just moments ago, he knew that nothing here could compare to what he had with you.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I need to stop fucking about.” Jude nodded, the decision finally settling in his chest. He hated that he was conceded. He hated that Trent was right. 

“Good. Stop being a fucking donut and go upstairs.  Go upstairs and find her please. She’s the one you should be with tonight.” Trent smiled, relieved.  Jude nodded, feeling a sense of resolve he hadn’t had before. As he made his way back through the party, the noise and the people faded into the background, his focus solely on you. He didn’t know what the future held, he was praying that when push came to shove he’d be ready to take the plunge. For you, it was worth it.

Jude climbed the stairs with a heavy heart, a type of guilt he hadn’t felt since he was a little boy who had done something wrong but didn’t quite know how to fix it. As he approached the door to his room, the weight in his chest only grew… why did he just do that? When he finally opened the door, the sight before him made his heart break. There you were—curled up in his bed, looking so peaceful, so angelic, that it nearly undid him. The soft light from the hallway illuminated your face, casting a gentle glow over your features. Your hair was splayed out on his pillow, and your chest rose and fell with the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. You were perfect, and all he could think about was how much he wanted this—wanted you—to be his every night. Carefully, Jude crossed the room and slipped into bed beside you. As he pulled you into his arms, he felt the warmth of your body seep into his, grounding him in a way he desperately needed. You stirred, your eyes fluttering open as you felt his presence, and you instinctively cuddled closer, pressing soft, sleepy kisses to his bare chest. Jude stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing. The guilt gnawed at him, sharper now that he was lying next to you. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have even entertained the thought that there could be anything better than this—than you? After all the turmoil from him entertaining a girl the other week, was he delusional? The very idea was absurd, and the embarrassment of his earlier actions weighed heavily on him.

“Baby…What took you so long?” you murmured, your breath warm against his skin. Still half-asleep, you nuzzled into him, your voice soft and drowsy. Jude’s heart clenched at the question. He grappled with what to say, not wanting to lie to you, not wanting to keep any more secrets. But the truth was complicated, and he didn’t want to hurt you with it. 

“I was… just talking,” he said, his voice quiet and uncertain. Finally, he settled on the simplest answer, though it felt inadequate. You hummed in response, your eyes closed as you clung to him, but there was a hint of something in your voice—a slight tension that hadn’t been there before. Even in your tired state, you could sense that something was off, something was troubling him. And as much as you wanted to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach, you couldn’t quite shake it.

“Jude… is everything okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with a mix of concern and weariness. You tightened your grip on him, your kisses trailing up to his neck as if to reassure both of you. You hated that now you were scared of him being with other women. 

“Yeah, angel.” he whispered back, his voice strained. “Everything’s fine. Just… just tired, I guess.” Jude’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, wishing he could just erase the last few hours.  But even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t enough. You deserved more than this, more than half-truths and evasions. You deserved all of him—the real him—and he wasn’t sure he was ready to give that, but he knew he had to try. As you drifted back to sleep in his arms, Jude made a silent promise to himself: he wouldn’t let this—let you—slip through his fingers. Not now, not ever.

Whitney caught you in the hallway the next morning, her expression a mix of concern and determination. You two had always been close, but Whitney’s protective side was out in full force today, especially after what she’d heard from Trent last night when they had gone to bed. 

“Y/N, can we talk?” Whitney’s voice was soft, but there was an underlying tension that made your stomach tighten. You nodded, trying to suppress the unease rising within you. You’d seen the way Jude had been acting the night before, and though you tried to push your fears aside, they lingered like a dark cloud over your thoughts. Whitney led you into the small sitting room at the back of the house, away from the noise and commotion of the morning. Once you were seated, Whitney wasted no time getting to the point.

“Trent told me what happened last night,” Whitney began, her eyes searching your face for a reaction. “He said Jude was talking to another girl at the party right after you went up and not in a platonic way… and that Trent had to step in. Even if it was harmless… it’s really not nice.” Your heart sank. You’d suspected something was off, but hearing it confirmed made you feel like the ground was slipping from beneath your feet. Still, you forced a smile, trying to brush it off.

“It’s fine, Whit. Really,” You said, your voice steady even though your heart wasn’t. “Jude and I… we’re not anything serious. We’re into each other, that’s it. It’s meant to be just fun.” You lied. And the lie fucking hurt. 

 “YN, I know you. And I know you care about him—probably more than you’re willing to admit. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt.”  Whitney frowned, clearly not convinced. You looked away, your gaze fixed on a distant point outside the window. You wanted to believe that everything was fine, that you could keep your heart protected behind the walls you’d built. But the truth was, those walls were starting to crack, and it scared you more than anything.

“It’s just… complicated,” You finally admitted, your voice quieter now. “Jude’s not the kind of guy who wants to settle down right now I don’t think and I’m not the girl who wants to get her heart broken.” You sheepishly told her. Whitney reached out and took yorur hand, squeezing it gently. 

“I get that. But maybe you’re not giving yourself—or him—enough credit. Jude cares about you, Y/N. Trent said he was acting weird last night, and I think it’s because he doesn’t know how to handle what he’s feeling.” Whitney sympathetically smiled at you. You bit your lip, your emotions swirling in a confusing mix of hope and fear. You’d seen glimpses of something deeper in Jude, moments where he’d let his guard down just enough to show you that there was more to him than the carefree playboy he pretended to be. But you’d also seen the hesitation, the way he pulled back whenever things got too real.

“It’s just… he’s used to keeping things casual and so am I. You know I always have.” You said, your voice faltering slightly. “And I don’t know if I can let myself get close to someone who might not be there when it really matters.” Whitney’s gaze softened, her worry for her friend evident. 

“You’re right to protect yourself, but don’t shut him out completely. Maybe you need to give him a chance to show you who he really is. Maybe he just needs a little time to figure things out.” You nodded, though your heart still felt heavy.  “Y/N… you always have but you haven’t always had to.” She cooed gently. You wanted to believe Whitney, wanted to believe that Jude could be different, that he could be the person you needed him to be.But the fear of getting hurt, of letting yourself fall only to be left alone, was almost too much to bear.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, squeezing Whitney’s hand in return. “But for now… I’m just going to take things one day at a time. No expectations, no promises.” You couldn’t even pretend to smile as you said it because that’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted promises and you wanted to expect things of him. 

“That’s fair. Just… don’t forget that you deserve someone who’s all in, Y/N. Someone who sees how amazing you are and doesn’t want to let you go.” Whitney smiled, though there was still a trace of worry in her eyes. You nodded, your heart aching with the truth of Whitney’s words. As you stood up and made your way back to the rest of the house, You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing at the edge of something—something that could either lift you higher than you’d ever been or break you completely. And the scariest part was, you weren’t sure which way it would go.

You were curled up on the couch later in the day, head resting against Jude’s chest, completely knocked out from a mix of exhaustion and the drinks you’d had yesterday night. The soft rise and fall of your breathing was the only sound in the quiet room. Jude, very much awake, ran his fingers lazily through your hair, his gaze soft and protective. He was hungover too, but he didn’t mind, not with you draped over him like this. Trent came over to the couch, having just said his goodbyes to Denise, Whitney who was still saying hers. Without warning, he flicked Jude’s ear, pulling him out of his reverie. Jude winced, then grinned up at Trent, lifting one arm for a half-hearted dap without disturbing you.

"You alright, mate?" Trent teased, eyeing the two of you with an amused smirk. "Looks like you’ve got your hands full."

"Yeah, I don’t wanna move. Might wake her up." Jude chuckled, keeping his voice low so as not to wake you. Trent raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer.

"Nah, that’s not it," he teased, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "It’s not about waking her up, it’s ‘cause you like it. You like her laying on you, you like taking care of her." Jude couldn’t help but laugh softly, though he knew Trent was right. He enjoyed having you this close, the feeling of being needed, and maybe even more than that, the feeling of taking care of you, of you trusting him enough to fall asleep against him. He was in deep, and he knew it.

"Yeah, yeah," Jude grumbled, shaking his head with a smile. "Alright, maybe. But keep that to yourself, yeah?"

"Too late for that, bro. You’re already in trouble so don’t fuck it up." Trent gave him a light punch on the shoulder, still grinning. Jude let out a quiet laugh, glancing down at you again, your peaceful face nestled against him. He didn’t mind being in trouble. Not if it meant moments like this with you.

When Jude picked up the injury, you knew it was going to be a long road for him. It wasn’t just the physical pain or the rehabilitation that weighed on him—it was the feeling of purposelessness, the uncertainty of what he was without football. You curled up next to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist as he vented his frustration. He wasn’t the kind of guy to let anyone see his vulnerability, but with you, he felt safe enough to spill his thoughts.

"It's not the rehab, you know?" he started, his voice low and filled with frustration. "It's the fact that I'm just sitting there, useless. I hate watching from the stands... makes me feel like I’m not contributing to anything, like I’m just taking up space." You ran your hand across his chest, feeling the tension building in him as he spoke. 

"I can’t imagine how tough that must be," you said softly, "but Jude... you’re so much more than just football. I know that’s hard to believe right now, but you are. Football’s what you do, not who you are." He sighed, staring at the ceiling as if it held some answers, but you knew he was listening, even if he didn’t say it right away. The weight of sitting out a game at the Bernabéu, watching his team battle on without him, was too much for him to bear. 

"I'm supposed to be out there. That’s where I belong, on the pitch. Not stuck in a suit, sitting on the sidelines," he muttered. Then, his voice softened as he turned toward you, his gaze searching yours. "Will you come with me to the match? I don’t want to sit up there alone." You blinked, surprised by the question but also deeply touched. You knew this was more than just wanting company. This was him letting you into his world—really letting you in. This wasn’t about a night out, or a private moment shared between just the two of you. This was about being seen with him, in front of the world, at his place of work where every move he made was watched, scrutinized. And he wanted you there, right beside him. It was a gesture of trust, of significance. Jude had built walls around his life, carefully separating his public and private selves, but now he was pulling you through those barriers. Your heart swelled with the realization that this wasn’t just about sitting in a box seat at the Bernabéu. This was Jude telling you that your support, your presence, had become something he relied on, something he couldn’t imagine going without.

"Of course," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I’ll be right there with you." He pulled you closer, resting his head against yours, his breath a little steadier now. There was still so much for him to work through, but in that moment, you felt like the invisible walls between you had crumbled a little more. You were part of his world in a way you hadn’t been before, and the weight of that made your chest tighten with emotion. As you lay there, you couldn’t help but feel the enormity of what it meant. The world would see you two together, no more hiding, no more secrecy. Jude needed you in a way he hadn’t before, and that thought filled you with both warmth and a sense of responsibility. You wanted to be there for him, to lift him up when he felt purposeless, to show him that his worth went beyond the pitch. In that quiet, intimate moment, you realized that you’d become part of his foundation, and in some ways, he had become part of yours.

You were engrossed in a video, scribbling notes in your notebook while sitting cross-legged on Jude’s bed. The topic was one you couldn’t afford to miss—an upcoming art exhibit back in New York, one you really needed to be home for. Your focus was razor-sharp until you felt Jude’s presence beside you. He flopped down dramatically, his larger frame pressing into yours as he leaned his head into your lap.

"What’re you doing, angel?" he asked, his voice low and curious looking up at you.

"I need to pay attention," you muttered, trying to focus on the details of the exhibit, but Jude wasn’t so easily deterred.

"Can I listen with you?" he asked, a little more earnestly this time. 

“You don’t have to.” You smiled. At first, you were ready to brush him off, but something in his tone made you pause. 

“Can I listen with you?” he repeated again persistently. He just wanted to be with you. You sighed softly, running your fingers over his hair in a distracted motion, scratching at his scalp while the video continued. Jude grabbed the pen from your notebook, and even though it was unclicked, he began tracing it over your skin in idle strokes. His touch was light, almost absentminded, but it sent small shivers across your arms. You could tell he was about to ask something—his lips parted—but before he could get the words out, you shushed him gently.

"I just wanna know your middle initial," he whispered, smiling against your thigh. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at your lips.

 "You're were right. It's ‘y/m/i,’" you finally admitted before leaning down to kiss his temple. He had been drawing your initials on your skin, you felt the letters over and over again. Satisfied, Jude clicked the pen and, with careful precision, began to write his own initials now—'JVWB'—on your arm. The ink left a subtle trail on your skin, a quiet mark of him. When he finished, he gently turned your hand and placed the pen in it, watching you with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. Wordlessly, you took the pen and did the same, tracing your initials onto the inside of his wrist. You both glanced at the marks, your initials resting against each other’s skin, a quiet connection. You didn’t say anything more, but neither of you wiped the ink away. It felt right, leaving it there.

The morning of the match, the energy between you and Jude felt different. As you both got dressed in the warm glow of your shared space, there was a quiet, almost unspoken intimacy that flowed between you. Jude was focused on pulling together his outfit, looking for a middle ground between subtly but professional, while you carefully picked out your own clothes—stylish, sophisticated, a Miu Miu denim jacket, a leopard mini skirt, tall black boots, along with the Chanel bag Jude had gotten for you. You knew you could have worn something simple, maybe a Madrid jersey, but something about today felt like it needed a more personal touch. This wasn’t about being just another person in the crowd. When Jude looked over at you, his eyes flickered with admiration. A slow grin spread across his face as he took in your appearance. 

"You look gorgeous," he said, his voice soft, but there was an edge of pride in it. "The club might have to put you in the trophy cabinet after this." His playful smirk made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the warmth that flooded your chest. You both left for the stadium, and though Jude wasn’t on the pitch today, the moment you arrived, you could feel the weight of being by his side. The cameras were everywhere, capturing the scene, projecting it onto the big screens for the entire stadium and anyone watching from home to see.  Jude sat beside you, his presence calm but solid, like a shield against the swirling energy of the match day. When the camera panned to him, he raised his left hand, giving the crowd a wave, but what made your heart skip a beat was the way he kept his right hand intertwined with yours. His fingers laced through yours, resting gently on his thigh, a subtle gesture that wasn’t overt but spoke volumes.  It was bold, and in a world where he could easily keep things between the two of you private, he chose to let people see this small but meaningful connection. You weren’t hidden in the background anymore; you were sitting there beside him, as much a part of his world as he was in yours. That quiet gesture had your heart racing in a way you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the thrill of being seen with Jude; it was more than that. It was the sense that, for the first time in your life, someone truly saw you for who you were, beyond the surface, beyond the glamor or the assumptions people had about you. Jude’s hand in yours wasn’t about possession or display—it was about acknowledgment, appreciation. He saw you, the real you, and it made you feel like you were falling for him all over again, but deeper this time. You glanced over at him, watching as he focused on the game below, but there was a softness in his expression, a hint of vulnerability that made your heart swell. You leaned into him slightly, letting your shoulder brush against his. He squeezed your hand in response, a silent confirmation that he felt it too—this connection, this bond that was growing stronger by the day. Sitting there with him, surrounded by the energy of the match and the roar of the crowd, you realized just how much he appreciated you. Not as an accessory or a fleeting romance, but as someone who mattered, someone who was part of his life in a way that was real and meaningful. And in that moment, you felt something shift. You weren’t just falling for Jude—you were falling into something deeper, something that felt like it had the potential to last.

Jude had popped inside momentarily so you sat in the stands next to Denise as the game unfolded before you. The roar of the crowd, the energy in the stadium—it was exhilarating. But what truly caught you off guard was how at ease you felt with Denise by your side. Denise had been warm, welcoming, and most importantly, had said things you hadn’t realized you needed to hear.

“You know,” Denise said, her eyes fixed on the field, “Jude’s been so much happier lately. I can’t help but think it’s because of you.” She turned to you, her expression soft. “He talks about you all the time, hun. It’s been nice having you around.” Your heart fluttered, the tension you’d been carrying easing slightly. Whitney’s words from the other day had lingered in your mind, leaving you with doubts and questions. But hearing this from Denise, someone who knew Jude better than anyone, was a relief. It made everything feel more real—more possible. When the final whistle blew, Denise gave you a reassuring smile as you made your way to the box to find Jude. As soon as you saw Jude, his eyes found yours, and a grin spread across his face. He moved towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips brushing your temple. The connection between you was undeniable, the affection natural and easy. For a moment, you felt like everything was falling into place. But then, someone else appeared.

“Hey, Jude!” the guy called out, striding over with a casual confidence. He glanced at you, curiosity in his eyes. The man in the suite—one of the VIPs, someone who clearly knew Jude and had been chatting with him casually throughout the game—turned to Jude with a curious smile and asked, "So, who’s the lovely lady?" It felt like the whole room paused, even the noise from the crowd below dimming in your ears. Your heart raced, anticipation bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t that you expected Jude to call you his girlfriend. You weren’t naive. You knew where you stood—or at least, you thought you did. Jude hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He hadn’t thought about this—hadn’t prepared for it. And in that moment of uncertainty, he saw the flash of hurt in your eyes. But what you didn’t expect was Jude’s hesitation to continue. His pause. The way his mouth opened, but no words came out. He didn’t say your name. He didn’t offer any explanation of who you were. He was stumped, as if he didn’t know how to define you or the place you held in his life. The silence hung heavy between you, a sharp contrast to the warmth and connection you’d felt moments before. You felt your stomach drop, like someone had pulled the floor out from under you. How could you be so wrong? Just minutes ago, you thought he saw you—truly saw you. You thought he wanted you, that he appreciated you for more than just a passing moment. But now, all of that belief, all of that trust came crashing down. What you felt like doing amidst the sting of his hesitation was telling this man that you were simply the idiot who Jude uses for sex and to unload all his feelings on but apparently, not good enough for a label. Jude eventually muttered something about you being a friend. The man nodded politely and moved on, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done. The moment was ruined. You sat there, stunned, the weight of disappointment pressing down on your chest like a heavy stone.

This was a test, wasn’t it? All of it had been. You’d been waiting to see if he could really step up, if he could finally give you the validation you needed after everything—the months of uncertainty, the limbo, the back and forth. The audacity he had to be jealous enough of you to sleep with someone else but the indifference to not even say your name was shocking. And while Jude had passed the first part of the test, holding your hand, letting the world see you together, he had just failed miserably at the most crucial moment. Your chest tightened, and you blinked away the stinging sensation in your eyes. You couldn’t let him see how much it hurt, but inside, you were crumbling. You knew in that instant that you were done. This was it. You couldn’t handle the limbo anymore, couldn’t live in this space where you were important one second and invisible the next. You weren’t going to be someone he couldn’t even acknowledge in public, someone he wasn’t sure how to define. The decision hit you with finality: you needed to go home. Tomorrow. You couldn’t stay another minute longer in this in-between state, where you were constantly left guessing about where you stood in his life. You deserved more than that. You needed more than that. Jude couldn’t sway you this time. You felt distant, like you were a million miles away from everything and everyone—including Jude. And as much as it hurt, you knew it was time to let go. You had been drinking and you started drinking more after that. This night was a wash anyway. It was clear that no matter how many people told you that you were good for Jude and he liked you, he didn’t want it enough. You’d traveled to Madrid to make things work and he couldn’t even get the balls to introduce you. The rest of the night was awkward and tense and for you a bit blurred. You retreated to his house, but the usual comfort between you was absent. You kept your distance, and Jude was too afraid to bridge the gap, terrified of making things worse. But in your drunken haze you wanted one last hurrah with jude. A final send off.

It's late and the air was heavy with tension between you and Jude. The pressure from earlier had been intense, leaving you with hurt feelings and unresolved emotions. But as the moonlight streamed through the windows of Jude’s room, and despite your anger and deep sadness inside you, he still looked delicious. You couldn't help but be drawn to his irresistible presence. With a deliberate move, you rolled over and face him, your eyes adjusting to the dim light. Jude, with his tall, athletic frame and tanned skin, looks like a Greek god lying there. His brown eyes flickered, meeting yours, you could see a mix of emotions playing across his handsome face. You reached out letting your fingers trace the outline of his muscular chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.  A mischievous smile played on his lips, and you knew then he was considering your temptation but he also knew he was in the dog house so there was hesitation. 

“Y/N, you’re drunk and you’re upset. Please.” His voice is deep and husky. Jude paused as he tried to hold you off from climbing over into his lap in bed. The thing was… you really weren’t that drunk anymore, not at all actually, you knew exactly what you were doing. 

“Mmm it’s fine, baby. I’m really not and I want you. You’re turning me on.” You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear before you sat back on your heels and ran your hands up his thighs. Jude groaned but then shook his head despite feeling his resolve crumble.

“I’m not doing anything.” Jude smiled at you hating that the way you were leaned over him had you tits spilling out of your tank top. You were running on the adrenaline of ending this and you wanted Jude to fuck you. 

“Mmm but you… you’re so sexy.” You continued moving your hands up over his hips onto his abs. You caught his eyes dropping to your tits. “Are my nipples hard already, Jude?” You smirked, glancing down. “Look.” You brushed your fingers over your hardened nipple before pulling your shirt completely over your head. You sat there playing innocent on full display for him.

“We really shouldn’t, yeah?” Jude hesitated again despite his hands moving to grab your hips pulling you onto his lap. He was saying one thing and doing the other. Ironic considering he’d been doing that out of the bedroom as well.  He gripped your hips, and he pulled you closer. You leaned forward and began kissing his neck.

“Pleaseee, I want your cock inside me.” You moaned rolling your bottom lip dramatically before sitting down onto him entirely. Jude could feel your warm pussy on his hardening cock now. You could feel his desire growing as your bodies pressed together. His fingers explored the curves of your body, tracing the line of your waist, then sliding up to cup your full breasts. A soft moan escapes your lips as his thumbs graze your sensitive nipples, before pinching them.

“Y/N, come on this is so unfair.” He complained. "Too fucking gorgeous to resist," he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. 

“Just give me a kiss, Jude. Please. I promise I’ll be such a good girl for you.” You moaned, picking up his hand, dragging his fingers up your body before taking two of them in your mouth. You sucked on his fingers the way you would his cock, swirling your tongue around them. 

“Fine, just one.” He smiled but he knew he was tempting fate as he leaned in to kiss you.. apparently just once but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. “Jesus baby.” He growled. His words ignited a fire within you, and you felt a surge of power, knowing you had this effect on him. You wanted to show him just how perfect you were, to make him remember everything, especially the pleasure you give him. You were straddling his waist, your legs on either side of his powerful thighs. The heat between your bodies palpable as you grinded against him, your wetness already leaving a slick trail on his hard length. "Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his hands gripping your ass, pulling you closer. "You're driving me crazy." He whispered. You wanted to roll your eyes. He was in fact driving you crazy lately. You leaned down, your hair cascading around his face as you kissed him hungrily. Your tongues dancing, tasting each other, as your hands explored, caressing and teasing. You reached down, guiding his thick cock towards your entrance, teasing yourself with the tip.

"Please, Jude," you begged, your voice breathless. "I need you inside me. Make me forget everything but you." With one swift motion, he thrusted into you, filling you up completely. You gasped at the sensation, your body welcoming him as if you were made for each other. The stretch of his massive cock both intensely pleasurable but painful from the lack of foreplay. After you adjusted his cock hit all the right spots, and you couldn’t help but moan loudly, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Jude started to move, his hips thrusting in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure through your body, and you matched his pace, riding him with abandon. His hands grip your tits, squeezing and kneading them, as he fucked you with purpose, making you feel every inch of his hardness.

"You like that, baby?" His voice raw with desire. "You like my cock pounding into your sweet pussy?" He sat up and whispered nibbling on your ear. He tucked his face in the nape of your neck. He sucked on your sensitive skin. His hair tickling you. Hoarse grunts escaping him as you soaked him. He collected enough spit in his mouth before he made you open yours. He spit his saliva into your mouth. You swallowed diligently with a moan. 

“Oh fuck, that feels so good!” You whined, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Harder, Jude. Make me feel you everywhere." He obliged, picking up the pace, his hips slamming into yours. The bed creaked with the force of his thrusts, and your moans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure. You felt your orgasm building, a coiling tension deep within your core. You shut your eyes tight with your mouth agape as your tits bounced. The sight was enough to make him cum. You flashed your eyes up to look at him. The look in your eyes made Jude tense.

“Oh angel, don’t give me that face. I’m not gonna last.” He grunted out. He slapped your ass and you smirked. You moaned at the second. You squeezed your pussy tighter around him feeling him twitch inside you. “Fuck baby, squeezing me so tight. You want to cum for me? Let me feel you cum on my cock, baby, please.” He begged. He knew exactly what to do, what to say to get you there. "That's it, angel," he encouraged, his breath hot against your ear. "Cum for me, baby. Let me feel your pussy clench around my cock."  His dirty words pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name as your body convulsed around him, your juices flowing freely, coating his shaft. He groaned, his own release building, as he continued to thrust through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure. As the waves of ecstasy subsided, you collapsed onto his chest, your heart racing. Jude's arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his breathing ragged against your hair. You could feel his cock still throbbing inside you, awaiting to continue fucking you when you were ready to go but the reality was… you wouldn’t ever be again. You were ready for something Jude was about to hate.

"That was so good, baby.” You kissed his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat, whispering against his skin. His lips were back all over your neck. He smacked your ass cheek ready to go again but you ignored it. “I’m tired, Jude.” His whole body stiffened at your words, his body going completely still. 

"Y/N..." he began, but you cut him off by placing a finger on his lips.

"Shh... no more talking. Tired. Just sit with this," you said softly, as you gently rolled away from him, breaking the connection between your bodies. You curled up on your side of the bed, your back to him, knowing that Jude was being left unfulfilled, his cock still throbbing and needy, desperate for relief. You felt a pang of satisfaction knowing you've left him wanting more, but also a hint of guilt for the lingering tension between you. As you laid in bed after, the silence between you felt heavy, almost suffocating. Jude wanted to reach out, to pull you close and tell you that you were more than just a fleeting moment, more than just someone to pass the time with and maybe you could continue having sex because this was probably the worst case of blue balls he’d ever had. But the words were stuck in his throat, weighed down by the fear that maybe it was already too late. You, for your part, stared at the wall, your mind racing. You’d always been afraid of getting too close, of letting someone in. But with Jude, it had felt different—until now. Now, all you could think about was how vulnerable you’d let yourself become, and how much it would hurt if this all fell apart. Taking back some semblance of power through sex was satisfying but that feeling vanished quickly. In the quiet darkness, you laid side by side, both too scared to do anything, both too afraid of what might happen if you didn’t. As the night rolled into morning, that fear only grew, threatening to tear you apart even as you clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way through this together. You began to drift off to sleep, your mind swirled with emotions, unfortunately you were dreading what was to come in the morning. Everything had been perfect, or at least it felt that way. You were sitting there, hand in hand with Jude, feeling like you’d finally found something real. The world seemed right for once—like you were falling into place with him, and for a fleeting moment, you believed it. You believed you mattered to him in the same way he had come to mean so much to you. But then it all came crashing down. 

The suitcase hit the floor with a heavy thud as you stood in the middle of the room, chest rising and falling with anger. The sun was far too bright for how dark the mood felt inside the room. You could hardly look at Jude without feeling the wave of betrayal twist inside you. You were livid, yes, but underneath all the fury was a deep, wrenching hurt that had been growing since they day he’d told you he slept with someone else. 

"You’re really leaving?" His voice cracked at the end, soft, unsure—a sound so foreign for him, but it didn’t sway you. Jude stood across from you, his face losing its color, brows furrowed in confusion and guilt, hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. 

"Yeah," you bit out, your voice edged with bitterness. "I am." For a moment, the air was filled with nothing but the echo of your words, the room stilling as the finality of it all weighed down between you. Jude’s heart pounded in his chest, a cold dread wrapping around him. He knew you were upset after last night, after his inability to introduce you, but this… this felt like too much. His thoughts were spiraling, the panic bubbling up, clawing at his throat.

"I know last night wasn’t great," he started, walking closer to you, his voice low, trying to keep it steady. "But leaving? Just like that? It feels… harsh." He could barely believe the words coming out of his own mouth, grasping at anything to keep you from walking out that door. And that’s when you snapped.

"Harsh?" you repeated, your voice shaking, eyes brimming with unshed tears. You spun around to face him, anger flashing across your face like lightning. "Harsh is being reduced to nothing in front of everyone. Harsh is you pretending like I don’t exist when it matters most." You could feel your throat tightening as the words spilled out. "Harsh is thinking I’m finally something to you, only for you to not even say my name, Jude. Not even my name." Your words were like a slap across his face. Jude froze, the shock of it hitting him like a punch to the gut. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, the weight of your anger and hurt choking him.

"That’s not—" he croaked out.

"You didn’t even look at me!" you yelled, cutting him off, your voice shaking now, the pain seeping through the cracks. "It didn’t matter if it was me, or the girl you slept with, or the one you were flirting with at the party. It’s all the same, isn’t it? We’re all interchangeable to you. Nothing special. I’m nothing special." Jude’s stomach twisted violently, his face going white as your words hit him like a freight train. His hands trembled as he raked them over his face. 

"How do… you—" His voice cracked again, barely a whisper. "How do you know about anyone at the party?" The disbelief in his voice almost made you laugh, but it was a bitter, broken sound. You wiped at the tears angrily, shaking your head. 

"Do you think I’m blind, Jude? Do you think I didn’t hear about you with her? The way you smiled at her like it meant nothing? The same way you smiled at me before we got involved. Do you even realize how much you’ve hurt me? Or are you too wrapped up in your perfect little world to notice?" Jude took a step toward you, but you recoiled, holding your hand up to stop him. 

 "I wasn’t thinking… I didn’t—" His heart was pounding in his chest, a deep pit forming in his stomach.

"Exactly, you weren’t thinking," you spat, the frustration bubbling up inside you. "You’ve never thought about me, Jude. About how I feel. I’ve given up so much to be here with you in Madrid, to support you, to be by your side, and you can’t even give me the decency of acknowledging me in public." Jude swallowed hard, his throat tight, guilt crashing down on him like a wave. He could see how hurt you were, how much pain you were carrying. His mind was racing, trying to find the words, but everything felt hollow compared to the anger and heartbreak written all over your face.

"I do care about you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but you just shook your head, a sharp laugh escaping your lips.

"Do you?" you asked, your voice quieter now, the anger beginning to give way to the deep sadness that had been simmering underneath. "Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m just here, waiting, always waiting for you to make me feel like I actually matter to you. But last night? You couldn’t even say my name, Jude. You couldn’t even call me yours." He felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. His chest was tight, and he could barely breathe. He didn’t know what to say—because you were right. He had failed you in the worst way possible, and now he was standing in front of you, watching everything fall apart.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, the words so small, they felt like they’d vanish in the air. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I—"

"You didn’t realize," you repeated, shaking your head, the hurt etched deep into your face. "Of course, you didn’t. You never have." Jude felt a sharp, deep pain in his chest as the realization of how much he had messed up hit him. His hands fell limply at his sides, helpless. 

"Please, don’t leave. Don’t go. I know I’ve hurt you, but I—" You cut him off again, shaking your head as more tears slipped down your cheeks.

"I’m tired, Jude. I’m tired of being the one who waits. I’m tired of always being on the outside looking in." Jude felt his heart break as you spoke, his entire body aching with the guilt, with the fear of losing you. He didn’t know what to do. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life.

“I’m begging you, please," he choked out, his voice cracking. "I need you. I don’t know how to fix this, but I’ll do anything. Just… don’t go." You stared at him, your eyes red and swollen from crying, and for a moment, you felt like you might give in. Like you might run into his arms and let him hold you the way you wanted him to, but then the anger bubbled up again, and you couldn’t.

"I can’t do this anymore, Jude," you said, your voice shaky but firm. "I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with being nothing to you when all I’ve done is give up everything for you." You turned, grabbing the handle of your suitcase, and Jude’s heart clenched painfully as you went to turn towards the door. He wanted to reach out, to stop you, but his feet felt rooted to the floor. You stood there, suitcase in hand, your heart pounding as Jude's words echoed in the room, cutting through the tension like a jagged knife.

"I called her your name," he said softly, his voice strained with guilt, like he was offering it as some kind of consolation, a way to make things better, to prove you weren’t nothing to him. But instead of calming the storm inside you, it ignited something far worse—a deeper, more painful rage. Your grip tightened around the handle of the suitcase, your knuckles turning white as you stared at him, disbelief flooding through you.

 "You think that makes it better?" you asked, your voice cold, the anger simmering under the surface ready to explode. "You think that fixes anything?" A whirlwind of rage and heartbreak tearing through your chest. You couldn’t believe how the night had unraveled, and now, after everything you’d been through together, this was how it was ending.

“Wait!” Jude’s voice cracked behind you, desperate and pleading. You paused, barely turning your head, your body rigid with fury, your breath coming in sharp, jagged bursts. “When I—when I slept with her…” he began, stumbling over his words, “I called her your name.” His voice trembled, the confession hanging heavy in the air between you. He said it like it was supposed to mean something, like it should somehow ease the ache in your heart. But instead, it was gasoline on a fire.

“What?” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You think that’s supposed to make me feel better?” You whipped around, eyes blazing, barely able to contain the explosion brewing inside you. 

“I—no, I just—” Jude stumbled over his words, trying to catch up with the damage he didn’t realize he’d already done. “I just wanted you to know, even when I was with her, I was thinking about you.”

“That’s supposed to be comforting?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.” He stepped forward, hands raised as if he could somehow reach you, somehow fix the irreparable.

 “I didn’t mean it like that. I was so messed up, I thought you were with someone else. I wasn’t thinking straight—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice cold. “Don’t be sorry. You can sleep with whoever you want, right?” You threw the words at him, each one a bullet, sharp and cutting. “It must be so fucking hard being the Jude Bellingham and not hooking up with people when you’re this insecure.” The venom in your tone was thick, and Jude flinched, his face twisting in pain. He tried to protest, stepping forward, pleading. 

“Angel… I thought you were with him. I didn’t know what else to—” he puffed out some air defeated. 

“No, I’m not your angel anymore.” You interrupted , your voice dangerously low, as you turned fully to face him. The look on your face made him stop dead in his tracks. Something in your eyes shifted, darkening, and he knew instantly he was about to lose more than he’d ever realized. “Did she make you feel as good as I do?” Your voice trembled, but the power in your words was enough to knock the breath out of him. The question was simple, but the impact was profound. Jude froze, the weight of your question crashing into him. His eyes widened in shock and fear as he realized the gravity of what he’d done.

“God, no,” he breathed, his voice soft, like the truth was tearing him apart.

“Of course not,” you said, your voice dripping with scorn. You shook your head, a cruel, bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You threw everything away—for shitty sex—because you were too insecure to believe we had anything real.” The truth of it hit him like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The room seemed to spin around him as he watched you, standing there with a strength he suddenly realized he had never truly appreciated. You stepped closer to him, eyes burning into his, your voice steady but cold. “I hope it was worth it, Jude. I hope that fleeting moment of doubt and weakness was worth losing the one person who would’ve given you everything. Because I tried to give you everything.” You started crying, unable to stop. You had made a mistake but only because of Jude. His heart dropped to his stomach as he realized what you were saying and how much it hurt you. It wasn’t just about the mistake he made—it was about how he’d completely shattered something that could’ve been so much more. He hadn’t just messed up; he’d destroyed the only connection that had ever felt real to him. You took one last look at him, disgust and heartbreak mingling on your face. “You can keep apologizing, but it won’t change the fact that you let your insecurity ruin everything we had.” Jude had never been called insecure before and it had never been more true. And with that, you turned on your heel, leaving him standing there, drowning in the suffocating weight of his own regret. For the first time, it was glaringly obvious—emotionally and physically, no one would ever measure up to you. Jude’s face crumpled as he realized how wrong his words had been, how desperately he had miscalculated. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, telling you he’d been thinking of you would ease the pain, but all he had done was drive the knife deeper.

"I didn’t mean it like that," he stammered, his eyes pleading with you to understand. "I wasn’t trying to—"

"You weren’t trying to what, Jude?" you cut him off, your voice rising, the hurt pouring out of you now like a dam had broken. "You weren’t trying to tell me that I’m just some idea to you? That I’m nothing more than a name you throw around in your head, in your bed? I mean so little to you that it doesn’t even matter who I am as long as you can imagine me there?" Jude took a step toward you again, desperation in his eyes, his hands reaching out as if he could physically stop you from leaving, from pulling further away. 

"That’s not what I meant, I swear—" He shut his eyes. 

"But that’s exactly what it is," you spat, shaking your head, tears blurring your vision. "You don’t care enough to see me. Not really. You only care about the idea of me, the version of me that you can fit into your life, your world. But you’ve never actually cared enough to sort out who I really am, to protect me, to give me something real." Your chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of all the hurt you had been holding back for so long crashing down on you. You had given him everything, opened up your life, your heart, and now it felt like all of it had been taken advantage of. Used and discarded. Jude’s face fell, his expression shifting from confusion to something much darker—guilt, pain, the realization that he had truly lost you.

"I care about you, I care about you so much," he whispered, his voice breaking, but you shook your head, stepping back as the walls started to go up. This wasn’t something you could just patch over with words anymore.

"No, Jude," you said, your voice firm, though the cracks of emotion were still there, seeping through. "You don’t. You don’t care about me, because if you did, you wouldn’t treat me like this. You wouldn’t let me be labelless, nameless. You’d fight for me. You’d see me." Jude’s breath hitched, his eyes wide as he stared at you, helpless. He could feel you slipping away, and he didn’t know how to stop it. He had never been good with feelings, with sorting through the mess of his own emotions, and now, standing here in front of you, he realized that it was too late to learn.

"You’re right," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn’t let the people around me know that I saw you the way I did but I promise I did see it. I didn’t treat you how I knew I felt. But I will now. Please… don’t go." But the damage was done. The cold, suffocating weight of betrayal had settled deep inside your chest, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter what words he said, you knew there was no coming back from this.

"I can’t," you said, your voice hollow, the finality of it hanging heavy in the air. "I can’t keep letting you do this to me. This time… this time, I’m building a wall. A steel wall. I can’t keep protecting myself with the glass you begged me to take down because you keep shattering it." You turned toward the door, your heart breaking with each step you took, but you knew you couldn’t stay. Not anymore. Not after everything. And behind you, Jude stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest as the realization hit him—he had lost you. Jude stood there, heart hammering in his chest as he watched you walk out the door, the words stuck in his throat, choking him. He wanted to call out, to say something, anything to stop you. He knew exactly what he needed to say—I love you. But how could he say that now? It would’ve been selfish, unfair. You didn’t deserve his love if it was tangled up in this mess, in the pain he had caused.

So, he let you go.

As the door clicked shut behind you, the silence swallowed him whole. His fists clenched at his sides, his body vibrating with a tension that had nowhere to go. He took a step forward, and then another, until he reached the wall. His breath was shallow, ragged, his head spinning. The pressure inside him built, rising like a tidal wave, until it was too much, until he couldn’t hold it back anymore. With a guttural scream, Jude lashed out, his fist connecting with the wall, the sharp pain shooting up his arm like fire. He didn’t care. He hit it again, harder this time, the plaster cracking beneath his knuckles. The pain was grounding, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to numb the agony in his chest, the guilt that was eating him alive. He stumbled back, his body trembling, and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold floor, his head dropping into his hands. The tears came then, hot and unrelenting, streaming down his face as he sobbed into his palms. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried, but now he couldn’t stop. He was furious—at himself, at the situation, at everything he had done to you. Jude had spent so long trying to be the person everyone expected him to be, the confident, untouchable star, the guy who always had it together. He thought he needed to prove something to Toby the other night, prove that he was still Jude. The one who didn’t get tied down, who could have anyone and never cared too much. But right now, sitting there on the floor, broken and alone, he wanted to be anything but that person.  He had lost you, and it was all his fault. He had never felt more himself than when he was with you. He had never felt more safe and authentic and he was too juvenile to grow up and do something about it. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer. He had taken you for granted, dismissed your feelings, brushed off your pain. And now, you were gone. Maybe for good. He couldn’t fix it with an apology this time. Words were meaningless now, and no amount of charm or sweet talk could undo the damage he had caused.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible as it cracked with emotion, the tears still falling. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to you, to himself, or to the empty room that felt like it was closing in on him. Jude’s chest heaved with the weight of his own remorse, the crushing understanding that he had pushed away the one person who made him feel real, made him feel seen. And now, all he could do was sit there in the wreckage of what he’d destroyed, the emptiness echoing around him. All he had wanted was to be enough for you, but now he wasn’t sure he ever could be.

You furiously scrubbed over your arm where Jude’s initials once were every time you showered even though the ink of of him was long gone. It felt like Jude was burned onto your body, no solvent was strong enough. You couldn’t get him off. The tension between you and Jude had lingered long after that fateful night at the game. What had once felt so natural, so easy, had become heavy with unspoken words and unmet expectations. The awkwardness hung over you like a storm cloud, and neither of you knew how to clear the air. The silence between you was deafening. Jude wished he asked you to stay, beg you not to leave—but he knew your answer, his fear once again kept him quiet. When you walked out the door, neither of you called it a break. You weren’t officially together, so how could it be? But it felt like one. The space between you grew, not just in distance, but in the emotional chasm that had opened up. Back in your Manhattan apartment, you found yourself crying more than you’d care to admit. You were embarrassed, frustrated that you’d let yourself get so wrapped up in someone like Jude. Someone you thought might actually care about you beyond the physical. But now, all you had were memories that felt more distant with each passing day. Jude wasn’t faring much better. He would stare at his phone, your contact name glowing on the screen as his thumb hovered over it, unsure of what to say, what to do. Every time he thought about calling, he would sigh and put the phone down, the weight of his own insecurities and fears keeping him from making that leap. Even Denise noticed the change in her son. He was quieter, more withdrawn. She didn’t press him, knowing better than to force Jude to talk before he was ready. But she could see the hurt in his eyes, the way he carried himself with a heaviness that hadn’t been there before. Weeks passed in this limbo, neither of you reaching out, both of you desperate to but too afraid to be the first. Once you had left Madrid for home, everything seemed to unravel at once. You felt like this was the end for you and Jude, the silence between you made it feel like it should be. You hadn’t responded to his texts or calls. The sting of that moment in the suite still lingered, and as much as you cared for him, you couldn’t ignore the way he hesitated, like you didn’t matter. Back in Madrid, Jude was losing it. Your absence hit him harder than he expected. He tried to keep himself busy, but no amount of training or distractions could drown out the fact that you were gone, and the silence on your end was eating him alive. The uncertainty of whether you two were over gnawed at him, twisting in his gut.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 9 xx

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Love “Shield of Silence” ❤️❤️ What about this time around Hotch need the rescue and they're in a relationship? Add anything you want. Tag me later. Thanks!! :)))

Title: "Tables Turned"

Part two for "shield of Silence"

(Aaron hotchnerr x fem!reader)

It had been a long case, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever with no clear answers. You and the team had been in Denver for almost a week now, chasing leads that seemed to go nowhere. Exhaustion clung to every agent like a second skin, and tempers were fraying at the edges. Still, you had a job to do, and as always, Aaron Hotchner was at the helm, holding everything together with his calm authority.

The only problem? Chief Jenny Montgomery.

From the moment you and Hotch had arrived at the local precinct, you could feel the Chief’s eyes lingering on him. At first, it was subtle—a little too much eye contact, a smile that lasted just a fraction longer than necessary. You didn’t think much of it, chalking it up to her trying to be friendly. But as the days wore on, her attention became impossible to ignore. She was practically hovering over Hotch at every opportunity, leaning in too close, her hand grazing his arm under the guise of handing him files. It was infuriating.

What made it worse was that Hotch, ever the professional, remained oblivious—or at least, he pretended to be. It was one of the things you loved most about him: his ability to keep his cool under pressure, always staying focused on the case. But this? This was testing your limits.

You’d been dating Aaron for nearly six months now. It had started slow, after that moment in the conference room when he confessed his feelings for you. But what you had was real, and it was strong. You’d been through a lot together, and the rest of the team knew about the relationship. They’d accepted it, even supported it—after all, they knew better than anyone how much Aaron needed someone to lean on after everything he’d been through.

But Jenny Montgomery didn’t seem to care. And you were not in the mood to play nice.

It was the third time that day that she’d sidled up to Hotch during a meeting, her body language screaming interest. You were across the room with Spencer and Rossi, trying to keep your attention on the case file in front of you, but your eyes kept drifting back to the two of them. Every time she laughed—loudly, unnecessarily—you felt your grip on your pen tighten.

Spencer glanced up at you, clearly noticing your growing tension. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered through gritted teeth, not taking your eyes off the pair. Hotch was standing there, arms crossed, looking as stoic as ever while Chief Montgomery laughed at something he’d said. But you knew him too well. You saw the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flickered with discomfort. He wasn’t enjoying this any more than you were.

You stood abruptly, unable to take it any longer. “Excuse me.”

You didn’t storm over—that wasn’t your style. But your footsteps were firm, your body language making it clear that you were not to be trifled with.

“—and I was just telling Agent Hotchner that we have this great little spot in town if he wanted to join me for—”

“That won’t be necessary,” you interrupted, your voice calm but laced with a steel edge. “Agent Hotchner already has plans.”

Montgomery’s eyes flickered with surprise, but she quickly recovered, giving you a tight smile. “Oh? I wasn’t aware.”

You smiled back, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You are now.”

The tension in the room thickened, but you didn’t care. You weren’t going to stand by and let this woman flirt with your boyfriend right in front of you. Hotch shifted beside you, his lips twitching as if he was trying to suppress a smile. He hadn’t said a word, but you could tell he was enjoying this—probably far more than he should.

Montgomery’s smile faltered. “Well, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just thought—”

“You’ve been ‘just thinking’ all week,” you said, your voice still deceptively calm. “But let me make something clear: Aaron is taken. He’s with me. So, whatever little lunch date you had planned? Cancel it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel eyes on you—from your team, from the officers nearby. You didn’t care. Chief Montgomery stood frozen for a moment, clearly not used to being spoken to like that. She stammered something under her breath and walked away, her face flushed with embarrassment.

As soon as she was out of earshot, you let out a long breath, the adrenaline coursing through you. You half expected Hotch to give you a stern look, to remind you about professionalism and keeping your cool.

But instead, he laughed.

It started as a small chuckle, then grew into full-blown laughter—the kind that had him clutching his stomach, gasping for air as he tried and failed to compose himself. His face turned red, and the sound echoed through the precinct, drawing even more eyes in your direction.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Aaron, are you—”

He shook his head, still laughing too hard to speak. His laughter was so out of character that the entire team was gaping at him like he’d lost his mind. Even Spencer looked confused, his brows furrowed as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

“Hotch?” Morgan ventured, his voice laced with amusement. “You good, man?”

Hotch wiped tears from his eyes, finally managing to catch his breath. “I’m fine,” he gasped, his voice still thick with laughter. “I just—oh, God—I’ve never seen you like that, Y/N. You—” He dissolved into laughter again, leaning against the nearest desk for support.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Hotch looked at you, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Y/N, that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve never seen anyone shut someone down like that.”

“I wasn’t going to stand there and let her flirt with you.”

“Clearly,” he said, still grinning. “And for the record, I would’ve turned her down myself if you hadn’t beaten me to it.”

You folded your arms, trying to hide your own amusement. “You didn’t exactly seem in a hurry to stop her.”

Hotch stepped closer, his smile softening as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t need to. I knew you’d handle it.”

His touch sent a wave of warmth through you, and suddenly, the tension you’d been carrying all week melted away. “Next time, maybe I’ll let you handle it.”

He chuckled, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Deal.”

As he leaned in to kiss you, you heard Morgan’s voice in the background. “Okay, seriously, Hotch, what the hell just happened?”

You pulled back from the kiss, glancing over at the team. They were all staring, clearly still in shock at what had just transpired. Rossi had an amused smile on his face, and even JJ was shaking her head in disbelief.

“Long story,” you said with a grin. “But trust me, it was worth it.”

As you turned back to Hotch, you saw the love in his eyes—so much deeper than words could ever express. And you knew, without a doubt, that whatever challenges came your way, you and Aaron would face them together.

And if anyone ever crossed the line again, well… they’d better be ready for round two.

@pear-1206

[butterflyslinky]

Since AO3 is down, I'm going to continue on from this post here.

Buck spends the next several hours sitting in the hospital by Tommy's bedside. Eddie brings him coffee. Maddie forces him to eat. Eventually, the nurses kick him out because he isn't family and visiting hours are over.

(Fuck that, Buck thinks. I'm his family, we all are, he doesn't have anyone else.)

Bobby catches him in the lobby. He's staying with Athena (she's fine, just in for observation) and promises to keep an eye on Tommy as much as he can and to call Buck if anything changes.

Buck lets Maddie drive him home, because he's tired to the point of being a liability. He almost asks her to drive him somewhere else, but it's too late. It will have to wait until morning.

Maddie stays with him. Gets him to shower and go to bed, even if he barely sleeps. Stays on his couch; she probably sleeps a little, but both their phones are turned up to full volume.

The call comes at about eight, just as Buck was maybe starting to actually get some REM in.

"He's awake," Bobby says. "He's asking for you."

Buck is out of bed at once, no longer caring he hasn't slept or shaved and probably looks like death warmed over. "I'll be there in an hour," he says. "I need to run an errand first."

"What errand?" Bobby asks. Buck explains. "Okay," Bobby says. "Visiting hours don't start until then anyway."

He wakes Maddie up and asks her to drive. He probably shouldn't still. She agrees as long as he buys her breakfast. They end up in a really crappy diner that's more convenient than desirable. Buck watches the clock, waiting for it to tick over to nine o'clock.

As soon as it does, he pays the bill and leaves. Goes to the shop next door and makes his purchase.

He gets back to the hospital at 9:30. Bobby meets him in the lobby again.

"He's doing well," he says. "The doctors expect him to make a full recovery." He claps Buck on the shoulder. "Good luck, kid." He turns and offers to take Maddie home so she can get some proper sleep; Athena's been discharged so they'll be going soon anyway. Maddie agrees.

Buck goes back into the room alone. Tommy is dozing when Buck sits down, but wakes up when Buck takes his hand.

"Hey, babe," Buck says.

"Evan," Tommy says. His voice is quiet, but the word is kind. "Missed you."

"I missed you too." Buck squeezes his hand. "I know we haven't been dating very long, but...last night, they said I'm not your family and made me leave. But we are family, and I don't want that to happen again because we're both in here a lot, and so...so I wanna fix that." He reaches into his pocket and produces a ringbox. "Tommy Kinard, will you marry me?"

Tommy's face breaks into a wide smile. "Yeah," he said. "Soon as I'm out of here."

Evan laughs and slides the ring on his finger.

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Selina: Batsy, I'm glad you help my new cats get spayed, neutered, chupped and let them stay at your house.

Bruce: It's what I do. You're my girlfriend after all.

Selina: Love you too, one issue, three of them are missing. I know because the chips show three at different houses. Did you let some of the kids take care of them?

Bruce: Why... Why are you asking?

Selina: Well I left you with seven of them. Damian said he'd watch them, but-

Bruce (coming up with a lie): You know what, I did let some of them watch the cats. You said three, right?

Selina: Yeah, it's fine though. I trust your kids, but next time tell me, okay babe?

Bruce: That I will, can I see the tracker for a moment?

Selina: Sure. It's connected to the chips and you can see the addresses they're at. Seems Isabelle is with Dick, Astronaut is with Jason and Batsy is with... Hmm Barbara. Huh? Didn't think she liked cats.

Bruce (laughing nervously): That is something she is into. One moment, please.

Bruce runs out of the room with his phone, to a secret room in the manor and sets up a three-way call for the culprits.

Dick: Hey Bruce.

Barbara: Is this important?

Jason: Is it, because I'm busy!

Bruce: Why? Why did you take her freaking cats without asking me!

Dick: ...

Barbara: ...

Jason: ...the only cat I have is Austen.

Two different meows are heard in the background of his call.

Bruce: Let me make this clear, I can tell when you are lying!

Dick (relenting): I'm sorry, she's so cute and precious and makes air biscuits! Damian couldn't take care of all of them so I just decided to borrow her until she has to go home.

Jason: Once he took one I thought he was ri- right and I stepped up and did my civic duty as a hero to take care of astronaut, who is so fluffy and plump! Oh God, did I say that out loud.

Bruce (exhausted, but smiling): You two caved, Barbara what's your defense, you said you didn't like cats.

Barbara: Give me a break Batsy is adorable.

Jason: You took the black hairless one? It looks like a plucked chicken.

Barbara: Sphinx cats are valid cute cats and he like snuggles. I'm snuggling him currently and he's wearing a sweater. I will take care of him until he has to go back with Selina I promise! God he's so cute!

Batsy is heard meowing softly in the background.

Bruce laughs surprising his kids and Barbara.

Barbara: You're not mad?

Bruce: No this is fucking funny to me. You could've taken some in, just ask next time.

Dick: You're not going to let us live this down, are you?

Bruce: Nope. Bring them back next Thursday.

Bruce ends the call while continuing to chuckle.

Bruce: I love this insane family.

[johannestevans]

Peace in the New World

Short fiction. Moshe and Yosl discuss life after work. 

2k, rated T. Two Jews talking over tea in late 19th century USA. Bonding over poverty, philosophy, old trauma, that sort of thing. 

CW for mentions of past abuse, although oblique. Adapted from a TweetFic. 

On Patreon / / On Medium.

---

Yosl worked these days down by the docks – he was a very big man, muscular, with very strong hands, and he looks like a dockworker. He never looked out of place amongst them when Moshe saw him at the dockside or walking with the other big, burly men about the streets.

When they’d taken him on as a lodger, he’d been a little nervous of him, had thought he might be brash or a lush, but Sprintze had said that that some of the other dockworkers’ wives spoke well of him, that he was kind, respectful, and Sprintze’s judgement was always good.

He’d still scarcely been able to believe it the first evening he’d come home from his own work and seen him sitting at the table in their small living room, working so delicately with his big hands. He had been the son of a bookbinder, had worked alongside him in his shop before coming to America, and he took on little jobs here and there.

With a lot of time dedicated to his craft and a great care taken with his pens, he wrote out astonishingly beautiful calligraphy on good cardstock, and it took Moshe’s breath away sometimes to glance over at the work he was doing, the art he was creating.

He wrote out fine wedding invitations or little decorative cards, wrote out poems or sections of the Torah, and alongside the fine and lovely lettering, he could draw small etchings, would occasionally add in elements of gold or silver filigree, or splashes of colour.

“Do you miss it?” Moshe asked one evening.

They had been sitting in companionable silence for a little over an hour, Esther already laid down to sleep – she’d been struggling with bad dreams of late, and Sprintze was in with her, perhaps reading or sewing if she wasn’t asleep herself, no matter that it was so early.

“Miss what?” Yosl asked without looking up from his work.

“What it was like,” Moshe said. “The Old Country. You had different work there, work like this, creating beauty. You didn’t have to live as a lodger.”

“No, I lived in a sprawling library from one hill to the other,” said Moshe dryly, and Yosl laughed, looking down into his evening drink and shaking his head.

“I’m not disparaging your work at the docks, I’m sorry if it—”

“No, it’s not disparaging,” Yosl said. “This is fine, educated work, more respectable than hauling cargo at the docks – but work there’s little call for here in America, not enough to fund a man’s life or account for a family. Why shouldn’t I miss the comfort or respect my old life might have offered me?”

“Do you?”

“Sometimes,” Yosl said. “But my father dying, I could not stand it, to live there, in the grief, in the shadows he left behind him. I respect the things he taught me, the skills he carried with me – I carry on his legacy when I do these little things here and there – but to step into his shoes, to take on the whole shop for myself? For people to think of the sign as being my name, and not his?” He shook his sadly, setting aside his pen. “I could not stand it. The Sefer Hasidism warns us against wearing the shoes of the dead – would I not be filling his shoes, to take his place? His memory haunted me, not as an unclean or cruel spirit, but just as so much grief.”

Moshe exhaled, leaning forward and looking at the other man properly as he rested his hands on his belly. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Yosl said, giving him a small, sad smile. “It’s good for a man to speak on his grief to another, I think – my father was a great man, principled, studied. It is that I loved him so much that I could not stand to live in the shadow of his loss. And in any case, as a practical concern, the time a bookbinder can make a living even in Poland, I feel that time is soon at an end.”

“Perhaps,” Moshe said. “It’s beautiful work, what you do, but slow, old. There is not much care for that here in America.”

“No,” Yosl said. “The New World, they call it, but it’s not just here, is it? The whole world is changing – evolving, developing. The old ways, too slow, too old-fashioned, too high-strung, too buttoned-up.”

“People are impatient, demand more speed, more haste, more rush. Why not more beauty?” Moshe asked, and Yosl chuckled.

“One for the rabbi, I think, not for me,” he said, and Moshe laughed as well. “Your father, does he live?”

“No, but we had a great deal of forewarning before his death, he’d been a very ill man,” Moshe murmured, rubbing his knuckles through his beard. “It doesn’t make the loss of him easier to bear, I feel the emptiness he left behind sometimes, the shadow of him, as you say, but at least it wasn’t sudden. We had time to grieve him while he was alive, I suppose you might say – and to share in it with him, which I think brought a little solace.” He felt a twinge of old guilt, as he did from time to time. “Does that sound awful, involving a man in our grief for him?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Yosl said. “What is grief but love at its end? How can it be anything but a privilege to share in it?”

“You’re a very soothing man, you know,” said Moshe. “As good as Reb Levinson.”

“But my mouth doesn’t dimple when I smile like his does,” Yosl pointed out, and they both laughed, taking care to keep it quiet so that the sound didn’t carry.

As Yosl picked up his card and blotted it, setting it aside to dry, Moshe said, “Sprintze said you’ve been teaching Esther. I wanted to thank you.”

“No need for that,” said Yosl. “She’s a good student, a good learner.”

“She’s a girl,” Moshe said, and he watched the shrug of Yosl’s broad shoulders, watched his expression scarcely change at all. “Why teach her? What do you think she’ll do with it, what you teach her?”

It was an experimental question, a test of sorts, and Moshe wondered if Yosl knew that Moshe was testing him, if he was pressing on him. If he did, he showed no sign of it.

“Whatever she wants,” the bookbinder answered simply. “I didn’t make the word, I was only taught it – now, I teach it. What she does with it is her own business. Argue scripture with her husband, if she wishes – teach their children.”

“A lot of men wouldn’t think to waste time teaching another man’s daughter this sort of thing,” Moshe said. “They dismiss a little girl with no thought at all.”

“I’m just one man, not a mean of them,” said Yosl, and it made Moshe laugh again, although he took care to muffle the sound with his sleeve. Yosl’s cheeks didn’t dimple when he smiled, but his eyes crinkled in a very pleasant way.

“You been to the marriage broker?”

“No,” said Yosl. “Why, want rid of me?”

“We need a lodger’s rent – and you have the money for it, but I don’t know what you got it for a wife.”

“Too true.”

“But you don’t want one?”

“I don’t have the money, you said.”

“Still.”

Yosl said, after a few more seconds of quiet, “I could be a husband, I think, but not a father. And I wouldn’t deny a woman motherhood.”

“You teach my girl – but you couldn’t father your own?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“My father…” Yosl began, and then stopped, breathing in very slowly. “He was a bad man.”

“But you said—”

“Principled, studied, a great man, all of those things, yes. I grieve him, I do, but he was not a good man. Your father, you said, was loving, mine was… Mine was not.”

Moshe reached out and touched the other man, squeezed his shoulder, and he didn’t comment on the slight mistiness of Yosl’s eyes. Half-jokingly, he asked, “What happened to honour thy father, eh?”

“I honoured my mother,” Yosl said. “Half the job is enough for me.”

“They must love you at the docks.”

“They do, in fact.”

“Esther loves you too,” Moshe said, smiling. “Sprintze says you dote on her.”

Tension showed in Yosl’s thickly corded neck, in his shoulders, and as Moshe walked past him to rinse out his cup, Yosl turned his head to look back at him. “Moshe,” he said. “Are you angry?”

“Angry?” Moshe repeated. “By God, no. You think I’m angry? My daughter has a mother and father to love her – now another to teach her, and a smarter man than me.”

“I’m just the lodger.”

“The lodger who dotes on my daughter and repaired the stove for my wife before I came home from work.”

“Sprintze’s a dutiful wife.”

“She is, and a very good one.”

“I mean nothing untoward.”

“I know you don’t – she says you don’t look at her.”

“I do.”

“No.”

Yosl didn’t seem to know what to say to that. His brow was furrowed, his expression serious. Moshe and Sprintze had talked a little more about this in private, on nights when Yosl was out overnight.

“He did something awful to you, your father,” Moshe said.

“Things, multiple, yes.”

“Things that would make you…” He didn’t know what words to use. He and Sprintze could use certain words amongst themselves, but even then, he wouldn’t use them elsewhere.

Moshe is hardly the most pious of men, but he’d asked the rabbi’s son for advice on the subject – Reb Levinson himself was too old, would never have known how to approach it no matter his nice dimples, but his son was wise enough.

“Things that would make you unable to be a husband,” Moshe said. “To, er… fulfil your duties.”

Yosl’s expression softened, and he exhaled. “Not in the way I suspect you’re imagining,” he said quietly, with a glance toward the door, but there had been no sound from where Sprintze and Esther were settled in bed. “But yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s a shameful thing.”

“I don’t see the shame in it. You love, you teach, you write. You honour your father no matter his sins, his cruelties toward you.”

“How would you know shame, Moshe? What have you got to be ashamed of?”

“I’m poor, ain’t I?”

“Pah. Only in money.”

Moshe grinned at him, and Yosl smiled back. He wasn’t a big drinker, but when Moshe took down two glasses from the shelf instead of one, he didn’t make his customary protest. He took the glass as offered and stared down into it, at the strong spirit Moshe poured within.

“L’chaim,” Moshe said.

“I’d say l’chaim and v’l’vracha,” Yosl said, “but I feel pretty blessed.”

“What, we’re rich enough to be turning down blessings now?”

“We?” Yosl repeated wryly, but he smiled as he clinked their glasses together, and they knocked them back as one. “You should take one in for Sprintze,” he said – Moshe’s hand was already on the bottle, and they had to stifle their laughter to keep from waking up the whole building when their gazes met.

* * *

Sprintze took the glass when Moshe stepped into their bedroom, and she held it in her lap as she watched him undress, easing off his clothes. She had been sewing, Moshe supposed – her needlework was now set aside, but the lantern was still lit, albeit dimmed.

“That man is a blessing, you know,” Moshe said.

“I’ve been saying, haven’t I?” she responded softly. “L’chaim,” she murmured, and drained the glass, setting it beside her sewing.

Moshe leaned over Esther’s sleeping form to kiss her on the head before climbing into bed beside his wife, banding an arm around her belly.

“We should get a bigger bed,” Sprintze murmured.

“You don’t want a bigger apartment first?”

“You didn’t say no.”

“S’pose I didn’t,” said Moshe. “He’s gonna be working all night. He was picking up another card to start on when I came in here.”

“Whichever of us wakes up in the night first, tell him to bed down,” she said.

Moshe couldn’t see her well in the dark as she turned off the lantern, but he could brush their noses together, and he kissed her lips, stroking his thumb over her cheek.

“Deal,” he murmured. “But if I tell him and he argues—”

“I’ll come out and whip you both,” she finished, and Moshe muffled his laugh this time against her neck.

FIN.

[anthonycrowley]

so. the one (1) thing about my grandma’s house. is she has this mattress. i think it’s roughly sixty years old and i literally do not give a shit it’s the most comfortable thing i’ve ever slept on. she said to my mom today i want my neighbors to take anything out of the house that they want when i die and i was like that’s fine except i have first dibs on your rank ass mattress.

[basofy]

god this was so cringey shut up all you've ever seen regarding women has been a smelly rat in the mirror and distorted photoshopped images of women with big boobees you know nothing

[avatardoggo]

soooo i was right 🫠😐🫥 the Friend like likes me and it seems e v e r y o n e around me has known sINCE FEBRUARY

[never-not-ever]

I hate my life used to run on constant repeat. It was thought so often that it just became a permanent thought.

Just now I fell into bed, with tears in my eyes and I hate my life came back to me naturally but it’s not the same- don’t hate my life, I hate parts of it. I hate my home life. I love myself and who I am as a person and I love my career. But I hate my home life. I hate our relationship and I hate our living situation.

I have a 4 day weekend and I already picked up Sunday morning for a coworker and I am so fucking tempted to pick up more shifts so I’m not stuck at home with her. I picked up on my last weekend off and my supervisor made a joke about re-evaluating my life if I’m picking up on my weekend off. I love him and I didn’t take any offense but Jesus if only he knew.

[theirloveisgross]

.

[alexanderwales]

"I don't think I could have the relationship with you that you have with me," she said. She was very casual about it, and I was immediately on the defensive.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

She put the book she'd been reading down. "It's just, the way you've described it, and the vibe that I get, I don't think I could do it how you do it."

"I still don't know what that means," I said.

"You're always doing this like ... micro calculation thing," she said. "You weigh your words. You try to time things. You have never once called me up while I was at work, or asked me for something when it was inconvenient for me, and you check and double check that you're not being a nuisance."

"And ... that's bad?" I asked.

"No, I love that about you," she said. "It's very kind and considerate. I know that if I tell you I'm not in the mood to hang out, you'll apologize and not push it. If you suggest that we get pizza and I say I'd rather have Korean BBQ, you fold instantly and we get Korean BBQ. I like that. I get the things I want. But it seems like an exhausting way to deal with people."

"I want you to be happy," I said with a small voice.

"I am happy," she replied. "You're great. You remember when we first got together I was like 'hey, look, if you want pizza, we can get pizza, it's just not what I'm in the mood for', and you kept insisting that you didn't care, that you would rather have me follow my needs? And I just thought, 'you know, maybe I should just trust that's what they actually feel'. And it is, as far as I can tell. There's not some secret part of you that wants me to break your way."

"You think I'm ... a simpering coward?" I asked. Even as I said it, it felt too accusatory, the wrong thing to say in the situation.

"Whoa, no, not at all," she laughed. "I think you do all that stuff because ... I don't know, you want to? Because otherwise why would you do it? It's how you are with every aspect of your life, you're a tryhard. I mean you said to me that you wanted to reclaim the term. Your relationship with me is that you're a tryhard (affectionate)."

"And you're ... not?" I asked.

"I'm not that way with anyone," she replied. "You know why I hang out with you so much? It's 'cause I like you. Most days, I am very much in the mood for you, and if you ask for a meetup, I'll say yes, and if you don't ask for one, then I'll ask you first. And for you ..."

"What?" I asked.

"It's like ... you're keeping track," she said. "You want to make sure that you're not sending me more messages than I'm sending you. You're balancing social micro stuff that I don't pay attention to. You're consciously monitoring how much each of us has said and making sure it's the right number of words or whatever."

"It's really not about the number of words," I replied. "It's more ... making sure that social and emotional labor is equitable, that there's a good rhythm to the conversation. I don't think you'd get good results by tracking word count."

"But see, I don't do any of that," she said. "I talk because I feel like talking. I listen when you need to vent because I like you and it feels good to give you an outlet. I mean you are undoubtedly putting in a bunch of work, and for me, there's no work. That's all I meant, really."

"You've thought about it," I said.

"Oh, I'm just reading this book, and there are two characters like us in it, and I was like 'yes, exactly', and then 'that would not work for me'." She shrugged.

"And if I stopped 'putting in the work'?" I asked. "Would we still be ... friends?"

"See, I don't know," she said. "Because that's never who you've been. You're asking me if I would still be friends with you if you changed your personality and how we interact with each other. Maybe? Probably? Who knows? Maybe we'd be better friends somehow. Maybe we're just two basically compatible people, and every time you've ever worried about anything it would actually have been completely fine."

"Or maybe it's load-bearing," I said.

"Maybe!" she replied with a smile that slowly faded. "You okay?"

"I'm thinking," I said. I didn't know if I could verbalize what I was thinking in a way that would be palatable.

"Do you not like being this way with me?" she asked. "Because I have never asked you to. I've made my preferences known, but if you've been bending yourself into knots and feeling a burden, then ..."

"No," I said, because I knew it was what she wanted to hear. "No, I like the way things are between us."

"Good," she smiled. "I do too."