#she will never quit and i love that for her

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 5

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“You want to talk about it?” Her mate asked her flatly and Mor couldn’t help but grimace.

"No," Mor said simply, her tone clipped. She had been hoping to avoid this conversation, but it seemed as though Emerie was not willing to let her off that easily. "There's nothing to talk about."

Her mate just snorted. “Yeah, absolutely nothing,” she said sarcastically. “How about the fact that the male that spend 500 years being in love with you, met his mate 2 years ago and hasn’t said a single thing about it to any member of his family?”

"What do you want me to say, Em?" she asked with a sigh.

At the start…before Nesta had forced her to actually confront what she was feeling…Before she actually thought about the fact, that no…it wasn’t actually funny for Azriel to keep their mate from them…and it also wasn’t normal for him. Of course, Azriel liked his privacy, it was something that he fiercely guarded, but he was also…he wouldn’t have actually hidden away his mate from his family. He would have introduced her, would have invited her to birthdays and Winter Solstice and Starfall…

But he hadn’t. 

He had rather hidden away every trace of that relationship than actually talk to any of them about it. 

“Nesta told me that she laid into you,” Emerie said with a shrug. “You did use Azriel, you know that, Mor.”

Mor's expression hardened at Emerie's words. 

Emerie was right. She had used him. 

Of course, at the time…she had been desperate, afraid of the feelings that she had been having…willing to hide them… but the way she had gone about it hadn’t been…It hadn’t been fair. 

She just didn’t like to reflect on that. 

"It doesn't matter now, Em," she said flatly. "It's in the past."

“Is it?” Emerie asked, sharply. “You never tried to actually talk to Azriel about it. You just expected him to be alright with it. Alright with us,” she continued. “He has never once been anything but polite to me, but quite frankly he would have had every right to be pissed off.”

Mor just so managed not to grimace. 

Not a single word. Not a single gesture. Nothing but politeness and kindness had come from Azriel after her and Emerie’s mating bond had snapped. Nothing. 

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I'm racked with guilt every damn day?" she asked her mate, turning away from from Emerie, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "I know that I hurt him, Em. I know that I used him. But what do you want me to do about it now? It's in the past, it's done. I can't change it."

Emerie was silent for a moment, her expression softening slightly. "You can apologize," she said softly. "You can try to mend what you broke. And maybe, just maybe, he'll forgive you."

Mor let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Apologize? For what?" she asked, her voice dripping with self-mockery. "For using him? For making him think he had a chance with me when he never did? For breaking his heart when I knew damn well how he felt about me?"

Emerie's expression hardened again. "Yes," she said firmly. "For all of those things. Because at the end of the day, Mor, you used him. And he deserves better than that."

Mor's shoulders slumped, the fight leaving her all at once. She knew that Emerie was right. She knew that she had been selfish, that she had hurt Azriel in a way that could never be undone. But the thought of facing him, of admitting her mistakes and opening herself up to the pain and rejection that surely awaited her…it was terrifying.

“I imagine he had a few very good reasons to keep Irena a secret from all of us,” Emerie said softly. “Regardless of what feelings he once harboured for you…he was always your friend, Mor. And he kept his mate a secret from you.”

Mor sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I know," she said softly. "I know. I thought it was jsut Az being Az but it’s not, is it?”

Emerie reached out, placing a gentle hand on Mor's arm. "No," she said softly. "It's not. It's him protecting something that he loves. And I don't blame him for that."

***

“Are you hungry?” Azriel asked his mate softly.

Madja had checked on her the evening before…had told her to keep off her leg for a few days and plied her with more potions, bandages the bruises again… given her more sleeping draught. It hasn’t stopped Irena from waking up twice with nightmares.

"No," Irena said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have much of an appetite." She looked pale, her eyes dull and lacking their usual sparkle. It was clear that she hadn't slept well, and his heart ached at the sight of her discomfort.

Shock had dissipated and left his mate…grieving and sad and Azriel curled himself tighter around her.

He could feel the weight of her sadness and grief, and it broke his heart to see her this way. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding her close and hoping to offer some comfort and support.

“You need to eat something, love,” he insisted softly. “Whatever you want.” 

He really didn’t care if all she had in her stomach were her favourite cookies, at least that would be something. 

Irena shook her head, burying her face in his chest. "I don't want anything," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Just...just stay here with me."

Azriel's heart tugged at her words, and he pulled her even closer, cradling her against him. "Of course," he whispered, his lips brushing the top of her head. "I'm not going anywhere, love,” he promised her fiercely. “But you still need to eat something,” he whispered. “How about the shadows get you one of those blueberry pastries you like?”

Irena sighed, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "Alright," she said softly. "I do love those pastries." She looked up at him, her eyes still dull but a small hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He didn’t even need to order the shadows to do anything, they had one of her favourite blueberry pastries on a plate on the bed side table in a breath. *Please tell me you left the money,* he told them mentally.

The shadows seemed almost indignant. *Of course we left it. Do you think we're thieves?* Azriel smiled at their tone."

"Of course not," he said aloud, reaching for the pastry and offering it to Irena. "You're just very efficient." The shadows swirled around him almost smugly at the praise, and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“Thank you,” Irena thanked them softly. The shadows preened.

Azriel chuckled again, watching as the shadows swirled around Irena, as if basking in her gratitude. It was cute how they seemed almost puppy-like in their desire for her attention. 

He was amazed, as always, by how much the shadows adored her.

He had never expected them to warm up to anyone else, especially not as quickly as they had to his mate. 

Suddenly…as soon as he had properly introduced his shadows to her…as soon as it was clear that she wasn’t going to start flinching away from them or from him if they showed up to badger her…as soon as that was clear, they had started to dote on her. Seemingly so pleased that there was another person that wasn’t scared off them. 

The shadows and Irena had formed a bond that defied explanation, and it made Azriel so happy to see the two things he cherished most in the world getting along so well.

(Even if he sometimes got jealous that the shadows never had doted on him like they did on Irena. He got porridge for breakfast but Irena got the ridiculous expensive pastries from the newest high end bakery. Irena got bubble bath, while he only got salt dumped into his bath water and got told that it was good for his muscles.) 

He watched as the shadows swirled around Irena, nuzzling against her like cats seeking affection. Irena laughed softly as they tickled at her ears and played with her hair.

He knew that his shadows were often feared and misunderstood, but with Irena they were playful and affectionate. It was like she had unlocked a whole new side of them, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of them interacting so sweetly with her.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "I never thought I'd see the day when my shadows would be so smitten," he teased, his lips curving into a small smile. "I should be jealous, but I can't help but find it adorable."

Irena laughed, her eyes sparkling for the first time that day. "They're so sweet," she said, reaching up to brush her fingers through the shadows that surrounded her. "It's like they're a different side of you."

Azriel chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "I guess they are a part of me, in a way," he said. "And they seem to have a mind of their own, especially when it comes to you." He watched as the shadows nuzzled against her cheek, almost vying for her attention.

"They're quite taken with you," he said with a grin. "I don't blame them. Still, it's strange to see them so affectionate towards someone else." He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

"But it makes me happy to see them like this," he said softly, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "It's like you're bringing out a side of them that I never knew existed. And it's a beautiful thing to witness." He leaned in, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead. "Just like you."

There was a knock at the door.

*The High Lord and the Ancient One,* the shadows offered. *And the healer.*

*I’ll deal with them,* Azriel said with a snort.

“Finish your breakfast, alright?“ he told Irena softly as he slid out of the bed. Irena nodded, a small smile on her face. 

"Thank you," she said softly, watching as he got up to answer the door.

“Madja,” he greeted the healer drily. “Irena just had breakfast. The bruises are already lightening,” he reported.

Madja nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Good," she said. "Keep an eye on her for the next couple of days, make sure she takes it easy. The leg needs to heal properly." He opened the door further, letting Madja slip in, and could just hear, "How are you feeling, my dear?" From Madja and Irena’s soft answer.

Which meant that Azriel turned towards his brother. “What do you want?” He demanded from Rhys, his voice sharp. 

Rhys held his hands up in surrender. "Calm down, Az," he said, his voice low. "I just wanted to check on Irena. Amren looked at the spellbook that Merrill was using,” Rhys explained.

“And?” Azriel asked flatly.

Did it actually matter? Merrill had been stupid and arrogant and a thousand other things. The spell didn’t seem to have done anything to Irena…her injuries had been thanks to the debris that had resulted in the spell going absolutely haywire, killing Merrill and seemingly exploding her office. 

“It was written in a language I do not know, but the best match is ancient Illyrian,” Amren gave back drily. 

Azriel's expression darkened at Amren's words. "Ancient Illyrian?" he repeated, his mind racing. "That can't be good."

Not at all. He didn’t even want to think about what his ancestors had come up with. 

"It seems to be a very old dialect," Rhys explained. "One that hasn't been spoken or written in centuries. It'll take some time to decipher it, but we're working on…”

“It seems to be a healing spell. Probably used in childbirth,” Amren cut him off. “When it didn’t find a pregnant female to latch onto, it redoubled back onto Merrill.”

"So Merrill's own spell backfired on her," Azriel mused. "And Irena got caught in the crossfire." He rubbed a hand over his face. “Has the spell done anything to Irena?” He demanded.

“Madja didn’t think so,” Rhys said carefully. “I wanted to check on Irena if that’s alright with you.”

He crossed his arms, not willing to entertain that even for a moment. 

“No,” he said flatly. 

“Let him in, Azriel,” his mate said softly, and he turned towards her, staring at Irena. 

The shadows were already dragging a fur around her shoulders, fluffing the pillows behind her, as Madja bandaged her leg.

Irena met his gaze, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He didn’t want Rhys anywhere near her, Azriel was certain of that. And still…an still…

“Fine,” Azriel growled, stepping aside to let Rhys through. "Don't overstay your welcome," he warned Rhys. 

Rhys nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips at Azriel's protectiveness. He clapped a hand on Azriel's shoulder reassuringly. "I won't stay long," he reassured his brother. "I just want to make sure she's alright."

Amren rolled her eyes, but for once didn’t say another word as Azriel closed the door. 

“High Lord,” Irena greeted Rhys, every inch the perfect lady even while she was laid up in her bed.

Rhys inclined his head, smiling gently at Irena, while Azriel already crossed the room to sit at her bedside, taking her hand in both of his. She reassuringly squeezed it. 

"How are you feeling?" Rhys asked her. 

Irena gave him a small smile, shrugging her shoulders a little. "I've been better," she admitted. "But I'm healing, I suppose." She gestured to the leg, Madja was bandaging once again.  "Madja says I'll be good as new in a few days. And I’ve had worse,” she added flatly.

Rhys chuckled softly, his eyes softening with concern. "I don't doubt it," he said. "But still, it must have been quite a harrowing experience." He paused for a moment, looking at her intently. "I wanted to speak to you about what happened," he said gently. "If you feel up to it, of course."

Irena nodded, steeling herself for whatever questions Rhys might have. "Go ahead," she said quietly.

"I just wanted to ask you about what you saw when the spell hit you," Rhys said carefully. "Do you remember anything after the initial blast? Could you show me?”

“No.” Azriel snapped. “You are not going read her mind, Rhysand.” Not in a million years. 

He nearly bared his teeth at his High Lord in annoyance, already regretting letting him into their room. 

Irena was healing.

Rhys held up his hands in surrender, his eyes flickering to Azriel for a moment. "I wasn't going to do anything without her permission,  brother," he assured him calmly.

“It’s alright,” Irena agreed with him. “It’s fine, Azriel,” she assured him softly.  Azriel tensed for a moment, torn between wanting to protect her and respecting her wishes. "I want to do this." She turned her attention back to Rhys. "Go ahead."

Rhys nodded, his expression serious. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low. "It might be difficult to recall the memories, but I need you to try."

Irena just inclined her head. "I'm sure," she said firmly. "Just...just go ahead."

Azriel watched, holding her hand tightly. Rhys was well trained at using his daemati abilities, but that didn’t mean that…

A moment later a soft shudder run through his mate, and Azriel growled. 

“Thank you, Irena,” Rhys said quickly, clearly already withdrawing from her mind.

“What kind of spell was it?” Itena asked her voice hoarse. 

Rhys sighed, "The spellbook was written in some kin of ancient language, we think some dialect of Illyrian. The spell itself was healing spell, probably used for childbirth," he explained. "The magic was searching for a pregnant female to latch onto, but when it couldn’t find one, it became more volatile," he said, his expression grave. "And that's when it found you, Irena. It was a complete accident, but the effects were still devastating."

“Did it do…anything to me?” Irena asked Madja quietly.

Madja looked up from the bandages she was applying to Irena's leg, her expression softening as she took in Irena's worried expression.

Madja studied her for a moment, her eyes flickering over the various scrapes and bruises on Irena's body. "Not as far as I can tell,” Madja said finally. "You're healing nicely, and there are no lasting effects to your body that I can see.”

It was something. It was reassuring to know that her physical injuries were being healed, and that there were no lasting effects.

Azriel squeezed Irena's hand, relief flooding through him at Madja's words. 

It was good. Some form of healing being found…

And the last thing Azriel had expected, where Irena’s next words, as she addressed Rhysand. 

“I’ll hand over my duties to Madja, as soon as I can,” Irena said softly. “I am aware that after what happened I am no longer suitable to make any more research involved decisions. I take full responsibility for what happened.“

Her voice was even, measured. Calm. 

Even when he could see the storm in her eyes…even when he could see…

She loved her job. He knew that she loved her job. She adored it in fact. And she excelled in it too. Irena seeme to be made for her job in the House of Wind. And to hear her contemplating giving it all up, just because of an accident that hadn’t been her fault at all…

Azriel opened his mouth to protest but Rhys spoke before he could say anything. "That won't be necessary," Rhys said firmly. "Irena, what happened was a complete accident. You had no control over what happened, and we all know that." He shook his head, his expression serious. "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

Rhys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent on Irena. "If anyone is to blame, it's Merrill," he said softly. "She was the one who was messing with magic beyond her understanding, she didn’t follow your orders and she was the one who unleashed that spell. You were just an innocent bystander in all of this."

He paused, looking between Azriel and Irena, his expression softening. "We will need to take precautions going forward, so nothing like that can ever happen again." he said carefully. "But we can figure that out together. And you do not need to give up your duties, Irena. We need you."

Irena looked down at the blankets in her lap, her fingers fiddling with a loose thread. "But what if something like this does happen again?" she asked softly.

Rhys shook his head, his expression firm. "It won't," he said, his voice filled with conviction. “None of what happened was your fault,” Rhys repeated firmly.

Azriel nodded in agreement, his grip on Irena's hand tightening. "He's right," he said gruffly. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, love. This is on Merrill, not on you. "

“And you can’t quit because otherwise we’ll all drown under paperwork. Well, more than we already do,” Rhys said with a sigh.

Irena chuckled softly, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Well, I suppose I can't let that happen," she said wryly. "I can’t let the high Lord deal with even more paperwork, can I?“ she said drily.

Rhys moved to stand but then he suddenly froze. “You have been doing this on purpose,” he suddenly said, staring at her.

“Doing what?” Irena asked, cocking the head to the side. “Make sure that the library generates plenty of paperwork that needs the High Lord’s personal attention?”Rhys stared at her for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and awe. 

"You really are quite devious, aren’t you?" he said with a small laugh. "I never would have thought you’d be using your job specifically to ensure that I spend even more time doing paperwork."

“I don’t.” Irena said flatly. “It was petty revenge.”

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "Petty revenge?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What on earth did I do to deserve such punishment?"

Irena just stared at him for a moment. “Maybe you should think a bout how you have been treating my mate.”

What? 

Azriel had had no clue that…

Azriel hadn’t known about that. Hadn’t had the faintest inkling. 

Irena had been making sure that Rhys had more paperwork to go through?!

Rhys looked at him for a moment before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. "I suppose I deserved that one," he admitted. 

Azriel just grunted, his expression flat. "You deserved a lot more than that," he muttered. But there was no real anger in his voice. He was too tired for anger at Rhys. All he cared about right now was Irena. 

“You really are a perfect match,” Rhys said with some amusement. “And I do owe Azriel an apology,” he said simply. "I’ve been harsh on you, Azriel. And I haven’t been fair. I’ve been treating you like a tool, instead of like a brother, and I owe you an apology for that.”

Azriel was taken aback by Rhys's words. He had grown used to the way Rhys treated him - as a weapon first, and a brother second. Hearing Rhys acknowledge his mistakes was…certainly unexpected, and it left him feeling a little off-balance.

He paused for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to respond. Finally he looked up at Rhys, his expression serious. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I appreciate the apology."

Rhys nodded, his expression sincere. "I mean it," he said quietly. "I'll do better moving forward."

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

i like this concept a lot#shauna never getting close enough to love her daughter#because to love is to lose#shauna never getting close enough because if she does she'll remember jackie too much#she'll remember their time out there too much#shauna always being there because if she's not allowed to love her daughter she'll at the very least make sure she's safe#safer than they ever were

(from @itsheliotrope)

Yes! Líg, you're a hero and 100% right on this. People act like this moment and others like it are inconsistent with Shauna's characterization in season 2 as someone who wishes she could be a more affectionate and "normal" mother than she is, but I think it's all coming from the same place. She will not let Callie be like [insert figure from her past] to her, and on some levels quite frankly thank God she won't.

YELLOWJACKETS (2021- ) 1.06 Saints

[notlongtolove]

the garden is growing

"you live together, work together. doesn’t it all get a little boring?" there’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. the cups of tea, the folding of blankets. you could never call that boring.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff! maybe angst if you really really squint

content: after catching up with an old friend, bau!reader and bf!spencer have a contemplative talk about their relationship as they walk home. domestic... mentions of marriage... lurve in the air...

word count: 2.2k

note: a post finals treat to myself! leaned heavy into the garden imagery for this one lol, this was heavily inspired by the poem linked, i highly recommend it! o i also added some song recs below for this one :P (ps i did not mean to compare spencer's eyes to PEBBLES but it was either that or a random brown flower... sorry.)

a line: The perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say Except that the garden is growing. - wendy cope

When you were younger, you had a garden. A field just a stone's throw from your front door. Not the kind in a backyard, fenced in and manageable. No, it was wild and uncontained, the grass alive beneath your feet. They used to say love was like a garden. You'd think about that sometimes—how you were supposed to tend to it, rake and comb and pull out the weeds before they strangled your beautiful flowers. And when it rained, you just had to let it. Let the downpour come and see what survived.

You’re standing under the awning, shaking droplets off your jacket. You mumble a thanks to the doorman as he holds the door open, offering a silent nod in return. The door opens to a polished, marble lobby, and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how out of place you look. You’d come straight from the office, having dwindled your stack of case files from a grand total of 26 to a modest 19. The grand mirror to your left does nothing to help. If anything, it’s magnifying the creased fabric of your trousers and the damp strands of hair stuck to your cheek. You shift uncomfortably, tugging at your sleeves and smoothing your hair out in a futile attempt at order. It was urgent she’d said. A matter of utmost importance. You’re not sure why you’re here, but you know with certainty that you’d rather not be.

She sees you before you see her. She calls out for you, the nickname wrapping around you like a sweater one size too small—warm but suffocating. It might as well be. You haven’t seen her in nearly a year—maybe a year and a half? You shrug, suddenly missing Spencer’s precision, his ability to pin things down to the day, the hour.

"Hi," you manage, sliding into the seat opposite her. “I’m really sorry. Work was crazy—" you start, but your words dissolve the moment she thrusts her hand forward. A diamond—no, a boulder—catches the light, dazzling and deliberate. You nearly choke on the glass of water you’ve just picked up. 

"Let me tell you about crazy," she says, her grin sharpening. 

Oh, the yacht! And don’t even get me started on the violins, can you believe it! The sea was just gorgeous—Did I mention it was on a yacht? Her words tumble out as you try to follow along, but you can’t quite keep up, only noting it definitely involved an abhorrent amount of Dom Perignon.

“I wish you could’ve been there to see it,” she says, her voice tinged with what you hope is nostalgia and not pity.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you murmur, and you mean it—sort of. You used to be close, but since starting at the BAU, everything else kind of took a backseat. It had to. “I wish I could’ve too. Work’s been—”

"Crazy, right," she cuts in, waving it off. "Big fancy BAU," She winks. "That job’s gonna be the death of you one day y’know, all those hours." You force a laugh, but her words hit a little too literally, heavier than she knows. You don’t think she quite grasps the reality of your work.

“So,” she says, leaning in now, her chin propped delicately on her hand, her diamond ring catching the light. You can’t help but think it’s mocking you. “How’s things going with Spencer?”

"Oh, they’re going fine."

"Fine?" She raises her brows. "Trouble in paradise?"

“No, not at all,” you insist, your voice instinctively rising in defence. “We’re—fine. You know, same old, same old. We just wrapped a big case actually. This guy—” You cut yourself off, realizing mid-sentence that the story of a guy meticulously collecting hair from women post-mortem doesn’t feel like the kind of story to share during dinner under a sparkling chandelier—Not that you’re doing much eating anyway. The menu was a labyrinth of fancy salads, obscure cheeses, and entrées described in French that you’re only half sure translate to lamb. You’d settled for pushing a few greens around your plate, making a mental note to stop by the bodega later.  

Her laugh pulls you back to the table, "I don’t know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"You know… Live together, work together, day in, day out. Doesn’t it all get a little..." She trails off, letting her expression finish the sentence. 

"A little… what?" 

"Boring?"

You blink. "Boring?" 

The word tastes bitter. You don’t like it. The way the dog always chases the cat? Boring. The way the cat always seeks shelter in the same tree? Boring. But the way they both come running home every time you call? That’s never boring. Spencer in the quiet mornings—hair tousled, voice soft and sleepy as he murmurs a 'good morning.' The cups of tea, the folding of blankets. You could never call that boring. 

She laughs lightly, the sound cutting through the restaurant’s hum. "Not in a bad way! I just mean... do you guys even go out? Like, for fun? You guys have been together for, what like, years now?” Three years and 4 months, you think to yourself. You’d never need Spencer’s eidetic memory to remember that. 

"Well, yeah, sure we do…" you say finally. "Um, we went to a museum recently." You don’t tell her it was to interview a suspect. Her smile tightens, like she’s not sure whether to believe you or feel sorry for you. You take a careful sip of water, resisting the urge to shift under her gaze. There’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. Outside, the rain keeps falling.

By the time you part with polite hugs and hollow smiles, the downpour has softened to a drizzle. Spencer is waiting by the curb, hair slightly damp. His eyes light up at the sight of you. Under the glow of the streetlight, they remind you of the pebbles you used to collect by the garden path. You’d carry them home, pocketful by pocketful, washing and scrubbing at them until they shone. Only your favourites made it to your shelf. Tiny, perfect trophies.

“Hi, honey.”

"Hiya." You lean into his chest, a tired smile tugging at your lips as you manage a strained, “I’m starving.” 

“Hi starving. Care for a burrito?” he asks, tilting a takeout bag toward you with a small smile.

Your eyes meet his, and there’s something in his smile—soft, understanding, familiar—that makes your chest ache. “How’d you know?” you ask, practically tearing into the bag.

“Searched the menu after you left,” he says simply, falling into step beside you as you start walking. “Figured you wouldn't have liked much in there," he shrugs, casual. You feel your cheeks warm. Two hours away from Spencer Reid is two hours too long. 

The walk home is quiet at first, the two of you picking your way around puddles reflecting neon signs. The burrito’s long gone, leaving your hand free for Spencer to hold, fingers interlocked.

“She’s engaged,” you say eventually.

Spencer furrows his brows. “Already?”

“It’s only been like, what, eight? nine months?”

Spencer frowns, pauses then says, “256 days”, the precision drawing a faint smile from you.

“Crazy isn’t it?”

“I guess. Some people are like that,” he says, “Did you know statistically, couples who get engaged within the first year of dating are 20% more likely to divorce within the first five years?”

“With that prenup incoming she’d better hope they’re the exception then…” you murmur, not really listening. 

There’s something in your chest, persistent and heavy. You can feel its roots stirring, working its way beneath the surface, threatening to loosen the earth that keeps you grounded. 

A few more steps in silence. Then, quietly, “Do you think we’re boring?”

“Boring?” Spencer tilts his head slightly. “Do you think we’re boring?”

You hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t think we’re boring, but you know, we don’t do much.” 

“We’re in the FBI, honey. I’d argue we do a lot.” He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching playfully. You try to laugh, but it comes out forced, brittle—like a flower trying to push out a bloom that's not quite ready yet.

Spencer notices, as he always does. “Is there something you want to do?” It stirs in you again, something tender and uncertain. You don’t know if it will be a flower that blooms or a weed that chokes out everything else. 

“No,” You say a little too quickly, “Nothing really, just... Other than work and home—”

“What’d she say?”

“Hm?”

“You love work, you live for it—I practically have to drag you out of the office most days,” he reasons, tone calm and steady. “And, if this is something that was bothering you… I’d have known. So it must’ve been something she said.” You stop walking, the words catching in your throat. It bothers you—how her vines have crept into your garden, straight through to the soil beneath. Flowers rarely thrive in foreign soil, you think. 

“Not really,” you lie, biting your lip—a tell Spencer surely catches. “We just talked about the engagement. Well, she talked.”

He doesn’t press, though you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His gaze lingers, but he chooses to give you space. “How was it? The engagement.”

“Something about a yacht,” you reply with a shrug.

“I thought she was afraid of water.”

“Not when it’s on a million-dollar vessel, apparently.”

Spencer chuckles. You continue to walk. Your feet do their best to trace the familiar trail, trying to find the garden path that takes you home. Left. Right. Left. Right. But your thoughts snag, tripping on an unseen vine, and you stumble.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask.

“About what?”

“Like... if we ever get married and stuff.”

Now it’s Spencer’s turn to stop mid-step, rooted to the spot, his body going still. You freeze too, breath trapped in your chest, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you rush to say, the guilt sharp and immediate. “That was silly, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

You tug softly on his hand trying to pull him forward, but he doesn’t budge. His brows knit together as his gaze locks with yours. 

“When.” 

“When what?”

“You said if. I’m saying when. When we get married.”

“When we get married?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When. Not if. I don’t think really of it as a hypothetical possibility.”

Your chest tightens and you don’t know exactly what to say, but your fingers instinctively tighten around his. Spencer senses your silence and rushes to fill the space.

“Do you… not think that?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“I do! Of course, I do.” Your voice falters. “I just… I didn’t know you thought about it that way too.”

Spencer hums, soft smile on his face. “I know I tend to look at things in terms of statistics, probabilities—But us? There’s no ‘ifs’. Not with you, honey. Never with you.”

And just like that, the earth beneath you shifts, breaking apart to reveal a bud. Not a flower but a fruit-bearing tree. You try and fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him, but he’s already leaning in, his lips warm and familiar against yours. As you pull back, eyes locked, you think back to the pebbles you used to collect. Your tiny, perfect trophies—Spencer’s eyes are far better, you think. 

“You smell like burrito,” he teases. You laugh, the sound light and easy. “You love burritos.”

He brushes a stray curl from your forehead. “I love you.”

Through the clearing, you see it. The vines have receded, the rain has come and gone. Your feet step off the garden path with certainty. It’s safe now. It’s here. 

“So,” you say with renewed excitement, your steps light as you glance at him, “Beach wedding?”

Spencer wrinkles his nose. “Do you have any idea how much fecal bacteria there is in beach sand?”

“Blegh.” 

“No, seriously. Beach sand has 10 to 100 times more fecal bacteria than seawater.”

“How about we don’t throw around the word ‘fecal’ when my burrito is still working its way through me,” you reply, grimacing. “What’s your genius idea then?”

He grins. “Barn wedding?”

“Spence, I love you, and I know you’ve always wanted to be a cowboy, but I’m not walking down the aisle with hay in my hair.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you walk side by side, hands swaying between you. Spencer spots a perennial growing out of concrete cracks by the lamppost 2 steps ahead of you. 

“What about a garden wedding? In spring?” 

“A garden wedding,” you say, a soft smile spreading across your face, “Yeah, I’d really like that, spring’s nice.”

"Okay,” he says, hand warm in yours, “in spring then."

There’s no towering oak tree, ancient and steadfast, to mark this moment, no circle of wildflowers dancing wildly around with their colours. But still the perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

They used to say love was like a garden. When his drought comes, silent but devastating nonetheless, you quench it with your rain—soft, temperamental. And when your rain changes her tide, thrashing and wild, he shelters you beneath his leaves, vast and unyielding. Together you prune the dead parts, plant anew, and marvel at what thrives.

The next time someone asks you how things are going, there’s no pursed smile or hesitant pause, distant in thought. You just smile and say it's going. It's going alright. It's going great. It’s going fine. 

Because all that matters is that it's going. 

Your garden is growing. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

song recs if you feel like it: nothing by bruno major love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey

[yourbasicqueerie]

can we hear ur lilia headcanons... as many as possible i am starving

be careful another what you ask lol, these r some of my fave ones:

( i am and will be ignoring her death. try me hoes)

• that woman can cook, she’ll make you a MEAAANNNN pesto alla trapanese and don’t get me started on traditional sicilian dishes. can’t bake for shit tho.

• she sews most of her clothing herself.

• that woman has had some questionable gigs to rank up some cash, some of those being:

- a history teacher who made some questionable comments about vampires and their uselessness in actual fighting ( “you know kids, vampires are absolutely shit heads, you think they are going to be these big scary people but noooo, terrible at hand in hand combat too” . )

-a hand reader at various kid parties. the amount of times she’s had to tell moms that no, she will not know the gender of their child is astounding ( . )

-a jazz singer at some dingy bar ( she got approached by a big time producer once, but refused to do anything with him after he made some off handed comment about her hair)

• talking about hair, she’s very very proud of her curls, she might not be keen on chemical peels as much ( smth jen later got her on) but if you want to talk hair care? she’s your girl

• after she got kicked out of her place, she moved into agatha’s house and took over the couch. though she will never say it, the couch is the most comfortable thing she has ever slept on ( maybe even the MAAASSIVE bed she must have had in her young days)

• talking about her young days, even though she was not from a royal family, YOU CANNOT TELL ME she wasn’t somehow related to the médici family, i mean LOOK AT HER!!!

• she owns a small artemisia gentilieschi portrait of herself she commissioned while at florence.

• her favorite colour, contrary to popular opinion, is not yellow, but orange

• she sings in the shower, beautifully and loudly so. ( can’t exaggerate the loud part, you can hear her from the whole house, the coven does not complain tho, they acc quite like the everything shower days, it means they get at least 40 minutes of lilia’s singing)

• when drunk, lilia is so chatty and touchy, agatha is not keen on it, but rio loves it, their karaoke duos are astonishing too.

• she laughs the loudest between all of them

• agatha full on laid all her mommy issues in this woman ( now, if that is to say that if she and agatha were to have sex, agatha would call her mommy, or if agatha sees lilia as a motherly figure is up to you)

• the whole of the coven depends on her, if lilia is gone then they all fall apart

• she is a sucker for an aldi, would spend hours grocery shopping if she could.

• wine enthusiast lilia calderu

• polyglot lilia calderu

[lila-lou]

✨Little Soldier✨

Summary: Ben’s approach to parenting is all grit and discipline, just like the way his own father raised him. But with a little nudge from you, he starts to see that being a good dad is more than just teaching strength—it’s about showing love too.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, (Ben is mistreating your poor son)

Word Count: 9291

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

It was one of those crisp winter mornings where the air bit at your skin, but the sunlight danced across the snow, making everything shimmer like a dream. The backyard stretched wide, blanketed in white, untouched except for the paths Ben and your son, Logan, had carved into the snow as they trained. Ben stood tall and imposing in the center, the green jacket of his suit open just enough to let the cold sting his chest. He didn’t seem to feel it. Soldier Boy never did.

Logan, just eight years old, was across from him, his small fists raised in a stance that mimicked his father’s. His breath came out in quick, visible bursts, more from effort than the cold. He kept glancing toward his feet, unsure of himself, while Ben paced a tight circle around him.

“Come on, kid”, Ben said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “You think anyone’s gonna wait for you to figure it out? Eyes up. Watch your opponent. Always”.

You knelt nearby in the snow, your four-year-old daughter, Lila, bundled up in her puffy coat and mittens, happily building the base of a snowman. Her little hands moved clumsily, her giggles breaking the quiet each time the snow didn’t quite cooperate. You helped her pack the snow tighter, gently guiding her hands and brushing her hair away from her flushed cheeks as you did.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Logan glancing over. Logan’s gaze lingered on you and Lila for just a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes filled with something unspoken. He wanted that—building a snowman, laughing, playing without a care in the world. He wanted to feel the warmth of your praise, the way you smiled at Lila when she held up a misshapen clump of snow as if it were a masterpiece. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not when his dad was watching.

He straightened his stance, forcing the longing down into the pit of his stomach. He was a man, or at least, he was supposed to be. That’s what Dad always said. “You’re not a little kid anymore, Logan. You’ve got to be strong, got to take care of the people you love”. So even though his arms ached and the cold bit at his cheeks, Logan clenched his fists and focused on his father.

Ben noticed the hesitation, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s with the looking around, huh? You think your enemies are gonna stop because you’re distracted?”. He stepped forward and lightly tapped Logan on the forehead with two fingers. “This? This is your weapon. If you don’t keep it sharp, you’re dead, kid. Now, eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”, Logan muttered, his small voice barely audible. He squared his shoulders, his knuckles raw from the cold.

Ben circled him again, his boots crunching against the snow. “Better. Now, hit me like you mean it. Don’t pull your punches just because I’m your old man”.

Logan hesitated for a split second, stealing one more glance at you and Lila. Lila was giggling again, her tiny voice ringing out like a bell as she held up two sticks she’d found for the snowman’s arms. You caught Logan’s glance once more, and your heart clenched. He looked so torn, so much older than his eight years in that moment.

But Logan turned back to his dad, his small frame trembling as he stepped forward and threw another punch. It landed on Ben’s open palm with a dull thud. Ben caught his wrist, holding him in place.

“That all you got?”, Ben asked, his voice calm but challenging.

Logan sighed quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the snow before muttering, “I’ve got my laser eyes, Dad… do I really need to learn how to fight? I could just… laser an enemy”.

Ben froze for a moment, his grip still on Logan’s wrist. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was that half-smile he wore when he was about to make a point, the kind that sent a chill down your spine as much as the cold air did.

“Your laser eyes?”, Ben repeated, letting go of Logan’s wrist. He straightened to his full height, towering over the boy like a general over a recruit. “That’s what you’re gonna rely on? Some flashy power you barely know how to control?”.

Logan’s shoulders sank slightly under the weight of his father’s words, but Ben wasn’t done.

“Let me tell you something, kid”, Ben continued, stepping closer. “You think some bad guy’s gonna just stand there and let you zap him? Powers don’t mean squat if you don’t know how to fight. If you don’t have the guts to stand your ground when things get real. You run outta juice, you get caught off guard, and guess what? You’re toast”.

Logan flinched, his face turning red, though whether from the cold or his father’s words, it was hard to tell. He looked down at his fists, the little tremor in his hands betraying the frustration he was trying to hide.

“But—”, Logan started, only for Ben to cut him off.

“No buts, Logan”. Ben’s voice softened slightly, though the steel remained. “You’re my son. You fight, and you fight smart. Lasers or not, you’ve got to learn how to handle yourself. You’ve got to be ready for the worst. Because trust me, one day, someone’s gonna come at you, and they’re gonna be faster, smarter, and meaner than you ever thought possible”.

Ben crouched down now, meeting Logan’s eyes. His tone shifted, quieter but no less intense. “And when that day comes, you don’t want to be the kid who only knows how to hide behind a fancy power. You want to be the kid who looks them in the eye and says, ‘Come on, give me your best shot’. You hear me?”.

Logan stared at him, his small frame trembling not just from the cold but from the weight of what his father was saying. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, sir”, he whispered, his voice steadier this time.

Ben clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a rare moment of affection. “Good. Now hit me again. Harder this time”.

You watched from where you knelt with Lila, your heart aching for your son. He was trying so hard, carrying a weight far too heavy for someone so young. But there was a flicker of something in his expression now—determination, maybe, or even pride.

Logan set his jaw, stepping forward again. His small fist swung upward, and this time, the impact against Ben’s hand was louder, sharper. Ben grinned, nodding approvingly.

“That’s my boy”, he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere".

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Lila tugging at your sleeve, her little hands holding a snowball. “Mommy, can we throw this at Daddy?”, she asked, her mischievous grin spreading wide across her face.

You watched for a few more minutes, letting Logan and Ben have their moment. Logan’s punches were getting stronger, his stance more confident. Ben’s rare but genuine nods of approval lit up Logan’s face, even as his small fists grew red and raw from the cold. It was a scene that tugged at your heart—intense, yes, but filled with love in its own complicated way.

But enough was enough. Everyone needed a break, even Soldier Boy.

You silently scooped up a handful of snow, packing it tightly in your gloved hands. Lila watched you with wide, sparkling eyes, her grin spreading as she realized what you were about to do. “Shh”, you whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. She mimicked the gesture, though her giggles threatened to give you away.

Ben’s back was turned as he adjusted Logan’s footing, his deep voice still carrying instructions. He had no idea what was coming. You took careful aim, pulled your arm back, and let the snowball fly.

It hit Ben squarely on the back of the head.

For a split second, the world froze. Logan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting to you in shock. Lila’s laughter erupted, high and bright, as she clapped her mittened hands together. Ben straightened slowly, turning to face you with an expression that was equal parts surprise and challenge. A few snowflakes clung to his hair, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“Really?”, Ben said, his tone low and dangerous, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “You think you can take me on, sweetheart?”.

You shrugged innocently, already packing another snowball. “Well, someone had to remind you to have a little fun”.

Ben’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that”.

Before you could react, Ben scooped up a massive handful of snow and hurled it in your direction. You ducked, narrowly avoiding the incoming projectile, and tossed your snowball back, catching him on the shoulder. Logan burst into laughter, his previous tension melting away as he watched the two of you go at it.

“Oh, it’s on now!”, you shouted, grabbing another handful of snow.

“Logan!”, Ben called out, already forming another snowball. “You with me or her?”.

Logan hesitated for half a second before grinning mischievously. “Her!”, he declared, running toward you. Lila squealed with delight, abandoning the snowman to join your side, her tiny hands struggling to form a snowball of her own.

Ben feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “Fucking traitors! All of you!”.

What followed was pure chaos. Snowballs flew in every direction, laughter ringing out across the yard. Ben, true to form, didn’t hold back, though he made sure to go easy on the humans, meaning you. Logan and Lila worked together, pelting him relentlessly, while you managed to land a few well-aimed shots of your own.

By the time the battle ended, all of you were breathless and rosy-cheeked, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. Ben stood in the middle of the yard, dusting snow off his jacket, while Logan and Lila collapsed into the snow, giggling uncontrollably.

You started walking toward Ben, a triumphant smile on your face as you prepared to rub in the fact that you and the kids had clearly won the impromptu snowball fight. But before you could get too close, Ben’s grin shifted into something sly and mischievous—a look you recognized all too well.

“Don’t even think about it”, you warned, holding up your hands.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, with one quick, fluid motion Ben effortlessly pushed you backward into the towering pile of snow that had been stacked from the snow fort construction. You landed with a muffled thud in the cold, soft powder, your breath leaving you in a surprised gasp.

“Ben!”, you yelled, sitting up and brushing snow out of your hair, your cheeks flushing from the chill and the sheer audacity of the man. He stood over you, grinning like a smug teenager, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Never let your guard down. I thought I taught you better than that”, he drawled, shrugging one shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes, a mixture of irritation and amusement bubbling to the surface. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Soldier Boy”.

“Big talk for someone sitting in a snowbank”, he teased, holding out a hand as if to help you up.

For a moment, you considered taking his offer. But then you saw the smirk on his face and knew better. Instead, you grabbed another handful of snow and flung it straight at his chest, catching him off guard. He stumbled back slightly, laughing as he brushed the snow off.

“That’s it”, Ben said, stepping forward with mock menace in his stride. “Now you´re done”.

Ben’s grin turned wicked as he shook the snow from his hair and stepped forward. Before you could even think to scramble away, he reached down, his strong hands gripping your waist with ease. “You started this”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now you’ve got to pay for it”.

“Ben, don’t you dare—”, you started, but the rest of your words were lost in a squeal as he hoisted you up and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You pounded lightly on his back, laughter spilling out of you despite yourself.

“Too late for mercy now”, he said, his tone full of mock authority. “This is what happens when you challenge the champ”.

As you protested, he started toward the house, his boots crunching through the snow. Behind you, Logan and Lila dissolved into giggles, rolling in the snow as they started making snow angels, entirely unbothered by the fact that their parents were still in the middle of their antics.

“Ben, you’re getting me soaked!”, you protested, but your words were muffled by your laughter. Snow clung to your coat, melting quickly in the warmth of the house as he carried you through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

“That’s the least of your worries”, he shot back, his voice full of mischief.

He strode into the living room, his boots leaving a trail of melting snow, and without hesitation, he dropped you onto the couch. The plush cushions sank under your weight, and before you could react, he was hovering over you, bracing himself on his hands on either side of your head.

“See?”, he teased, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath despite the cold water dripping from both of you. “You can’t win against me. I’m unstoppable”.

You glared up at him, though the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth betrayed your true feelings. You reached up and grabbed his jacket, tugging him slightly forward. “You’re soaking the couch, genius”, you said, though the laughter in your voice was impossible to hide.

“So are you”, he shot back, leaning closer, droplets of melted snow falling from his collar and onto your skin.

The two of you were practically nose to nose now, water pooling under both of you.

Ben’s smirk softened into something more heated as his fingers toyed with the edge of your jacket. His voice dropped, rough and low, as he muttered, “You know, I fucking hate winter”.

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to catch your breath from laughing. “Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me, the way you were having a field day out there”.

His hands slid to the edges of your jacket, slowly pushing it open as he hovered over you. “Nah”, he said, a big smirk on his face again. “I hate all these damn clothes. Hiding this”. His gaze raked over you as his fingers began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his touch confident and deliberate, yet surprisingly gentle. “Hiding your perfect little tits”.

Your breath caught, your cheeks flushing warmer than they already were from the snow. “Ben”, you started, half in protest, though your voice lacked conviction. His boldness always caught you off guard, even after all this time.

“What?”, he said, mock innocence dripping from his words as his hands worked their way lower. His green eyes locked with yours, full of mischief and intent. “You start a fight, sweetheart, you gotta be ready for the consequences”.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, even as you felt his calloused fingers graze your skin beneath your shirt. “Is this how you settle scores now?”.

Ben leaned closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, his breath warm against your chilled skin. “When it’s with you? Damn right it is”.

Before either of you could go further, the sound of the kids’ muffled giggles echoed through the window. Ben froze, glancing toward the frost-covered glass, then back at you, his grin faltering for just a moment before it returned full force.

“Saved by the brats”, he murmured, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He leaned back, giving you space to sit up as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Guess you get a pass this time”.

You laughed, buttoning your shirt back up as you pushed his chest playfully. “You’re impossible”.

Lila, hands pressed to the glass. “Eww, Mommy and Daddy you´re gross!”, she teased, sticking her tongue out dramatically, while Logan laughed and shook his head, clearly trying to act like he wasn’t entertained but failing miserably.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Lila’s exaggerated expression, her hands still pressed against the window as she made a show of grossing herself out. Logan, on the other hand, was doing his best to look serious, though the laughter that bubbled up from his chest betrayed his attempt to remain mature.

“Eww, Mommy and Daddy always kissing!”, Lila mumbled with a playful scrunch of her nose, her voice full of mock disgust. She stuck her tongue out again, clearly enjoying the attention.

Logan, trying his best to be the older, wiser sibling, crossed his arms and shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “You guys are so embarrassing”, he said, though the way his eyes sparkled showed he didn’t actually mind one bit.

Ben, standing beside you, glanced at you and then back at the kids. His grin softened, and he leaned down toward you, speaking in a voice only you could hear. “They don’t have a clue, do they?”, he said with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Not a single one”.

Lila, clearly not done yet, leaned closer to the window, still giving you both the dramatic “eww” face. “You’re gonna make us barf!”, she announced loudly, her face scrunching as though it was all just too much to bear.

Ben couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s antics. “What are you two up to, huh?”, he called through the window. “Making fun of your parents? You should be building that snowman”.

Lila, always the instigator, puffed out her chest proudly. “We already did!”, she declared. “But now we’re watching you guys because it’s funny!”.

As Lila stood there, still making faces at you and Ben, Logan saw the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Without warning, he grabbed his younger sister by the hand, pulling her away from the window with a quick tug.

“C’mon, Lila!”, Logan urged, his voice filled with excitement. “Let’s finish the snowman! Dad and Mom are being all gross again!”.

Lila let out a reluctant giggle but quickly followed, her mittens flapping as she tried to keep up with her brother. “Okay, okay, but only if we can give him a crown!”; she shouted, already planning the next addition to their snow creation.

Ben watched them go with a fond smile before his gaze shifted back to you. His grin softened as he stood beside you, his arms crossing in that familiar, relaxed way. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, with an undercurrent of concern.

You sighed, keeping your eyes on the kids as they ran back into the snow, their laughter a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the moment. “I think you need to ease up with him, Ben”, you mumbled, your voice soft but steady. “You’re demanding too much from him. He’s just 8”.

Ben didn’t respond right away. His gaze followed Logan and Lila for a moment, his jaw working as though weighing your words. You could see him considering it, but you knew how hard it was for him to let go of the lessons, the expectations he had for Logan. It had been instilled in him—toughness, strength, independence. But Logan was still a child, and there was only so much he could handle before it became too much.

Ben turned to you, his expression slightly guarded but not entirely dismissive. “I’m not asking him to be something he’s not”, he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t get soft. The world isn’t gonna treat him like a kid forever”.

You crossed your arms, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you looked at him. “He is a kid, Ben”, you said, your voice rising a little, frustration creeping in. “Let him be one. You can’t push him to grow up this fast. You can’t always expect him to be your mini-me, a smaller version of you. He’s Logan, not Soldier Boy”.

“I’m just trying to prepare him. If he’s not tough enough, the world will eat him alive. You know that as well as I do”.

You shook your head, exhaling slowly, trying to rein in your emotions. “I know, but there’s a balance. You can teach him those things, Ben, but not at the cost of his childhood. He’s just 8”. You softened your tone, meeting his gaze directly. “I just… I just don’t want him to resent you. I don’t want him to think he has to be something he’s not to earn your approval”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and you could see the internal battle in his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, chewing on the words for a second before letting out a long breath.

Ben’s silence lingered, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. You could see the tension ripple through him, the way his shoulders stiffened and his gaze faltered. You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words, not wanting to push him too far but needing him to understand.

“You should know it best, Ben”, you mumbled softly, almost afraid of how he’d react. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “You know what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough, no matter how hard you try. You’ve told me… how your dad was with you”.

The words hit him like a physical blow, and you saw it immediately. His confident, almost cocky exterior faltered, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, his eyes drifting toward the snow-covered yard where Logan and Lila were playing.

“Don��t”, he finally muttered, his voice rough, strained. “Don’t bring him into this”.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Ben”, you said gently, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “I’m just saying… you know how it feels to grow up under that kind of pressure. Always trying to live up to someone else’s expectations, never feeling like you’re enough. You’ve told me you hated it. And I know you never want Logan to feel that way”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound filled with frustration—but not at you. At himself. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he finally looked back at you, his green eyes clouded with something between regret and resolve.

“I don’t”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want him to feel like that. Ever”.

“Then let him breathe, Ben”, you urged, your voice soft but steady. “He’s just a kid. He needs to know he’s enough as he is. That he doesn’t have to be the toughest or the strongest to make you proud. He just has to be Logan”.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down to rest at his chin. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I’m turning into him, don’t you?”, he asked quietly, almost to himself.

You shook your head firmly. “No, I don’t. You’re not your dad, Ben. You’re already so much more than he ever was. But sometimes… sometimes I think you’re carrying his shadow. And it’s time to let it go. For Logan. For you”.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as your words settled between you. You leaned up and kissed his cheek gently, the warmth of the moment cutting through the tension that had lingered in the air. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You could tell he was listening, really listening, and that was enough for now.

“I’m going to get the kids”, you said softly, brushing your hand along his arm before stepping toward the door.

He nodded once, his gaze following you for a moment before shifting back to the snowy yard, where Logan and Lila were laughing together as they finished up their snowman.

“Alright, you two!”, you called, standing in the door, your voice cutting through their laughter. “Time to come inside! Wash your hands, and then we’re going to bake some cookies”.

Lila’s face lit up, and she immediately clapped her mittened hands together. “Cookies!”, she squealed, already abandoning the snowman and running toward you with excitement. “Can we make the ones with the sprinkles?”.

“Of course, sweetheart”, you said, catching her as she barreled into you. “But first, upstairs. Wash up”.

Logan, however, lingered behind, his small figure standing just a few feet from the snowman. His expression shifted slightly, the bright enthusiasm dimming as he avoided your eyes. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Logan”, you called gently, holding the door open as Lila darted inside. “Come on, sweetie. Time to wash up”.

He trudged toward you slowly, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. When he finally reached you, he hesitated once more, his small boots crunching in the snow, but he kept his gaze low, his face unreadable. You crouched down to his level, brushing some of the snow off his coat. You tilted your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Logan, sweetie”, you said gently, “Do you not want to bake cookies? It’s okay if you don’t feel like it”.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before darting away again. This time, they landed where Ben still stood, his broad figure shadowed by the light from the living room. Ben had turned slightly, his gaze now fixed on the two of you at the door, his expression unreadable but clearly focused.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his small hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Then, he shook his head firmly. “It’s… it’s women’s stuff”, he muttered, his tone wavering. Without waiting for your response, he turned abruptly, his small boots stomping against the hardwood floor as he headed for the stairs.

“Logan”, you called after him gently, but he didn’t stop. You caught a glimpse of his face before he disappeared up the staircase—the tight set of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like he was fighting something back. And then you saw it: the tears gathering in his eyes.

Your heart sank as you realized what was really going on. Logan usually loved baking cookies, that much you knew. He had always lit up at the chance to mix dough, sprinkle sugar, and get his hands messy in the process. But he wouldn’t admit that in front of Ben, not after what he thought his dad believed about “women’s stuff”. And Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ben see him cry.

You sighed, glancing back at Ben, his expression unreadable. He had been watching the entire exchange, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. For a moment, you thought he might come, might say something, but he stayed frozen in place, his eyes following Logan’s retreat.

Without saying a word, you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you and heading upstairs. As much as you wanted to comfort Logan, you also knew that Ben needed to face this moment, to see the impact of his words—not just through your eyes, but his own.

You found Logan in his room, curled up on the edge of his bed, his back to the door. His small shoulders trembled slightly, though he tried to keep quiet. It broke your heart to see him like that, trying so hard to hold everything in.

“Logan?”, you said softly, stepping into the room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to give him space. “It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to hide it from me”.

“I’m not upset”, he muttered, his voice muffled. “I don’t care. I hate baking cookies”.

You reached out gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you do care. And it’s okay if you love baking cookies, Logan. That doesn’t make you less of anything”.

He didn’t respond at first, but after a long pause, he whispered, “Dad thinks it does”.

Those words hit you hard, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. “Your dad doesn’t think that, sweetie. He just… sometimes he says things without thinking. But that doesn’t mean he’s right”.

Logan finally turned to look at you, his tear-streaked face breaking your heart all over again. “He’ll think I’m weak”, he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t want him to think I’m weak”.

You pulled him into a gentle hug, holding him close as his small frame shook against you. “Logan, you’re not weak”, you said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And being strong doesn’t mean hiding the things you love. It means being brave enough to be yourself”.

At that moment, you heard footsteps approaching. The door creaked open slightly, and you looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway. He hesitated, his expression soft but conflicted as his eyes landed on Logan. He didn’t say anything right away, but the regret on his face was clear.

“Logan”, Ben finally said, his voice quieter than usual. He stepped into the room, his broad figure filling the small space as he crouched down next to the bed.

Logan’s reaction was immediate and almost frantic. He pulled away from your embrace, turning his back to both you and Ben as he roughly wiped at his face with his small fists. His movements were sharp and deliberate, as though he was trying to erase the evidence of his tears before anyone could say a word.

“I’m fine”, he muttered, his voice tight and trembling. “I wasn’t crying”.

You glanced at Ben, whose face tightened at the sight. You could see the regret and guilt pooling in his eyes, the weight of his own words and lessons crashing down on him as he watched his son fight so hard to suppress his emotions.

Ben cleared his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay—”.

“I said I’m fine!”, Logan snapped, spinning around to glare at him. His eyes were red and glassy, but his jaw was set in defiance. “Women cry. That’s what you always say. So I’m not crying”.

Ben froze, visibly taken aback by the raw honesty in Logan’s voice. For a moment, he just stared, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond but no words coming out. It was like he was looking into a mirror of himself, the echoes of his father’s harsh lessons staring back at him in his own son’s tear-streaked face.

You saw the way Ben’s shoulders sagged, his defenses crumbling as Logan’s words hit him harder than any punch ever could. He finally sat down on the floor next to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure he was on Logan’s level.

Your heart aching as you watched Logan’s small figure tremble with frustration, hurt, and confusion. You couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to Ben, your voice came sharp and firm, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

“Fix this, Ben”, you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. Your eyes locked on his, stern and unwavering. “That’s my baby boy, and I will not let him feel like this because of something you’ve said”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew you were right, and the weight of the situation was already pressing down on him. You took a deep breath, your own emotions threatening to spill over, and with one last look at both of them, you turned on your heel and left the room. Your own eyes were glassy, tears threatening to fall as you closed the door softly behind you.

In the quiet of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Hearing Logan say those words, seeing the pain etched on his small face—it was almost too much to bear. But you trusted Ben to handle it. He had to handle it.

Inside the room, Ben remained seated on the floor, his gaze fixed on Logan, who was still turned away from him. The boy’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides, his head bowed low as he tried to mask the occasional sniffle that escaped him.

“Logan”, Ben started softly, his voice steady but carrying a rare gentleness that was almost foreign. “Can I tell you something? Something about me?”.

Logan didn’t respond, but Ben noticed the slight twitch of his shoulders, the way his posture stiffened just enough to show he was listening. Ben took that as his cue to continue.

“When I was your age”, Ben began, leaning forward slightly, “My dad used to say the same things to me. He’d tell me that crying made me weak. That showing how I felt was… wrong. And I believed him. I thought if I ever let myself cry, or feel scared, or be anything other than ‘tough’, I was a failure”.

Logan shifted slightly but still didn’t turn around. Ben kept going, his voice growing heavier with emotion.

“And you know what? For a long time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t let myself feel anything, really. I just kept it all inside, like I was supposed to. But it didn’t make me stronger, Logan. It made me angry. It made me feel alone. Like I had to handle everything by myself, and no one else could ever understand”.

Finally, Logan turned, his tear-streaked face filled with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You?”, he asked, his voice cracking. “You felt like that?”.

Ben nodded, his eyes meeting Logan’s with an honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “Yeah, kid. I did. And it wasn’t until I met your mom—until I had you and Lila—that I realized how wrong my dad was. Being tough doesn’t mean keeping everything inside. It doesn’t mean pretending you don’t care or don’t hurt. Being tough means letting yourself feel all of it and still finding the strength to keep going”.

Logan sniffled, his fists unclenching as he wiped at his eyes again. “But you said—”.

Ben let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident. “I know what I said”, he repeated, his voice carrying that gruff edge that always came with vulnerability. “And yeah, I messed up. I say a lot of dumb shit, Logan. Your mom would probably tell you I’ve got a talent for it”.

That earned a small, almost involuntary laugh from Logan, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ben’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the faintest hint of relief flickering in his eyes.

“But here’s the thing”, Ben continued, his voice softening again as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want you to grow up thinking you’ve got to be me. Hell, I don’t even like half the crap I’ve done. You’re better than that. Better than me”.

Logan stared at him, his tear-streaked face a mix of surprise and confusion. “But you’re… you’re, like, the strongest guy ever. You’re not scared of anything”.

Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not scared of anything, huh?”. He smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, I’m scared as shit of your mom”.

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. “What? Mom?”.

“Yeah, your mom”, Ben said, his tone a mix of humor and honesty. “You think I’m out there facing down bad guys like it’s no big deal? That’s nothing compared to when she gives me the look”. He mimicked an exaggerated version of your stern glare, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Logan giggled, the tension melting further as he watched his dad pretend to shrink under an invisible scolding. “Really?”.

“Oh yeah”, Ben said, nodding seriously. “One time I forgot to take the trash out. She didn’t even yell—she just stood there, arms crossed, staring me down like I’d committed a fucking war crime”. He mock-shuddered. “I’d rather face supervillains".

Logan laughed harder this time, wiping his face again, though the tears were gone now, replaced by a small, genuine smile.

Ben leaned closer, his expression softening. “Look, kid, being scared isn’t a bad thing. It just means you care about something—or someone. Like how I’m scared of messing up with you and your sister. And yeah, I’m scared of your mom sometimes, but only because she’s got this way of making me want to be better, even when I screw up”.

Logan tilted his head, considering his dad’s words. “So… it’s okay to be scared?”.

Ben nodded firmly. “Scared, nervous, happy, mad—it’s all part of being human. What matters is what you do with it. And right now?”. He gave Logan a lopsided grin. “We’re gonna take those feelings, roll up our sleeves, and bake the best cookies this house has ever seen. You in?”.

Logan hesitated for a second before nodding, his smile growing. “I’m in”.

Ben stood, holding out a hand to help Logan up. “Good. But fair warning—your mom’s probably waiting outside that door to see if I fixed this. And if she’s still mad at me, I might need you to tell her I did a good job. Deal?”.

Logan laughed, taking his dad’s hand and standing up. “Deal”.

When the door opened, you were standing there in the hallway, arms crossed but a soft smile on your face. Ben gave you a sheepish grin, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, boss. Mission accomplished”.

You shook your head, stepping aside to let them pass. “For now”, you said teasingly, though the gratitude in your eyes said everything you didn’t.

As the three of you headed downstairs, Logan walked between you and Ben, his small hand brushing against yours.

An hour later, the kitchen was alive with laughter and the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. Logan and Lila sat at the table, surrounded by bowls of frosting and sprinkles, each focused on decorating their creations. Logan was surprisingly precise, carefully piping designs onto a gingerbread man, while Lila was happily dumping an entire handful of rainbow sprinkles onto one cookie, creating a chaotic masterpiece.

You leaned against Ben, his warmth a steady comfort as you watched the kids. His arm slid lazily around your shoulders, and he let out a soft sigh, one that carried a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“You did good today, Soldier Boy”, you murmured, grinning up at him. Standing on your tiptoes, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing the faint stubble there.

Ben smirked, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, well”, he started, clearly about to respond with one of his usual witty comebacks, when—

“Ewww!”, Lila groaned dramatically from the table, dragging out the word as she scrunched her nose and waved her hands like she was fending off a swarm of bees. “Mommy and Daddy are being gross again!”.

Logan snickered, not looking up from his cookie but clearly amused by his sister’s reaction. “Told you they do that all the time”, he said with a teasing grin. “It’s so embarrassing”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you with an exaggerated look of mock offense. “Didn’t realize we were raising such critics”, he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Ben shook his head, smirking as he turned toward the kids. “Alright, listen up, you two. You keep calling us gross, and I’m eating all these cookies myself. No sprinkles, no frosting, just plain cookies. How’s that for embarrassing?”.

“Daddy, nooo!”, Lila shrieked, clutching one of her sprinkle-covered cookies protectively to her chest. “You can’t! These are mine!”.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step toward the table, his eyes locked on one of Lila’s chaotic sprinkle-covered cookies. “Oh, really?”, he drawled, his tone teasing and slow. “You think you can stop me, little miss sprinkle queen?”.

Lila gasped dramatically. “Daddy, no!”, she squealed, scooting back in her chair and holding up a hand to block him. “You can’t take this one! It’s perfect!”.

“Perfect, huh?”, Ben quirked an eyebrow, inching closer, his large frame towering over the table. “Let me see. Gotta make sure it’s up to regulation”.

“It’s mine!”, Lila shouted, jumping out of her chair and running around to the other side of the table, her plate wobbling in her hands. “Go eat Logan’s cookies instead!”.

“Hey!”, Logan said, finally looking up from his carefully decorated gingerbread man. “Don’t drag me into this! My cookies are art”.

Ben burst out laughing, glancing over at Logan with mock offense. “Art, huh? Let me be the judge of that”. He reached out as if to grab one of Logan’s cookies, but Logan quickly pulled his plate away, holding it up high.

“Back off, Dad!”, Logan said with a grin, using his other hand to block him. “These are for Mom!”.

Ben stopped, placing his hands on his hips, his grin turning into a smirk. “Oh, for Mom, huh? Well, in that case…”. He lunged toward Lila, pretending to swipe for her plate.

Lila let out a delighted shriek, ducking under the table and crawling to the other side. “You’ll never catch me!”, she declared, her giggles filling the kitchen.

You leaned against the counter, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile. “Ben”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a mock stern look, “if you don’t leave their cookies alone, you’re not getting any of… mine”.

Ben froze mid-step, his hand still outstretched toward Lila’s plate, as your words hung in the air. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Not getting any of… yours, huh?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. “That’s exactly what I said”, you replied, the double meaning clear in your tone.

Before Ben could respond with one of his usual cheeky comebacks, Logan groaned loudly from his seat, his hands slapping the table. “I know you guys aren’t talking about cookies”, he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And for the record, I don’t want another baby sister, okay? One is enough”.

Ben blinked, taken completely off guard by Logan’s blunt statement. He let out a bark of laughter, leaning against the table for support as he pointed at Logan. “Kid, what the hell—where did that even come from?”.

“Logan!”, you gasped, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your chest. “What are you talking about?”.

Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he’d just solved a great mystery. “You guys are always giving each other those looks, and Dad’s always making those weird jokes”. He waved his hand in Ben’s direction. “It’s not rocket science”.

Ben, still chuckling, wiped a hand over his face as he shook his head. “The kid’s too smart for his own good”, he muttered, grinning at you. “He’s onto us”.

“Logan”, you said, trying to suppress your laughter and keep a straight face, “You are way too young to be worrying about this kind of thing”.

Logan kept his arms crossed, his gaze shifting between you and Ben as his face took on that serious, almost grown-up expression he liked to wear when he was deep in thought. “I’m just saying”, he said slowly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge, “you don’t need another kid. We’re good like this”,

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. There was something unspoken in his words, a flicker of uncertainty behind the bravado. He wasn’t just teasing—this was something else. But you knew better than to press him here, not in front of Ben, not when Logan was so guarded.

“Of course we’re good like this”, you said gently, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table. “But would another sibling be that bad?”.

Logan shrugged, his lips pressing together in that tight, nervous way he had when he didn’t want to say what he was really thinking. “I don’t know”m he mumbled, his eyes dropping to his cookie. “I just think… things are fine the way they are”.

Ben, still standing beside you, raised an eyebrow. He glanced down at you, clearly noticing the shift in Logan’s tone, but didn’t push either. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the counter.

Logan’s words struck a chord, and you could see the layers of concern in his small face—concerns he didn’t know how to voice yet. You gave Logan a warm smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently.

“You’re right, buddy”, you said softly. “Things are perfect just the way they are”.

Logan relaxed slightly at your reassurance, nodding as he returned his attention to his cookie. Ben gave you a questioning look, his eyebrow raised as if he were silently asking, What’s that about? You shook your head slightly, a silent later passing between you.

Because there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that had been tugging at the back of your mind. You were late. Only a few days, but still. You were never late.

You hadn’t said anything to Ben yet because you weren’t ready to make it real, not until you were sure. But as Logan’s words played over in your head, you felt a swirl of emotions: uncertainty, anticipation, and a hint of fear.

Ben’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Alright, Logan”, he said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “You better not be hogging all the good cookies over there. I need to taste-test those”.

Logan rolled his eyes, his small smirk returning as he pushed one of his neatly decorated cookies toward his dad. “Here, take one. But don’t mess up my frosting”.

Ben grinned, plucking the cookie off the plate with exaggerated care. “Wouldn’t dream of it, champ”.

When the kitchen filled with laughter again, you let yourself lean into the moment, deciding to hold off on the conversation for now.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the kitchen turned into the quiet hum of nighttime. Lila had curled up on the couch under a blanket, clutching a small stuffed animal in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Her eyelids had grown heavy, and eventually, she’d surrendered to sleep, her soft snores filling the cozy space.

Ben glanced over from where he was tidying up the counter, his face softening as he took in the sight of his little girl. “Looks like the Sprinkle Queen’s out for the count”, he said, his voice low.

You smiled, drying your hands on a towel. “She had a big day. All those sprinkles wore her out”.

Ben crossed the room, scooping Lila into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but settled quickly against his chest, her tiny hand clutching at his shirt.

“I’ll take her up”, he said, his voice quiet but firm, as though it wasn’t up for discussion. You nodded, watching as he carried her out of the room, the sight of his broad figure cradling her so gently always tugging at your heart.

Logan appeared in the doorway then, his steps hesitant as he glanced between you and the direction his dad had gone. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing a little taller as if to remind you—and himself—that he didn’t need the same kind of care his little sister did.

“I don’t need anyone to bring me to bed”, Logan said, his voice firm but lacking the usual bite of defiance. “I can do it myself”.

You gave him a small smile, stepping closer. “I know you can, sweetheart”, you said softly. “You’ve been doing great. But you let me help when Dad’s not here. Maybe you can let him help tonight?”.

Logan hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor before looking back up at you. “Dad’s never… he doesn’t usually…”. He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

You crouched down, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Sometimes he doesn’t know how to ask”, you said gently. “But he’d love to, Logan. If you’re okay with it”.

Logan frowned, his small brows furrowing as he thought it over. Then he gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Okay”, he mumbled, glancing toward the stairs. “But only if he doesn’t make a big deal about it”.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Deal”.

By the time Ben returned, Logan was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his arms still crossed but his posture less tense.

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, his heavy steps softening as he noticed Logan standing there, arms crossed in that telltale way that meant he was trying to appear tougher than he felt. Ben paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his son waiting for him, and his face softened in a way that only you seemed to notice.

“Looks like someone’s still up”, Ben said, his tone light but without the teasing edge he sometimes used. He walked down the last few steps, his movements slower, less hurried, as though giving Logan time to decide what he wanted.

Logan glanced at you briefly, then back at his dad. “I’m ready for bed”, he said, his voice neutral, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Ben nodded, his hands settling on his hips as he studied his son for a moment. “Alright”, he said, his tone casual. “Let’s get you tucked in, then”.

Logan didn’t move at first, glancing at the floor like he was waiting for Ben to say more. When nothing else came, he gave a small nod and started up the stairs, his pace slower than usual. Ben followed closely behind, casting a quick glance at you as he passed. You gave him an encouraging smile, silently urging him to let this moment be what Logan needed.

When they reached Logan’s room, Ben paused in the doorway, watching as Logan climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Logan fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, his small hands gripping it tightly.

Ben stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Logan burrowed into his bed, the blanket clutched tightly to his chest. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward and crouching down beside the bed, his movements uncharacteristically gentle.

“You all set, champ?”, Ben asked, his voice low and steady.

Logan nodded, but his hands still fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind that Ben hadn’t seen in a while. Without thinking too much about it, Ben reached out and grabbed the blanket, pulling it up snugly around Logan’s shoulders.

“Gotta make sure you’re tucked in properly”, Ben said, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost teasing. “Don’t want you freezing in the middle of the night”.

Logan giggled softly, his small voice breaking the quiet of the room. “Dad, I’m not gonna freeze”.

“Oh, you think so?”, Ben said, raising an eyebrow as he tugged the blanket even tighter around Logan, practically swaddling him. “What if a snowstorm hits? What if you wake up and there’s frost on your nose? Gotta be prepared”.

Logan laughed harder now, his small hands pushing at the blanket as he squirmed. “Dad! Stop, it’s too tight!”.

“Nope”, Ben said with mock seriousness, sitting back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. You’re like a little burrito now. Nothing’s getting to you”.

“Dad!”, Logan squealed, his laughter breaking through the last of his earlier hesitation. He wiggled under the tightly tucked blanket, his face lighting up with a joy that reminded Ben of when he was younger, back before Ben had decided he was too big for things like this.

Ben grinned, leaning forward and ruffling Logan’s hair. “There we go”, he said softly. “That’s better. Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while”.

Logan’s giggles faded into a warm smile, his eyes meeting his dad’s with a rare openness. “Thanks, Dad”.

Ben’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off Logan’s forehead. “Anytime, kiddo. You know that”.

He stood slowly and glanced toward the door before he turned back to Logan, his voice low and serious now.

“Alright, get some sleep. Sweet dreams, champ”.

“Goodnight, Dad”, Logan murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Ben hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s head, something he hadn’t done in years. Logan didn’t pull away, instead letting his eyes flutter closed as he sank deeper into his blankets.

———————————

A/N: Not that much of Christmas, but it’s snowy and cold. So let’s just count it, lol. Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Hello I was wondering if you could do Jackson ellie x bestfreind reader and like they have had a crush on eachother for a while and have a sleepover where they smoke or drink maybe or play some type of game like truth or dare and find out they like eachother and get kinda freaky idk. Thank you!

EEE I am so excited for this one watch me cook on this request. This is a rlly good request and I wanna write something just as good!! Also I want to recommend you an ao3 fic with this EXACT plot it's tagged here actually my favorite Ellie fic ever.

Content: 4k words, bestfriend reader, Jackson setting, pent-up feelings, nipple-play (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), tribbing, Ellie puts a finger into your mouth how fun!, a lot of dialogue before the actual sex sorry but I loved writing Ellie to be funny, reader likes pink a lot (couldn't help myself) and is afab, reader and Ellie 18+, NOT PROOFREAD LMAO

You're far from safe from liking people you shouldn't like.

That doesn't even cover the multitude of feelings! Like doesn't cover it. You're pretty sure you love Ellie.

Maybe in another lifetime, you and Ellie could've met and went on a date. You could've loved her freely. In this universe, she is your childhood best friend.

You know it could ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you if you tell her, or if she finds out in some way, but fuck; when she looks at you, it's like you forget how to breathe. You just wanna breathe her in, you want to share the same air and feel her lips on yours.

Ellie is unlike anyone you've ever known. She's sweet for you. She's impulsive to others, and honestly sometimes an asshole. That only makes you fall more and more in love for her. You didn't know it was possible to be attracted to someone's flaws, but you want every piece of her, even the bits that others in Jackson label as "annoying."

Ellie has always been there for you since you were just 15 and she moved to Jackson right by Joel's side. You just seemed to click. She was brash, foul-mouthed, and told ironically funny dad jokes. You were the type of person who liked having adventures and never shut up. Ellie always listened. She held you while you cried, let you borrow her book of puns, and volunteered to do patrols with you just so she could have fun adventures with you.

You couldn't ruin a good thing. You don't know what you would even do without Ellie in your life. You didn't wanna freak her out or make things weird. You feel like such a coward, but even thinking about Ellie distancing herself from you because of your stupid crush on her? It just makes your stomach churn with dread.

Little did you know Ellie was equally obsessed with you.

You're like a fucking ball of sunshine to the girl, always there laughing at the stupid things she says, defending her when she gets in trouble for something minor, and your smile should be considered warfare for how easily it could kill her. She tries to keep her feelings to herself, but it is so hard to when you look at her with bright eyes and the sweetest smile like you're trying to give her a toothache.

It's a recipe for a bomb, and it only takes one game to set it off.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

You're sitting criss-cross on your bed and Ellie is in your floor. It's a Saturday, which means both of you get to have a sleepover. No patrol, and no major chores to be done around Jackson.

Ellie just got back from a multiple day lasting patrol and she missed you so much while she was gone, it's not even funny. Seattle is beautiful, but boring when there isn't a sunshine girl in awe about how the verdure clings to the buildings. But at least now she is here, back in your bedroom which she loves so much.

Ellie's room is vastly different from yours. Well, her garage is. Her bedsheets are grey and minimalistic, and her make-shift kitchen is lined with posters. Her favorite is the one with the punk green-haired man holding a guitar. Her closet, however, it quite impressive. Her shelves are lined with comics and space movies, and her hangers are lined with flannels, of course.

Your bedroom, in contrast, has white bedsheets and a cozy pink blanket. You have a few raggedy plushies from scavenging around and your shelves are filled with lighter-colored clothing. White curtains decorate your windows and frilly pillowcases (that end up in the floor most of the time) compliment your bed. You have a full-length mirror in the corner of your room and a shelf of DVDs you usually just bring over to Ellie's garage, since she has a much nicer tv than you do. Ellie glances up at you from the floor, squiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm so fucking bored!" You groan, making Ellie laugh in the process.

"And how is that my problem?"

You flip her off and she clutches her stomach.

"Seriously, Ellie. I wanna actually do something and not just eat grilled cheeses and read your nerdy comics."

She scoffs.

"Excuse me? It's not my fault you have bad taste in literature."

You snort at that. "Starlight Savage and Raven Mouse are not literature."

"Oh, then what are they, huh?" She stands up, amusingly offended.

"Comics!"

Ellie grabs one of your pillows and pretends to suffocate you with it. You're laughing and trying to pry it off of your face.

"Hey, quit! You're actually gonna kill me!" You giggle, your voice muffled from the cushioning.

Ellie finally relents, laughing along with you.

"Better think twice before disrespecting Starlight Savage." She is wearing her signature shit-eating grin.

"Oh, whatever.. Hey!- You got me off topic." You groaned.

Ellie laughs at that. "And what was the topic?"

"I am bored out of my fucking mind," you complain, your voice rising in pitch to sound whiny, which she pretends to absolutely hate.

Really, she just hates that it makes her stomach clench when she hears your cute complains, and the tone of your whines only makes it worse.

"Okay, okay, fine. We can do something fun." She feigns reluctance, setting down on the bed beside you.

"Great!! So, what should we do?"

"Seriously? You don't even know what you wanna do and you gave me whiplash bitching about being bored?"

You scoff, jumping to your own defense. "I was tryin' to get you to come up with something," and then you add to complete your argument, "I wouldn't be bored if I knew what we could do."

Ellie sighs, and you smile because you know that means she has had enough of your bullshit and she just wants to throw in the towel.

"Fine. Well, we can play a game perhaps?"

You groan in protest at the suggestion. "You're a dirty cheater when it comes to Monopoly!"

Ellie only lets out a sheepish laugh at that, because she knows that you're being 100% truthful. "That is what makes the game fun!" When she sees your glare, she sighs once more. "Fine. How 'bout Truth or Dare?"

That sounds intriguing; the game begins.

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You and Ellie sit across from each other, and the game has been going on for around 10 minutes now. It's getting quite boring - always questions like "What's a secret you haven't told me?" or Ellie dares you to do something she knows you won't do, like lick the toilet bowl.

Then, she asks a question that brings the game onto another level.

"What's your favorite sex position?"

You stare at her, your jaw practically in your lap. You don't wanna talk sex positions with the girl you secretly wanna do sex positions with.

"What the fuck, Ellie?!"

She looks a bit guilty, but shrugs with a smirk that doesn't go unnoticed.

"What? I wanted to spice things up. C'mon, don't be a pussy."

You think it over, but finally, with a heated face, you say fuck it and give into her bullshit. "Missionary."

Ellie bursts out laughing.

You're sitting there not knowing what to do! She is laughing like a hyena at this point, tears in the corners of her eyes. She slaps her knee. What the fuck?!

"What's so funny?!"

Ellie just laughs, falling over and she is snorting like a pig now before she finally settles down. "It's just.." she tries to stifle a giggle, "that is the most boring thing you could've possibly said.”

You know that, but you're keen on defending your word. Ellie loves that about you, how you're always quick to stand up for yourself. "It's romantic!"

"Okay, okay," she shrugs. "Enlighten me on how missionary is more romantic than any other position that actually feels good."

You don't hesitate to list off the facts. "First of all, it does feel good! You just haven't tried the pillow method. Second of all, you can kiss your partner and actually talk to them." You sigh, getting a bit flustered (and turned on) by the conversation at hand. "Imagine fucking someone and getting to kiss all over their face while doing so, or on their neck or their tits. It's about the intimacy."

Ellie looks just as flustered as you now. She is silent for a moment before giving you the benefit of the doubt. "Okay, I guess you can rest your case now. But there is much more intimate positions than missionary, you know. You're just thinking vanilla ones like riding the strap-on, or from behind."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "Okay, I'll bite. What's more intimate than looking into someone's eyes while they cum?"

Ellie laughs at your vulgar question, pink tinting her freckled cheeks. "Tribbing." Her voice is more quiet, and that only makes you more aware of the slight tension.

You quickly brush it off with a laugh.

"Of course your gay ass would say that."

She grins and sits up at that, quick to defend herself. "Hey, you have no room to be talking, little miss 'my gay awakening is Rose from Titanic.'"

Your jaw drops and you look at her like she has said something crazy. "Hey, Rose is hot!"

She giggles. "Yeah, Sherlock, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, okay. Can we get back to the game?"

She nods, and it continues.

As time passes, the questions grow more and more...uncomfortable to answer. You're still asking her the more casual things, but Ellie is daring you to do stupid, impossible stuff, or to answer questions like "what was your first time like?", "do you have a friends with benefits situation with anyone in Jackson?", and "if you could kiss anyone in Jackson, who would it be?" (which you brushed off jokingly by saying old man Eugene. She didn't press any further, only mocking you).

Then, she leans forward after you choose truth, and she whispers something you can't really brush off.

"Who do you like?"

You're fucked. If she asked "do you like someone?", you could answer without revealing who it is. She knows she has you trapped. Sneaky cunt.

You don't answer right away. Ellie is so close, your knees touching. The air in the room is insanely hot, and you want to leave your own house, you want to hide under your blankets or cover your face, but you can't.

Ellie doesn't wait for you to answer.

"I know you like someone, I can tell when my best friend is in love. Who is it?"

"That's way too personal, I.."

She scoffs, but it's not a rude sound. Just shocked, maybe slightly hurt. "You have always told me your crushes. Why won't you tell me now?"

You feel guilty now because she doesn't understand. She doesn't get why you won't tell her. She can't understand that it's because you like her. You want to scream it: I'm in love with you, Ellie! But those words won't be the next you utter.

"I just...I feel like this time it should be private." You know that your reasoning is weak, for once in your life, the defense is slipping and it's ugly. You internally wince.

She just stares in silence, not really meeting your eyes. It makes you panic, and then, then the words slip from your mouth seeing the hurt on Ellie's pretty face.

"It's you."

She stares at you like she didn't quite hear what you said, even though it was shaky, nevertheless loud and coherent.

"What...?"

"I..I'm in love with you, Ellie." You repeat yourself.

She leans into you. "Fuck.." Her breath hitches. "You better not be fucking around with me, I swear to-"

"No!", you shout loudly and quickly try to compose yourself. "I mean..I'm not joking. I like you. I hope this doesn't fuck with our friendship, or like.." You trail off, not wanting to think about what could happen now.

"I'm in love with you, too." There, now Ellie has gotten it out too.

Ellie didn't even fully understand why she asked you that. She knew she could've gotten her feelings hurt, that you could've liked someone else or that it would definitely mean you did like her, and then she had to be vulnerable and confess it back. Still, she was so exhausted, so fucking tired of pretending like hugs and casual touches were enough. They were never enough.

"Can I kiss you?" She doesn't even give you the proper time to react to her shared confession before she springs that onto you. You don't complain, only nodding quickly.

Her breath is warm against yours, and you can tell how shaky it is. You've never seen her so nervous, it makes your own stomach flutter with butterflies. Then, Ellie's grasping onto your face and smashing her lips against yours. Her mouth is warm, and the kiss doesn't even start out gentle. It's all devouring, all need and passon.

You quickly move into her lap, thighs on either sides of hers, and both of you are desperately pulling each other closer, finally sharing the same air. She tastes like everything natural, something so unique it can't be described but you immediately know you need more of it. Her tongue moves inside of your mouth, devouring you just like how she has been dreaming of for who knows how long, and when you're forced to pull away for a breath, her lips are sloppily trailing down your jaw to your throat, her hands grasping your hips to pull you closer.

"I've wanted you for so long, you know that?" Her voice is warm against your sensitive skin, and you think you could just burst with how it feels to be practically intertwined with her.

"Show me how it feels, Els.." You gasp and tilt your head back for more, but Ellie pulls away to look at you.

"How what feels?' She doesn't sound rude, only confused with her lips swollen and wet.

"The intimacy..the intimacy you talked about.." Oh, that.

She nods quickly, and her mouth is all over your shoulders, leaving soft pecks between words, "We can do that, but I wanna do something first..is that okay?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

With that, she pulls your shirt over your head and stares at you like she has never seen a pair of boobs before. Her eyes are wide and she takes you in before her.

"You're so pretty," she mumbles with conviction, kneading your tits through your bra. You can only moan when she sticks a hand into your bra and rubs her palm over your nipples, her other hand deftly undoing the clasp of the fabric.

That was the hottest thing you could do for a woman, Williams..

Her lips quickly find a nipple, pulling it into her mouth to swirl her tongue around the bud. Your fingers tug at her hair, begging for more. You need her closer. She reluctantly pulls her mouth off off of its new favorite place and leans back up to face you, planting an affectionate kiss on your cheek before smiling sheepishly.

"I'm gonna say something I want to do to you, but you can't laugh.."

That makes you already giggle, despite the heat building between your thighs. That is something you love about Ellie, the way she can make you laugh even when you aren't supposed to be.

"I'll try my best. What is it?" You ask, and she fiddles with her fingers nervously.

"I wanna use my fingers on you," she says it so quietly, voice nervous but filled with hunger before she quickly adds, "if you want me to. It's okay if you don't wanna go any further-"

"I want you to finger me, Els."

That was easier than she thought it would be.

She nods now, slowly unbuttoning your jeans and watching with an intense gaze as you hop off of her lap to shimmy them off. Now you're in nothing but a cotton pair of panties and you look so gorgeous.

Ellie has always found you to be beautiful. During patrols and on lookout, your hair had a shine to it that most people wouldn't care to think too much about, but Ellie always noticed it. Ellie always noticed the way your lips parted when you were zoned out, or how you walked like you always knew where you were going even on the paths that were mainly uncharted. You were so lovely-looking.

Now, nearly naked for her, she doesn't know if she can bare to blink even for a second. She is currently having a never-ending starting contest with your body, and she has to stop herself from pouncing on you. She wants to love you, not just fuck you.

Ellie is on her knees between your legs, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your underwear. Her eyes flicker over your body before looking to yours for confirmation.

"You sure you want this?"

"Please, Ellie. I want you." You know you sound desperate for her, but it can't be helped. You were soaked through your underwear, clit beating with need, and Ellie is just eyeing you like she wanted to devour you. She probably would, but she wants to save your clit for later.

She nods and slips your underwear down your legs, pulling them off of your ankles and throwing them behind her. The action made you giggle, but Ellie quickly squashed your outburst.

"Somethin' funny?" She asks, slipping a finger through your slick folds. You gasp and jolt.

"Hey, where the fuck is the warning, you cunt?"

She has to stifle her own laugh at your outburst, but she is growing tired of the cute giggles; if you laughed one more time, she'd be fucking you until you were limping-

"Sorry, pretty. I'm gettin' impatient." Her tone mkes you involuntarily clench. You rarely hear that tone, the serious one when she is either around someone she doesn't know and is keeping it professional or just not in the mood to joke. Now, you discover it's her horny tone, too.

You nod, tilting your head back to rest it on your frilly pillow. Finally, she slips two digits past your lips and you resist the urge to let a whorish whine slip past your lips. When she easily slides into your heat, you then can't resist.

Ellie's eyes are glued to your pussy like it's magic, watching your hips try to rise for more, feeling the way your walls tighten around her intrusion.

It's too much for her poor, fucked head to bare.

She is already as wrecked as you are. She wants to taunt you for the way you already look like you're going to cum from her barely brushing at your spongey g-spot, but she can't. She is probably in rougher shape right now.

"You feel so warm." It's all she can manage to get out, and she curls her fingers inside of you into upward, making you moan.

"I wanna cum, Els..please, more. Give me more." Ellie has never seen you this dumb for pleasure before, but who is she to deny you?

Her fingers aren't thrusting in and out or finger-banging you, just slowly sliding through your cunt, her fingertips stroking where you need them to. You feel so full, so complete. You hope she does this every single day from here on out.

It doesn't take long to get you into a state of complete bliss, and you haven't even climaxed yet. Your legs aren't clamping down, rather spreading wider as if you're begging for her to take you in the most obscene ways possible, fill you up with more than just her fingers. If only she you two were currently at her house, she has that unopened strap-on box... maybe for another day.

The knot that builds in your stomach, the temperature of it overheating your insides is about to snap. You're begging as if Ellie is teasing you or something. You're whining, and you look like you're about to start sobbing if she pauses her pace even for a nanosecond. She just wants to gives you everything, thinks you deserve the whole world, so she leans forward and intertwines her fingers with yours as her other fingers pump deep inside you, and you swear it's rearranging your guts. You wanna be wrecked so damn badly.

"You keep fluttering around me, gonna cum?" She asks, and you whine and nod.

Your orgasm soon hits you like a tsunami, once in a crash and then it simmers throughout you in waves. This is probably the hardest you have ever came. You gasp onto her hand tight, squeezing her fingers. You can't even speak or you'd be howling her name. It feels so euphoric and you wonder how it can get any better than this.

When you come down from the peak, she eases her fingers out of your tender insides and licks her ring finger clean. Then, she settles her hips between your legs, bringing her soaking middle finger to your lips.

"Open up."

You do so without question, tasting yourself on her digit before she swiftly pulls her finger away with a "pop!"

"I taste weird," you mumble and she rolls her eyes, mumbling a little "fuck you" before sitting up to strip out of her flannel.

You feel maybe a little nervous before. Something about the thought of feeling her in such an intimate way makes you feel even more fluttery inside. You've been with women before, you are far from a virgin, but you've never clashed clits before (omfg what). Most girls thought it was just a porn thing.

"You okay?" Ellie pauses, her flannel on the bed and a black t-shirt layer underneath it.

"Yeah," you mean it, "just a little nervous."

Her eyes soften, and she takes your hand and squeezes it. "I promise I'll be slow with you. I'm not gonna rush you into this, and if you want, we can always stop."

You feel more assured now, and you smile. "Okay."

When she finally strips out of her clothing, you take her in. She is breath-takingly beautiful. Her body is pale but covered in tan freckles, and her nipples are perky with arousal. Her shoulders and collarbone look so fucking kissable. You're still in a daze as she hooks a leg over yours, her warm cunt only an inch or two away from yours. She hovers.

"You ready?"

"I want you, so yes."

That makes her smile, and she slowly eases down onto you, her folds rubbing up against yours and both of your neglected clits finally getting the attention they deserve. Both of you are already moaning and Ellie leans down onto you, her tits brushing against yours as she kisses you deeply.

This kiss is slower than the first, less desperate but just as emotional. It's hungry and consumes you in a sensual way. Her hips grind against yours, her slick mixing with your soaked pussy to make you only whine into her mouth.

Now you understand how intimate this is. You feel so connected to Ellie in a way you hope you never get to feel with anyone else. You wanna always be this close. You think that even after this ends, you'll feel that tie to her body and heart, always leading you back to her.

When you both cum together, it's much different than what she gave you before. You can feel her tense up with you, hear her shaky breaths and moans, and you feel a warmth inside of you reminding you that she feels this way because of your pussy, because of her feelings for you. It's making you obsessive to feel this way.

When the high fades, she collapses on top you. You're both breathing heavily for a few minutes. Her breath is against your neck and it feels like a kiss. Your brain is thinking of something stupid now that the horniness is over.

"Isn't it obvious that I'm your girlfriend now?"

Ellie laughs and squeezes you tightly.

"Yeah. You're my girlfriend now, and I'm not letting you go."

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[whosscruffylooking]

Militiae Species Amor Est II

Militiae species amor est - "Love is a kind of war."

Re-read Part I Now!

a/n: if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know in the comments!

warnings: // a small threat of violence is made between Iris and her partner, but no physical contact is made. canon typical violence.

word count: 4.2k

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You step cautiously into the grand halls of the estate, the place you once roamed as a little servant girl, where your bare feet had once echoed softly against the cold marble. The air is thick with the weight of memories, each one pressing heavily against your chest. This was the house where you had grown up, where you had once been invisible, and where your life had irrevocably intertwined with his.

A voice pulls you from your thoughts. It rings out, familiar and poised, yet carrying a tension you haven’t heard before.

“Iris. It has been quite some time.”

You turn sharply, your breath catching as you face Lucilla, the mistress of this house—and the mother of the man you’ve spent a lifetime aching for. She stands before you, as elegant and commanding as you remember, her beauty untouched by the years. For a moment, you falter, caught between the awe she still inspires and the fury simmering just beneath your surface. But there’s no time to linger on reverence. Not now.

“We need to help Lucius escape,” you say, your voice steady despite the fire raging in your chest.

Lucilla’s expression hardens, her posture as composed as ever. “You are in no position to plot something like this. An engaged woman. A woman of low birth who has risen to a place of promise.” She steps closer, her gaze piercing, as if to drive the point deeper. “It isn’t safe for you.”

Her words land like a blow. You bristle, your hands curling into fists at your sides as anger floods through you. “You mean to insult me? When you know—when you must know—that I have loved your son since childhood?” Your voice rises, trembling with the weight of years left unspoken. “Do you truly believe that I could ever forget him? Forget the way we laughed, the way we cried, the way you sent him away as if he were nothing but an inconvenience? I have not had a single night of peaceful rest since that day! Not one!”

Lucilla’s carefully composed mask cracks, but you don’t stop. The words pour out, sharp and unrelenting. “And you? As his mother, do you feel nothing? No anguish, no torment? Or do you simply find it easier to look away, to let him suffer alone? Now he’s here—he’s here, Lucilla—and you expect me to sit back, to watch him fight the same fight that took his father from him? With no attempt to save him, no attempt to shield him from even more pain?”

The silence that follows feels deafening. For a moment, Lucilla looks at you as though she’s been struck. Her lips part, trembling with words that won’t come. Then, to your shock, her face crumples, and tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

She crosses the space between you in an instant, wrapping you in an embrace that is both unexpected and suffocating. Her voice shakes as she speaks. “I subjected one child to a life of pain. I—I couldn’t bear to see you suffer the same. Don’t you see? I’ve only ever wanted you to find peace, Iris. Contentment. That’s why—” She pulls back, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “That’s why when Caius’ father approached me, I agreed. I thought he could give you the life you deserved, one free of sorrow. I never meant to make you feel betrayed.”

You push her hands away, stepping back as the weight of her confession settles over you like a leaden cloak. “Peace?” Your voice is bitter, sharp as broken glass. “Do you truly believe I could ever find peace without him? All I ever wanted was your son. Not your pity. Not a life designed to ease your guilt.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You straighten your spine, your voice unwavering. “If you truly cared about me, you would have sent me with him. Instead, you left us both to live lives filled with nothing but longing and regret. So save your excuses, Lucilla. If you truly care now, then tell me—” Your voice hardens, each word a command. “Tell me the plan to rescue Lucius.”

And she does. Through trembling breaths and tear-filled eyes, Lucilla tells you the plan—how her husband, Acacius, will orchestrate Lucius’s escape from the prison. She explains the carefully laid steps, each one steeped in risk, each one reliant on precision. But there’s one missing piece.

“Someone needs to warn him,” she says, her voice wavering as she meets your gaze. “He has to know what’s coming, or he’ll resist. He won’t trust it.”

The moment hangs heavy between you, her words an unspoken plea. You don’t hesitate.

“I’ll do it,” you say firmly, the fire in your chest burning brighter now. “I’ll warn him.”

Lucilla’s eyes widen, her lips parting as if to protest, but you shake your head, cutting her off before she can speak.

“No one else knows him like I do,” you continue. “He’ll listen to me. He’ll trust me.”

For a moment, Lucilla studies you, her expression a war between doubt and something that almost looks like hope. Then, finally, she nods, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her choice.

“Be careful,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. But you’re already turning away, your mind focused on one thing: reaching Lucius.

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The corridors of the barracks stretch before you like an endless void, every shadow a whisper of your guilt, every creak of the stone beneath your feet a reminder of what you stand to lose. Wrapped in a dark cloak, the cool air bites at your skin, but the ache in your chest burns hotter. You cling to the cover of night as you make your way toward Ravi, a gladiator-turned-medic who once saved soldiers from the edge of death. Tonight, you hope he’ll save you in a different way.

When you reach his room, you knock softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Ravi.”

The door creaks open, his wary eyes scanning the hall before they settle on you. “What are you doing here?” he hisses. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”

“I won’t tell you the details,” you reply quickly, your voice trembling. “If anyone questions you, I don’t want you to lie on my behalf. All I ask is that you point me toward Hanno—let me speak with him privately.”

Ravi’s expression hardens, torn between caution and compassion. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he nods. “You shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs, but he leads you through the labyrinthine halls. When he stops outside a cell, his voice is heavy with warning. “He’s in here. Be quick.”

Ravi pushes the door open slightly, just enough for the man inside to hear. “Someone is here to see you, Hanno,” he announces.

Lucius turns at the sound of his name, his face hardening the moment he sees you. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing before he looks away sharply. “I have nothing to say to her,” he bites out, his voice rough, almost broken.

Your heart twists painfully at his words, but you nod at Ravi, signaling for him to let you in anyway. He hesitates, but when he sees the determination in your eyes, he steps back, locking the door behind you as you slip into the dimly lit cell.

Lucius stands with his back to you, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His silence is deafening, but you don’t let it deter you. You step closer, the ache in your chest swelling with every step. Tears sting your eyes as you finally find the words you’ve been rehearsing in your mind since the moment you decided to come here.

“I cannot begin to express how sorry I am,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “For how I treated you. For what I said.”

He doesn’t move, but you can see the slight tension in his shoulders. You press on, desperate to reach him.

“I never should have assumed you would return to this place—to the pain, to the life you’ve fought so hard to escape—and risk everything for the very place that destroyed your family. It was selfish of me to ask, selfish to think I had that right. I suppose these emotions, these feelings I’ve tried so hard to bury, have clouded my judgment.”

His breathing slows, the air between you thick with words left unsaid. You take another step, your voice breaking now.

“But know this, Lucius: you are far more than just a gladiator. Even before I saw you in those cursed games, you were so much more to me. You always have been. You were the boy who gave me his last piece of bread when I had nothing. The boy who made me laugh when the world felt too heavy. The boy whose soul captured mine long before I knew what love even was.”

His shoulders slump slightly, and though he doesn’t turn, you see his hand tremble. The silence stretches, heavy with everything you’re too afraid to ask. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, raw with pain.

“And yet you stood there, questioning who I was,” he murmurs. “Doubting the choices I made to survive. Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love look at you as though you’re a stranger?”

The words cut deep, sharp as any blade, and tears spill down your cheeks. You move closer, desperate to bridge the distance, to close the chasm that has grown between you.

“I was wrong,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I was so wrong. But I swear to you, Lucius, I have never stopped seeing the boy you were. And I will never stop loving the man you’ve become.”

Lucius stares at you, his eyes swimming with emotions too tangled to name. The air between you crackles, heavy with unspoken words and the years of longing that have built into this single, fraught moment. You search his face for a sign that your words have reached him, that the wall he’s built is beginning to crumble.

Lucius's gaze burns into yours, his expression a tempest of anguish and desire, before he moves. His hands are on you in an instant, rough but careful, as though he's afraid you'll vanish if he doesn't hold tight enough. He presses you against the cold, damp wall of the cell, the chill of the stone seeping through your cloak and biting into your skin. It's grounding, sharp against the heat that erupts between you as his lips claim yours.

The kiss is everything you've imagined and nothing like it all at once-wild, desperate, and unrelenting. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize the feel of you. His lips are firm, demanding, pouring years of suppressed longing into the kiss. You can feel his ragged breaths mingling with yours, and the faint taste of salt from your shared tears lingers between you.

Your hands find his chest, trembling as they trace over the worn fabric of his tunic and the hard planes of his body. His heart is pounding beneath your palms, as wild and erratic as your own. When your fingers curl into the fabric to pull him closer, he growls low in his throat—a sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

The cold wall presses unyieldingly against your back as he leans into you, his body a solid, unmovable force. The contrast of cold stone and his scorching heat sets your senses ablaze. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could somehow fuse the two of you together, and the pressure of his touch ignites a fire that consumes you whole.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you both struggle to catch your breath. His lips hover near yours, as though the distance is too much to bear, and his voice, rough and low, brushes over your skin.

 "Do you understand now?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. "Do you see what you've done to me? You've been the only thing keeping me alive, Iris. Even when I hated the world, I still loved you."

Your tears spill freely as you clutch at his tunic, your voice trembling. "I see it, Lucius. I see it, and I feel it, because l've loved you just as fiercely.”

He tilts your chin up, his dark eyes softening, and his thumb brushes tenderly across your jaw. "Then let there be no more fear," he whispers before capturing your lips again.

This kiss is softer but no less consuming, filled with a desperate hope that perhaps the two of you, against all odds, can still claim the love that's been waiting for so long.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sun blazes mercilessly as the crowd fills the arena, their cheers deafening and bloodthirsty. Your seat offers a clear view of the sand-covered pit, where the fighters enter with stoic faces and heavy chains. Among them is Lucius. Even in the sea of bodies, your eyes find him instantly.

He walks with his head held high, his shoulders squared. You can see the fire burning in him now—a determination that wasn’t there before, knowing that people are ready to rescue him. The weight of hope, of knowing freedom waits just beyond the reach of this hellish stage, has reignited something in him. Yet, the sight of him under the watchful eyes of guards and the jeering crowd still twists your stomach with dread.

Your fiancé, Caius, sits beside you, oblivious to the storm raging within you. His hand rests possessively on your arm as if to remind everyone—and perhaps himself—of who you belong to.

When the fight begins, Lucius is relentless. His movements are sharper, faster, more focused than ever before. You watch in awe as he disarms one opponent and dodges another’s blade with a grace that feels almost otherworldly. But it’s not enough to calm your nerves. Every strike, every blow he lands only tightens the knot in your chest.

And then it happens. A spear slices across his shoulder, leaving a vivid trail of crimson in its wake. He stumbles, his hand instinctively going to the wound, and for a moment, your world stops.

You stand without thinking, your breath catching in your throat. “Lucius,” you whisper, though the name escapes like a prayer rather than a call.

Caius turns sharply to you, his grip on your arm tightening. “What are you doing?” he hisses, his voice low but sharp. “Sit down, Iris.”

But you can’t. Your heart is pounding too loudly, drowning out his words. All you can see is the blood staining Lucius’s tunic, the grimace of pain that briefly flashes across his face before he forces himself back into the fight.

“Iris!” Caius snaps, his voice rising now. “This is unseemly. People are watching!”

You don’t care. The moment the fight ends and Lucius is escorted out, you wrench free from Caius’s grasp and run. His angry protests fade behind you as your sandals slap against the stone corridors leading to the medic chambers.

When you burst through the door, Ravi looks up in surprise. Lucius sits on a stool, blood dripping from his shoulder as Ravi prepares to clean the wound. His gaze snaps to you, and for a moment, he freezes, the stoic mask slipping to reveal something raw and unguarded.

“What are you doing here?” Ravi asks, his tone filled with warning.

But Lucius speaks first, his voice low and strained. “Iris.” Your name on his lips feels like both a question and an anchor.

You cross the room in a rush, ignoring Ravi’s protests and Lucius’s raised brow. “Let me,” you say softly, reaching for the cloth in Ravi’s hand. Your fingers tremble as you press it against the wound, but you don’t flinch.

Lucius watches you, his gaze piercing. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, but there’s no anger in his voice—only concern.

“And you shouldn’t be out there,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But here we are.”

His hand rises, hesitating for a moment before it brushes against yours, smearing your skin with his blood. “I’ll be fine,” he says, though his eyes betray him.

“No, you won’t,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Not if I lose you.”

Ravi clears his throat awkwardly, stepping back. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he mutters, leaving the room.

Lucius exhales shakily, his gaze never leaving yours. “Iris, you have to be careful. If Caius—”

“Let Caius think what he will,” you interrupt, your voice trembling with conviction. “I won’t sit by and do nothing while you suffer.”

In the space of a breath, his restraint snaps. "Damn Caius," he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, just before his lips capture yours.

The kiss is wild and desperate, like a clash of wills—a battle neither of you is willing to lose.

His hands tighten around your waist as yours tangle in his hair, the metallic taste of blood faint on his lips, a reminder of the wounds he's endured. He kisses you with the fervor of a man who's fought too long to deny what he feels, each movement urgent and unyielding.

He lifts you onto the nearby table, the rough wood cold beneath your legs as papers and tools clatter to the ground, forgotten. You gasp against his mouth, but he doesn't falter, his body pressing into yours as if to prove something-to you, to himself, to the world that's tried to keep you apart.

Outside, the sound of footsteps halts, followed by a frustrated sigh. Ravi's voice mutters something inaudible, and you know he's standing there, trying to give you privacy while also likely cursing your recklessness.

Lucius pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space between. "This is madness," he whispers, his voice rough and thick with emotion.

"Then let it be madness," you reply, your voice just as unsteady. Your hands trail down to his face, cupping his jaw as your thumbs brush over his cheekbones. "Because l'd rather have this moment than a lifetime of silence."

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss even fiercer than before, as though he's pouring all the words he can't say into the connection. His hands linger around your thighs, gradually pushing the hem of your dress higher and higher up your leg.

“Lucius, I—” Ravi’s voice cuts through the haze, and you pull back abruptly, your chest heaving.

Lucius turns toward the door, his body instinctively shifting to shield you from Ravi’s view, though it’s already too late. Ravi stands in the doorway, his face a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.

“I left you alone for mere minutes,” Ravi mutters, crossing his arms as his eyes dart between the two of you.

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you hold your ground, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. “I was helping,” you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you.

“And clearly you’ve been very thorough in your assistance,” Ravi replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Lucius steps forward, his voice low but firm. “Enough, Ravi. You’ve said your piece.”

Ravi exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If anyone finds out about this, it’s not just you two who’ll pay the price. Keep that in mind.” He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath as he leaves.

The door clicks shut, and silence settles over the room once more. Lucius looks at you, his eyes clouded with both regret and longing. “I’ll deal with him,” he says softly, though his hand lingers at your side, as if reluctant to let you go.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The door slams shut behind you as you step into the quiet of your home, the night air still clinging to your skin. Your heart is pounding in your chest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the events that transpired just moments ago. You barely have a chance to steady your breath before Caius appears in the hallway, his sharp gaze locking onto you as he takes in the sight of you—disheveled, hair slightly tousled, your dress still crinkled from the tension of the night.

“Where have you been?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, an undeniable undertone of suspicion that you cannot ignore.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, a familiar lie already forming on your lips. “I was just out for a walk,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a slight quiver in your voice that betrays you.

Caius takes a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing, scanning you with unsettling precision. He glances down at your dress, and for a split second, his gaze lingers on a small stain of blood near the hem. His face hardens.

“That doesn’t look like the mark of a walk,” he says, voice tight with suspicion. “Where did you get this from?”

You freeze. The blood—it wasn’t from you, but from the hurried touch you had shared with Lucius. His words echo in your mind, Damn Caius. You can feel the weight of that kiss, the dangerous closeness, and the desperation in his touch. It lingers in your skin, like a brand that you can’t erase.

“Nothing happened,” you lie again, your heart racing in your chest. You want to scream, to tell him the truth, but fear clamps down on your throat. “I helped Ravi again, like I used to.”

Caius isn’t fooled. His eyes flicker with recognition, and before you can take another breath, he’s stepping toward you, his hand gripping your wrist tightly. “Tell me the truth,” he demands, his voice low and threatening. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you? The Eagle of Rome.”

The mention of Lucius sends a shock of panic through you, freezing you in place. No—you try to deny it, but the truth is already written across your face. “I haven’t—” you start, but the words falter. You try to pull your wrist free, but his grip tightens, pulling you closer.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice a razor’s edge, the anger seeping through each word. His fingers are like iron, digging into your skin as he pulls you toward him. “I saw the way you looked at him in the stadium.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as the weight of his accusation hits. Lucius—the name lingers like a forbidden prayer. “I was helping all of the warriors today. I promise you, I didn’t even touch him,” you snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and guilt, but the words feel hollow, like a lie you want to believe but can’t.

“Stop!” Caius interrupts, his voice rising now, each word thick with rising fury. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? That I haven’t seen how you’ve been sneaking around? How you’ve been lying to me?”

His words hit you like a slap. In an instant, his frustration boils over, his anger flaring in his eyes. He moves toward you, forceful and sharp, and you stumble back into the wall, trying to escape his grasp. You gasp, your heart pounding as you try to steady yourself.

But before you can recover, Caius is right there, his face inches from yours, his breath ragged with fury. “You have no idea what kind of reproach you’re bringing against our family,” he spits, his voice dangerously quiet now. “Your actions make us a mockery. The choices you’ve made—make us look like fools.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart aching in your chest. His words cut deeper than you expected, and guilt rises in your throat. He’s right—this has always been the choice, between him and Lucius. Between duty and love. But you couldn’t let go—not when Lucius needed you, not when you were the only one who could do something for him.

“Let me go, Caius,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if asking for the smallest mercy. “Please.”

But there’s no mercy in his eyes now. Only betrayal, and the realization that whatever it is that’s come between you, whatever feelings you’ve tried to bury, are on the cusp of release. He stares at you, and for a moment, you think you see something softer in his gaze—but it’s fleeting. He lets out a jagged breath, his grip still tight on your wrist.

“I never wanted this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “But I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that, because you feel the same way. Every word from his lips is a weight pressing you into the wall, and yet, you can’t escape it.

“Clean yourself up,” Caius says, stepping back. His eyes linger on you, raw and unrelenting. “And can’t stand the sight of you right now.”

Caius turns away, his shoulders tense with unresolved anger, and the silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken truths. As he walks out, leaving you standing alone in the dimly lit room, you feel the weight of the choice you’ve made—and the painful certainty that nothing will ever be the same again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

tag list: @willowpains

[helen-with-an-a]

Hii! I was thinking maybe like a alexia!player reader who is also good at singing😂 and have it inspired by ‘perfect to me’ Bradley Marshall- and it’s like the lead up to their wedding? And she surprises alexia with this song she sings during their first dance? And you could maybe showing them asking for bridesmaid etc?🫶🏼

Hiiii - so this request is so stinking cute but I've changed it slightly to make it a little more private moment between them. I kinda did it as snapshots of just after the proposal, the day before the wedding and then just after the wedding (so the wedding isn't included if that makes sense)

You Are The Music In Me

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Description: You gift Alexia something very special for your wedding

Word Count: 4k

ugh she's so pretty wtf

Alexia was fairly sure you could sing. She’d picked up on it in the most casual, unassuming moments – like when she noticed you humming along under your breath to the music you played while making dinner. Your voice would weave in and out of the melody, blending effortlessly with the rhythm of your cooking. It was a subtle, soothing accompaniment that made the kitchen feel more like a concert hall.

Then there were the times when she’d catch those docile tones drifting through the bedroom as you sang softly while you were in the shower. Even with the sound of the water cascading down, your voice managed to pierce through, delicate yet clear. It was as if the steam and tiles amplified your singing in an intimate, private performance.

And let’s not forget the car rides. She’d often hear you softly harmonise with the radio while you drove, your fingers tapping the steering wheel in perfect time with the beat. Your voice would seamlessly blend with the music, an effortless harmony that spoke of a deep, natural musicality.

Despite these subtle but telling glimpses into your talent, every time Alexia tried to coax you into singing out loud – into letting your voice be heard beyond those private moments – you would shy away. You’d offer a sheepish smile and dismiss her encouragement with a casual wave of your hand, as if to brush off the compliment and the request. It was clear that your singing was a cherished secret, something you shared only with yourself and the music, never quite ready to fully unveil it to the world.

It was the one thing Alexia had never managed to persuade you to do, no matter how gently she tried or how earnestly she asked. Your singing remained an elusive treasure to her.

-----

“Yes,” The single word was filled with all the love and commitment you had been feeling. It was a quiet but profound. “Yes, yes, Alexia. Yes, I will marry you. Oh my god.” As the words left your lips, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the tears that began to well up in your eyes.

Alexia’s face lit up with an ecstatic smile that seemed to brighten the entire room. Her eyes glistened with tears of joy, mirroring your own emotions. The ring she had so thoughtfully chosen was nothing short of breathtaking.

As Alexia gently slid the ring onto your finger, you were filled with a sense of disbelief and elation. The reality of what was happening sank in – you were about to marry the love of your life, the person who had become your everything. You pulled Alexia up to standing, her hazel eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She leaned down, pouring her emotions into a passionate kiss.

The world could have ended for all you knew. In that perfect, suspended moment, nothing outside of this bubble of joy seemed to matter. The stars could have fallen from the sky, the ground could have crumbled beneath your feet, and the cosmos itself could have unravelled, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. All that was important, all that filled your heart and mind, was Alexia. The person who meant more to you than anything or anyone else. She was perfect, with a kindness that touched everyone she met and a sweetness that made even the simplest moments feel extraordinary. She was your Ale – your love, your confidante, your everything.

As you held her close, her breath warm and soft against your lips, she whispered, “Voy a ser tu esposa.” Her voice was filled with wonder and affection, the words barely more than a breath.

You couldn’t help but giggle, your joy spilling over into laughter as you responded, “That’s generally how this works, Ale.” Your voice was light and teasing, infused with the happiness that bubbled up from the very core of your being.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and reverence. “Lo sé, mi niña descarada,” she said, rolling her eyes with a dramatic flair that made you both laugh. “But I get to be your wife,” she continued, her voice filled with awe and deep emotion. The words carried a profound sense of joy and disbelief, as if she was marvelling at the dream she had just realised.

“And I get to be yours. Mrs Putellas. Forever and ever,” you exclaimed gleefully, the words spilling out with an almost childlike delight. Your heart swelled with the excitement of your new identity.

With a burst of energy and joy, Alexia swept you up into her arms, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around in a joyful, impromptu dance. The movement was exhilarating and exhilarating, a physical manifestation of the happiness and excitement you both felt. As she twirled you around, the world seemed to blur into a whirlwind of laughter, love, and unrestrained bliss. The moment was electric, filled with the pure, unfiltered joy of two people deeply in love, celebrating the beginning of a lifetime together.

“If only we had some music … we could practice our first dance,” Alexia mused, her voice filled with a dreamy, whimsical tone. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she envisioned the romantic moment, the thought of dancing together under the soft, flickering light of the candles adding an extra layer of enchantment to the already magical evening. She spun around slightly, her gestures playful and full of anticipation.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “I’m not singing, Ale,” you replied, a hint of playful defiance in your voice. The idea of serenading her, especially in this intimate, perfect moment, seemed both amusing and slightly daunting.

Alexia’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock, and she gasped dramatically. “Even after I just proposed to you?” she asked, her voice laced with faux indignation. Her reaction was a perfect blend of surprise and playful reproach. The sparkle in her eyes and the mischievous smile tugging at her lips made it clear that she was teasing, enjoying the playful exchange.

You laughed, your heart swelling with affection at her charming display. “Is that why you did it? Just to hear me sing?” you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. Alexia’s face softened into a genuine smile as she took your hand in hers, the laughter in her eyes mingling with the deep love and joy she felt. The look she gave you was one of adoration, filled with all the warmth and sincerity that came with her deep feelings for you.

“Eh, there were some other reasons as well,” she teased, her tone light

“Oh really, like what?” you asked, leaning in closer, eager to hear more. The curiosity in your voice was genuine, as if you were hanging on every word she said, fully invested in whatever she was about to say.

Alexia’s smile grew even softer, and she looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Like the fact that I am desperately, hopelessly, totally in love with you.”

-----

You had decided to go the traditional route of not seeing each other before the wedding. It wasn’t necessarily your first choice, but Alexia had asked for it and you would move mountains for that woman if she asked you to.

When Alexia had expressed her wish to follow this tradition, her eyes shining with a blend of excitement and sentimental longing, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of devotion. Although the idea of spending those final hours apart was not what you would have chosen for yourself, her happiness and the fulfilment of her wishes were far more important to you. You knew that this was a special request for her, something that would make her feel even more cherished and treasured on your wedding day.

You had come to a compromise of enduring 24 hours apart, a span of time that felt both unbearably long and exhilaratingly brief. Those 24 hours seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with a palpable sense of anticipation and yearning. Every minute apart was marked by a mix of excitement and a longing to be reunited. The separation, though challenging, was a testament to your commitment and dedication to making this moment as special as possible for Alexia.

The hours seemed to crawl by, each one underscoring the significance of what was to come. The anticipation of seeing Alexia in her wedding dress, the thought of her walking down the aisle towards you, and the sheer joy of finally being together again made every second of waiting worthwhile. Each tick of the clock was a reminder of the love and devotion that bound you together, making the eventual reunion even more poignant and memorable.

You had decided to leave her a little gift, a gesture that was both sentimental and deeply personal. After much thought and searching, you managed to find an ancient old Walkman – a vintage piece that seemed almost nostalgic in its own right. It wasn’t easy to track down, and the search had taken you quite some time, but the effort was well worth it for the joy it would bring.

The Walkman was a relic from a bygone era, a classic cassette player that symbolised a touch of nostalgia and a personal connection to simpler times. You knew that Alexia would appreciate its charm, especially given her love for vintage items and the meaningful gestures that spoke to her heart. Along with the Walkman, you had prepared a CD loaded with carefully selected songs. Each track was chosen with love and intention, representing a soundtrack to your shared moments, memories, and dreams.

You carefully placed the Walkman and the CD in a beautifully wrapped box, leaving a note for her, explaining what she needed to do.

Bon vespre, amor meu, Less than 24 hours and you will be my wife. Listen to this alone – it will take 20 minutes to listen to the whole thing. Sleep well, my love Te amo con todo mi corazón Your soon to be wife, x Ps. Listen to it when you aren’t wearing any makeup

Alexia had never regretted anything more in her life. It wasn’t the fact that she was marrying you; in fact, she saw that as the greatest achievement of her life, a dream come true that filled her with boundless joy and anticipation. No, what she deeply regretted was having asked to spend the last few hours before your marriage apart. The separation, meant to heighten the emotional impact of your reunion, instead left her feeling a profound sense of longing and melancholy. She missed your presence more than she could have anticipated, and the anticipation of being together again only intensified her regret.

The box was elegantly adorned with a ribbon, and even from across the room, Alexia could spot your handwriting on the attached tag. The familiar, personal script instantly brought a flutter of excitement to her heart.

Unable to contain her emotions, Alexia felt a wave of embarrassment at the speed with which she moved towards the desk. Her steps quickened, almost as if the box was a beacon guiding her through the haze of her separation. The anticipation of what lay inside the gift was palpable, and she couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief and joy at the thought of connecting with you through this special token.

When she finally peered inside, her eyes widened in recognition and delight. Sitting in front of her was a black Walkman, an object reminiscent of the one she had used as a child to listen to her favorite music. The sight of it instantly evoked a wave of nostalgia, transporting her back to simpler times when life was filled with the comforting sound of music through her Walkman’s headphones. The vintage device, so carefully chosen and wrapped, was so obviously from you, even without the note.

She carefully fished out the headphones that you had thoughtfully included with the Walkman and felt a fresh wave of excitement wash over her. The headphones, compact and classic, were a perfect match for the vintage device. They were delicate, with soft cushioning around the earpads that promised a comfortable fit, and their design mirrored the nostalgic charm of the Walkman itself.

With a mixture of curiosity and eagerness, Alexia moved to the bed, where she could sit comfortably and fully immerse herself in the experience. The bed was adorned with plush pillows and a cozy blanket, creating a serene and intimate space where she could enjoy this special moment. As she settled onto the soft surface, her fingers gently caressed the Walkman and its accompanying headphones, appreciating the careful attention to detail that had gone into choosing and preparing this gift.

She placed the headphones over her ears, adjusting them to fit snugly, and then turned her attention back to the Walkman. With a sense of anticipation, she inserted the CD into the device, the familiar click of the mechanism echoing in the quiet room. The action was filled with a sense of ritual and connection, as if every step of the process was a way of drawing closer to you, despite the physical distance.

As she pressed play, Alexia was momentarily startled by the unexpected sound of someone clearing their throat. The noise, though gentle, cut through the quiet room and brought her attention sharply back to the Walkman.

The voice that followed made her heart skip a beat. “Hola, mi casi esposa,” you greeted warmly. Even after all the years spent living in Barcelona, your Spanish still carried that charming, endearing lilt that never failed to make her smile. “It’s me, your almost wife. In case you couldn’t tell,” you added with a soft, playful giggle that was instantly recognisable and filled with affection.

The sound of your voice, so delicate and infused with happiness, immediately lifted Alexia’s spirits. The sincerity and warmth in your tone were like a soothing balm, easing the pangs of separation she had been feeling. Your voice was a comforting reminder of your love and the special connection you shared, making the separation feel a little less daunting.

She listened intently as you continued, your words carrying a mixture of playfulness and guilt. “So, I know we said no wedding presents, but I couldn’t not.” The confession was tinged with a touch of sheepishness, and Alexia could easily picture your expression – a sly smile accompanied by a slight blush as you admitted to breaking the agreement you had both made. The image of you, trying to hide your excitement and affection while going against the agreed-upon rules, brought a soft, knowing smile to her face. It didn’t matter that you had gone against your promise, you would get back from your evening meal to find a similarly wrapped present waiting for you, Alexia’s own handwriting on a note just for you to read.

“Anyways,” your voice continued softly, “there are a few songs on here that make me think of you and our life together so far. Each one holds a special memory or a moment we’ve shared, a soundtrack to our journey together. I hope you enjoy them as much as I’ve enjoyed putting this together for you. But just know, above all, that I love you to the ends of the earth and I cannot wait to marry you.”

As your voice carried the sweet promise and deep affection, Alexia felt a lump form in her throat. “Sweet dreams, my beautiful girl. T'estimo molt,” you added, the endearing words resonating with warmth and sincerity. The intimacy of the message, coupled with the sound of your voice, made her heart swell with emotion.

Alexia struggled to blink back the tears that had suddenly welled up in her eyes, their warmth streaming down her cheeks. The first song began to play, its melody a tender echo of your love and the moments you had shared. Each note seemed to intertwine with the feelings of longing and joy that she had been experiencing, amplifying the emotional impact of your heartfelt message. The music, now a bridge between your hearts, made the separation feel less daunting and the anticipation of your union even more poignant. The combination of your loving words and the carefully chosen songs created a beautiful moment of connection, making her feel profoundly loved and cherished as she prepared to drift off to sleep with the comforting thought of your upcoming marriage.

As the final song faded, your voice appeared again.

“One final song, my love. And then it’s time for bed, I need you well rested for tomorrow,” you giggled sweetly. “You are absolutely perfect for me, Alexia Putellas Segura. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. I would give my lungs if you needed to breathe, or the light if you can’t seem to find it. I should probably save this for my vows, but I promise to make you laugh every day until we’re old and have grey hair and need a stairlift.”

You cleared your throat again, the sound small but deliberate. As the initial notes of a piano began to play softly, Alexia held her breath in eager anticipation. Then, your voice emerged, breaking through the gentle accompaniment with a tender, melodious clarity.

From the very first note, she was captivated. Your voice was nothing short of enchanting, possessing a pure, ethereal quality that seemed to lift the air around her. It was as though a choir of angels had descended to serenade her, each note resonating with a sublime harmony that touched her soul deeply. The emotion in your singing was palpable, each phrase imbued with love and tenderness that transcended the physical distance between you.

Listening to you sing for the first time was an overwhelming experience for Alexia. The sound of your voice, rich and warm, wrapped around her like a comforting embrace, soothing the ache of separation with its intimate and heartfelt expression. It was as if every word you sang was meant just for her, a musical love letter that conveyed the depth of your feelings and the profound connection you shared.

The piano’s melody danced beneath your voice, creating a perfect backdrop that enhanced the beauty of your singing. Each note seemed to echo the emotions you had shared in your message, amplifying the feelings of joy, longing, and affection. Alexia found herself completely absorbed in the moment, the combination of your voice and the music creating a magical, almost surreal experience.

As the song progressed, Alexia’s heart swelled with a mix of awe and affection. The tears that had been brimming in her eyes now flowed freely, a testament to the emotional impact of your performance. The beauty of your voice and the personal nature of the song made her feel incredibly close to you, despite the physical distance. It was a profound reminder of the love that awaited her and the shared journey you were about to embark on together.

-----

“Are you happy, amor?” Alexia asked, her voice tinged with a mixture of nervousness and vulnerability. She stood above you, her elegant dress rustling softly as she fidgeted with the fabric, her fingers betraying the anxiety she was feeling despite her radiant smile.

You cracked an eye open, intending to tease her, but the earnest concern in her eyes made you pause. “Alexia Putellas, you did not just ask me if I am happy on my wedding day?” The question was playful, but beneath the teasing tone, you could sense a deeper emotional undercurrent.

Alexia’s eyes widened, and she bit her lip, clearly anxious. “So … you have no remordimientos? No, what’s the phrase … um … c-cold…” She hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Cold feet?” you asked, a small laugh escaping you despite the sincerity of the moment.

“Sí, no cold feet?” She looked down at you nervously, her teeth sinking into her lip as she scanned your face

“Ale, where is this coming from?”

She took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t want you to regret marrying me. I do not think I could take it if you did.” The confession was delivered with such raw honesty that it tugged at your heartstrings.

You reached out, gently taking her hands in yours, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers. “Ale, you are the absolute love of my life. I stood up in front of all our friends and family and promised you that I will love you until my dying breath, and probably long after that too.”

Your voice was steady and filled with unwavering conviction. “There’s no question, no doubt in my mind. This day, the promise I made, this life we’re starting together is everything I’ve ever wanted. There’s no room for regrets, only endless love and joy.”

Seeing the relief flood over Alexia’s face, you pulled her into a tender embrace. The warmth and sincerity of your words seemed to melt away the last traces of her apprehension, replacing it with a profound sense of reassurance.

“As you held her close, Alexia's shoulders relaxed, and she nuzzled into the comfort of your embrace. “I’m sorry, amor,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I just … I had a dream last night. It was about something Mapí said years ago, something about how some people don’t realise they didn’t want to get married until they are actually in the midst of it. And, and, and I don’t even know why it popped into my head last night, but it did, and I just needed to make sure that you don’t regret marrying me.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her accent thicker than usual

Your heart ached at the sight of her distress, understanding how deeply this fear had affected her. You cupped her face gently, lifting her chin to meet your gaze. “Ale, I could never, ever regret marrying you. You are my best friend, the love of my life, my person.” The certainty in your voice was unwavering, each word imbued with the depth of your commitment and affection. “There’s nothing that could ever change how I feel about you. I chose you, now and forever, and nothing will ever make me question that decision.”

Alexia nodded, her blonde curls bouncing softly with each movement, creating a delicate halo of warmth around her face. Her eyes, filled with affection and vulnerability, met yours. “Te amo mi esposa,” she murmured, her voice carrying a depth of emotion that made your heart swell with love.

You smiled warmly, feeling a wave of tenderness wash over you. “And I love you, my beautiful, if not a little silly sometimes, wife.” The playful comment brought a soft roll of her eyes, a gesture that only made you love her more. Her playful exasperation was part of what made your relationship so special – each quirk and each moment of shared humor was a testament to the deep bond you both cherished.

With a gentle sigh, she looked at you with a mix of hope and anticipation. “Will you sing for me?” she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. The request was simple but filled with the intimacy and closeness of your shared moments. It was a tender plea for comfort and connection, and it touched you deeply.

You nodded with a reassuring smile, understanding the comforting power of a familiar song. “Let’s get into bed, baby,” you said softly, guiding her gently toward the bed. “I’ll sing you a lullaby, yeh?”

[afterglowkatie]

too early? | k.m./c.f.

katie mccabe x caitlin foord x child!reader | 1.1k | it's never too early for christmas

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of my new little starfish universe. i hope y'all like it and it makes up for the lack of fics lately!

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that,’ Caitlin had come home to see the entire lounge covered in tinsel and christmas tree decorations with both you and Katie in the middle of it all singing and dancing to christmas music while putting up the christmas tree. 

Even if your mummy thought it was too early for christmas, she still cracked a smile at how adorable her two girls looked dressed up in christmas clothing, your hair in two little pigtails with tinsel wrapped around. Poor Coopurr was even dressed up and whenever he tried to sneak away you would grab him back until he curled up on the couch accepting his fate.

‘Mummy!’ You dropped everything in your hands, trying to run over to Caitlin despite all the obstacles in your way. Caitlin bent down, arms out, you always would run into her arms and she’d pick you up. But you stopped right before, ‘It’s never too early for Christmas, Mummy!’ Caitlin held back a little laugh, it was hard when you stood in front of her your arms crossed, with a little pout and your eyebrows furrowed. 

What made it even harder for Caitlin to not laugh was the fact Katie was a bit behind you with the same expression on her face, ‘Oh is that right?’ Disbelief flashed across your face at the thought your mummy would question you before a cheeky grin took over. You grabbed a handful of tinsel and threw it on top of Caitlin. With her still kneeling she ended up covered head to toe in tinsel.

‘Much better!’ You grinned, happy with yourself, grabbing hold of your mummy’s hand, ‘Come help me and mammy,’ The three of you finished decorating the christmas tree. Your mummy lifted you so you could reach the top of the tree so you could put the star on, with some help from your mammy of course.

‘Starfish,’ Your mammy called from the kitchen, she’d gone to make the three of you some hot chocolates while you and your mummy picked out a christmas movie for the three of you to watch. It didn’t take long for Caitlin to give up on the ‘it’s too early to start christmas’ since she was out numbered anyway. As soon as November hit it was time for Christmas.

You slid off of your mummy’s lap and made your way towards the kitchen, ‘Do you wanna show mummy what we got today?’ Katie handed you a little bag, your eyes lit up. You’d almost forgotten what you’d bought today while it was just you and mammy. Before you could run off your mammy reminded you to be careful, you walked carefully back to your mummy, you didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Katie was close behind you, somehow balancing the three hot chocolates, ‘Starfish and I have a surprise for you love,’ While leaning forward, handing Caitlin one of the hot chocolates she snuck in a little kiss. Smiling at each other, Katie attempted to sit next to Caitlin but it didn’t last long before you wedged yourself in between the pair. 

‘What you got there, starfish?’ Your mummy nodded towards the bag you were holding up while you were wiggling your way between them.

You held the bag away from Caitlin when she pretended to try to look inside the bag, ‘Close your eyes mummy,’ Katie leaned over to cover Caitlin’s eyes making sure she wasn’t peeking, ‘Mammy says be careful,’ Your mummy let out a little chuckle, whenever you wanted to come across more serious you always brought Katie into it. It was like if you said that your mammy said it then no one could ever go against it, you were the exception to that though with the amount of times you liked to push your mammy’s buttons.

Your mummy held her hands out and you carefully took out the little bauble and placed it in Caitlin’s hands. You picked out the colours and how it was decorated and personalised. You were quite proud of yourself, it was just like the ones you and your mammy had on the tree already. 

You sat back in your mammy’s lap, her hands leaving Caitlin’s eyes to wrap around you. Caitlin opened her eyes and instantly teared up at the present in her hands. Her smile reached her eyes, looking between you and the bauble. The bauble in Caitlin’s hands was forest green with silver writing on it, ‘mummy’ with the year underneath it was written across with little snowflakes all around.

The year was this year, when you started calling Caitlin mum/mummy. It matched the one you had with your name and the year you were born, along with Katie’s ‘mammy’ bauble. When you were getting it made Katie couldn’t decide between matching the year with yours and hers but she decided it would mean a bit more having the year you officially started calling Caitlin your mum.

‘Do you like it?’ You asked when you thought your mummy was silent for too long. Caitlin was taking it all in, processing everything. She was so grateful for the little family she had with you and Katie, forever thankful for being allowed to love and be loved by both you and Katie.

‘Starfish, I don’t like it. I love it,’ Caitlin had to add that she loves it quickly, seeing your face start to drop and the warning glare Katie started to send Caitlin’s way, ‘Come here,’ Your mummy gently gave your mammy the bauble to keep safe and scoped you up into her lap, her arms wrapping around you tightly, ‘I love you and I love the present so so much Starfish,’ 

You cuddled into your mummy, Caitlin glanced towards Katie, a smile thrown her way with a little thank you mouthed. Katie placed the bauble down where it would stay safe and threw herself on top of the two of you, joining in on the cuddles. ‘Mammy,’ you laughed out but wiggled enough to wrap one of your arms around your mammy as well. 

Eventually you grew impatient and wanted to see the bauble join yours and mammy’s on the tree. Caitlin stood up, holding you on her hip while she got the bauble, you reached out for your mammy’s hand, holding it while you all stood in front of the tree. The third bauble was the perfect addition and soon enough the three of you would be adding a fourth and who knows after that.

Both Katie and Caitlin’s hearts were full as the three of you cuddled up together on the couch, watching Christmas movies, movies that only Caitlin would stay awake throughout while her two girls fell asleep either side of her. Caitlin smiled, giving a small kiss to yours and your mammy’s foreheads while you slept. Life was perfect, even if Christmas started coming earlier and earlier every year.

[fan-maddson]

Fannie clung to Eddie in return, her only real anchor in life. She’d never tell him, but she hadn’t heard from her father in months, and she was beginning to worry. Added to which she’d missed her period, and wanted to quit school. She just wanted to be with him. With the only constant in her life.

But she felt obligated to finish school, to make her dad and Eddie proud. To make him realize he didn’t have to worry about them. For him to see her as capable. Even without her inheritance, she could manage to build a life with him.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Never forget that. Promise me.”

Can’t Breathe

“You know,  you can use the front door,” Fannie called to Eddie from her bedroom window. “We’re not kids anymore…besides, you’re useless to me dead or injured.” She flashed him a sweet smile, excited to see him. The summer was winding down and she was getting ready to head back to classes. In fact, she should have left last week, but the idea of leaving him again was too much. They’d always been friendly during school, but when she ran into him over winter break her freshman year, something changed. 

Maybe it was being away from Hawkins, actually being able to be herself without feeling like she was constantly being compared to the other girls in town. Maybe it was getting out of her head, and getting the courage to say more than hi to him. Whatever “it” was, this thing between them had grown to be more for her. But she doubted he would ever see her as more than a friend with benefits, another notch on his belt. But gods, when she looked at him, he was all she could see. All it would take was him asking her to stay, and she would. Even if it only meant there was a slight chance there could be something more.

@stuffandthangsandangelwings

[imorynn]

༊*·˚ ━━━ ¡ AVIS AMBERG • FEM!READER HEADCANONS !

༊*·˚ warnings : fluff & SMUT ( MDNI 18+ )

༊*·˚ tags : @thoroughly--confused @weemswife @urdaddddd69 @mrsines @confuseuniverse @kenzie-floops @evilregal2002 @alicemaximoff @angeliccss @multixfan @spicyredbitch @ofgoldandbraid @nutritionat @bigbaddoctorwolfe @mgruiz @cultiest @aggieharkness @amethyst-bitch @im-a-carnivorous-plant @likealayka @emilynissangtr @gilmoresliarss @jessicaslittlelovesickmess @gayestswiftie @delusionaforolderwomen @greek-freak101 @justasmallfellow @hotmilfyfrap @thegoddamnfeels @lalchimiedecupid @liliastriangle @czl4t @vii-v @asimpforwomen @daddyriovidal ( those who liked / wanted to be tagged !)

༊*·˚ author’s note : this was so enjoyable to do 😭😭 the list is quite lengthy — and there was so much more to bring together, lol. I hope this is enjoyable to read and that I somewhat did Patti LuPone’s character, Avis Amberg justice with these headcanons ! Lemme know your thoughts ! Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate ! 🍂 Mwuah !! <33

SFW :

༊*·˚ AVIS AMBERG is incredibly careful about your rendezvous, choosing discreet locations like upscale hotels or isolated spots far from prying eyes.

༊*·˚ Her visits to the Golden Tip Gasoline are calculated, never too frequent or predictable, to avoid raising suspicion — especially when it comes to being seen with a young gal such as yourself.

༊*·˚ Important, fleeting note : you’re the first female to work in the Golden Tip Gasoline.

༊*·˚ When Ernie sends a note your way that a favored and certain customer of his was willing to pay double of what was usual to maintain discretion and to steal a moment with you, you knew by that smirk and glint in his eyes that you couldn’t say no.

༊*·˚ Avis is a woman who knows the power of her allure, no matter her age.

༊*·˚ Flustered — you’re indeed very fucking flustered the first time especially given her STRAIGHTFORWARDNESS, yet it’s endearing to her.

༊*·˚ You do love how blunt she is though and eventually get used to it.

༊*·˚ She wants to do it again, and you would be lying ( and fucking stupid ) if you said you didn’t want to — 3 to 4 ‘acts of services’ of exhilaration and fun escalated to a full-on affair.

༊*·˚ She flirts effortlessly with you, her smoky voice dropping to a whisper whenever she addresses you, her lips always curving into a faint, knowing smile while basking in the way you flush at her words.

༊*·˚ ESPECIALLY WITH THE NICKNAMES SHE CALLS YOU —

༊*·˚ “ Darling girl,” “mama’s girl,” “doll,” “sweetheart,” “kitten,” “you little minx” “darling”

༊*·˚ Or when the faint yet pigmented traces of her red lips taint your cheeks, your jawline, your temple, or trail along your neck and collarbone — SHE BEAMS WITH PRIDE AND SATISFACTION WHILE ALL YOU CAN DO IS JUST STARE AT HER WITH A STUPID LOVESICK SMILE. ( this is fucking headcanon for Lilia Calderu as well — DISAGREE WITH ME IF YOU DARE. )

༊*·˚ Avis loves teasing you. CANNOT resist gently poking fun at you, whether it’s the way you blush under her gaze or stumble over your words when she leans in too close. Her teasing is always playful, her tone laced with affection.

༊*·˚ She brings touches of her opulent life into your world. Perfume lingering on the clothes she’s discarded, the soft leather of her handbag brushing against your arm, or the way she lights a cigarette with a gold lighter — it’s a stark contrast to your simpler life and a reminder of the gap between you.

༊*·˚ 100 % a good and attentive listener !!!

༊*·˚ Despite the differences in your worlds, Avis genuinely wants to know about your thoughts, dreams, and past. When you speak, she watches you closely, her brown gaze unwavering, her attention making you feel more seen than you’ve ever been.

༊*·˚ From the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt when you’re nervous to the way your voice becomes faint when you’re tired, she’s attuned to all your quirks. She has a sharp eye for detail, and while she doesn’t always mention these observations, her actions show she’s paying attention.

༊*·˚ You remind her she’s more than her reputation. Avis is used to being seen as a symbol of wealth, power, or beauty, but she loves when you make her feel like a person. A woman. Someone who’s flawed, complex, and deeply loved for who she is—not what she represents.

༊*·˚ Show her that she’s cherished, even in small ways.

༊*·˚ Avis adores the little things you do to show your devotion — like carrying something for her, warming her hands with yours, or whispering her name in a way that’s just for her. Or even small love-written notes you may sneak into her purse or leave behind.

༊*·˚ It’s in these gestures that she feels truly adored.

༊*·˚ You make her smile. Like, truly, REALLY smile, cheekbones slightly accentuated — there’s this smoldering depth in her eyes when she looks at you as you speak or does something, and when you catch her looking at you like that, your brain just cuts circuits and you feel yourself melting into a puddle because what the fuck —

༊*·˚ In her world of facades and half-truths, your openness is refreshing. Even when you hesitate or stumble over your words, she appreciates the sincerity in everything you say.

༊*·˚ Admires how you respect her boundaries!! Avis values your understanding of her limits. She loves that you don’t push her to share more than she’s comfortable with or question the life she’s built outside of your relationship. Your respect for her choices deepens her trust in you.

༊*·˚ Expect to hear her talk shit about people, even those she loves ( Ellen included, sorry pooks —), in the industry — and expect her to be RIGHT because her words are not spoken without blunt TRUTH. You never disagree with her, although you do shed slight light depending on who it is ( except Ace. Fuck Ace. )

༊*·˚ Though she’d never admit it, Avis is sentimental about your affair. A small book you’d been reading in the passenger seat of her car, the handkerchief you left at her hotel once—all these small things find their way into her collection of keepsakes.

༊*·˚ Avis isn’t outwardly possessive, but there’s an edge to her when she perceives competition. If she catches a whiff of you being overly friendly with someone else, her smiles get tighter, and her touches that night are more deliberate, as if reasserting her claim.

༊*·˚ She pays Ernie fucking extra for your attention to only be provided for her.

༊*·˚ You have to make it clear on more than one occasion that she does not have to pay for your attention, when she’s already captured it entirely —

༊*·˚ You seek her approval and praise. When she throws a compliment or words of advice your way, you greedily and most eagerly consume that into your brain and heart.

༊*·˚ While Avis does here and there tease and dangle the age card on you, you trust and deeply value her judgment, her choice of words, her opinions, and thoughts, and not just because she is someone you adore and become a literal hole for, but because she IS Avis Amberg, a regal and intelligent woman who’s walked the earth longer than you have.

༊*·˚ She more than anyone understands the things one must do and sacrifices one must make to survive in this world. She understands why you do what you do — such as work at the Golden Tip Gas.

༊*·˚ “You’re smarter than this place, doll. Don’t let it keep you boxed in.”

༊*·˚ It’s her way of lifting you up while reminding you that she sees your potential beyond that place.

༊*·˚ Definitely encourages you to pursue your dreams, and depending on what your ideal career is, she will push and pull at strings so her girl can get one step ahead to where she wants to be.

༊*·˚ Avis definitely fusses over you sometimes. If she notices you’ve been overworking or looking too tired, she might hand you a flask of expensive whiskey or tuck a crisp bill into your shirt pocket with a teasing comment about taking care of yourself.

༊*·˚ Avis is NOT afraid to show you tough love. Does not like to sugarcoat things. Her maternal streak doesn’t mean she’ll coddle or indulge weakness. She’ll tell you the truth, even if it’s hard to hear, but her words are always laced with an undercurrent of care.

༊*·˚ Not only supports but pushes you, and it’s because she believes in your potential and wants you to succeed. “You’re strong, don’t let the world treat you like a little bitch, darling.”

༊*·˚ You smother her with affection, SHE SMOTHERS YOU WITH GIFTS.

༊*·˚ The first time she gives you something, you’re hesitant to accept it. Her brow arched, a soft laugh escaping her as she leaned closer to murmur, “It’s for me as much as it is for you, kitten. Humor me, won’t you?”

༊*·˚ Avis knows you might hesitate to accept her generosity, given your position and hers. She always reassures you with a soft smile and a murmured, “It’s nothing, darling. Let me take care of you.” Or , “Don’t argue with me. Mama likes to spoil her girl.”

༊*·˚ A novel by an author you may have mentioned in passing, or a scarf in your favorite color, or a bracelet with a charm that carries a secret significance between the two of you, she’ll get it for you.

༊*·˚ When you proudly wear or use something she’s gifted with gleam, those brown pools of hers shimmer with unmistakable pride. She may trail her fingers along the edge of the fabric she bought for you or comment softly, “You make it look better than I imagined.”

༊*·˚ She sometimes indulges in a more extravagant gift — a pair of earrings, a silk dress, or something that feels out of reach for your world. When she does, her tone is casual, as though it’s no trouble for her to provide such luxuries, but her eyes gleam with satisfaction when she sees your stunned expression.

༊*·˚ Avis is a proud woman, and though she’s not one for grand declarations, she doesn’t like it when you question her affections. “Must I always remind you how much you mean to me?” she’ll say with a soft sigh, cupping your chin to force you to look her in the eye.

༊*·˚ There’s a touch of insecurity on your part. Being with someone as poised and powerful as Avis can feel overwhelming. Sometimes you wonder why she’s with you, a nobody compared to her glamorous life. But she has a way of dispelling your doubts with a single look or a soft-spoken reassurance.

༊*·˚ While Avis trusts your independence, she doesn’t take kindly to anyone mistreating you. If she senses someone’s being disrespectful, her words turn sharp, her demeanor icy, as she swiftly puts them in their place.

༊*·˚ She HATES leaving you after stolen hours with one another. Parting way is always the hardest for Avis. Though she masks it well, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes every time she has to walk away, as if she’s silently wishing she could stay longer. ( those brown eyes of her soft and warm and SAD while her red-tinted lips frown as she stares at you, touches lingering, pecks to your cheek frequent, longer than the last before she departs — UGH. )

༊*·˚ You despise Ace. Period. It physically pains you that she has to go back to the man called her husband — the man with far more power than you could ever have. A MAN for Christ’s sake. Your jealousy — and despise — is both endearing but somewhat common to Avis.

༊*·˚ You bring out a softness in her. With you, Avis lets herself relax in ways she doesn’t elsewhere. She enjoys quiet moments together—sharing a cigarette, lying side by side in silence, or just watching the way you look at her like she’s the only, most precious person in the world. She tends to forget what it feels like, being looked at in that way, feeling that way. ( poor baby —)

༊*·˚ She ADORES how you notice the small things. Whether it’s a new piece of jewelry she’s wearing, the way her hair is slightly styled differently, or even just a minor change in her tone, Avis is deeply flattered when you pick up on the details. She loves being seen by you.

༊*·˚ She knows when you’re upset. You can’t hide your emotions from Avis. If you’re feeling down or anxious, she has a way of coaxing it out of you with a quiet patience that makes you feel safe.

NSFW !!!

༊*·˚ AVIS AMBERG THRIVES in control — a tantalizing balance of tender and firm.

༊*·˚ In the bedroom, this translates into her taking the lead with a firm but sensual dominance. She delights in directing your actions, telling you how to touch her, how to undress, or how to position yourself for her pleasure. She enjoys you being obedient, and your eagerness to please only enhances her desire.

༊*·˚ She might instruct you to undress in front of her slowly, letting her take in every inch of your body, her gaze deliberate and appreciative.

༊*·˚ “Good girl,” she’d breathe out, her voice a velvet-like mix of approval and arousal, as you follow her instructions without hesitation.

༊*·˚ She relishes in control though tempers it with a warmth that makes you feel safe, adored, and completely hers.

༊*·˚ She’s a MASTER of seduction.

༊*·˚ Avis takes her time with foreplay, savoring the build-up as much as the act itself. Her lips, her hands, and her voice are all tools in her arsenal, and she knows exactly how to wield them to leave you breathless.

༊*·˚ Avis would be drawn to your reverence for her. Your willingness to treat her like a goddess would resonate deeply, feeding her need to feel adored and desired in ways she doesn’t receive in her conventional life.

༊*·˚ Babygirl isn’t one to rush, if you’re eager to get to it, she manages to get you to slow down with those eyes and red lipped smirk of hers. Whether it’s the slow drag of her lips down your neck or the way your fingers explore every inch of her skin, she likes for one to take their time, as though committing the feel of one another to memory.

༊*·˚ Quiet isn’t her issue! Avis isn’t afraid to let you know how much she’s enjoying herself — very vocal. Her moans are soft yet commanding, her whispered praises intoxicating. She’s also insistent on hearing you, encouraging every gasp and groan with murmured affirmations.

༊*·˚ She DEMANDS your focus. When you’re with Avis, she expects your UNDIVIDED attention. She’ll gently guide your hands to where she wants them or softly command you to look at her, ensuring every moment is intentional and shared.

༊*·˚ She enjoys hearing how beautiful, powerful, and sensual she is, and she’d savor how eagerly you want to please her.

༊*·˚ You kiss every inch of her body, whispering how divine she is, how much you want to please her, and how lucky you feel to have her.

༊*·˚ “That’s it, darling,” she’d exhale, fingers threading into your hair when you’d kneel before her. “Show Mama how much you adore her.”

༊*·˚ While Avis exudes control and dominance, she would also crave moments where she can let her guard down.

༊*·˚ With you, someone younger and fresh with possibility, she’d explore the thrill of trusting someone to take care of her—even if only briefly.

༊*·˚ On rare occasions, she’d allow herself to lean into your arms, guiding your hand to undress her or worship her body as she sits / lays back, watching you with a mix of amusement and surrender.

༊*·˚ Avis lives for the thrill of secrecy.

༊*·˚ The illicit nature of your rendezvous adds an irresistible tension that heightens her arousal.

༊*·˚ She delights in taking risks — stolen touches in public spaces, breathy moans silenced into the palm of her hand, and the ever-present danger of discovery.

༊*·˚ During galas or social events, she’d brush her fingers against your waist, whispering heated promises in your ear about what she’ll do to you later.

༊*·˚ QUICKIES OCCUR WITH AVIS. I JUST KNOW IT IN MY BONES. Sometimes, when time is short, she’ll pull you into her car and park in the nearest empty parking lot— DOES NOT GIVE TWO FLYING FUCKS IF IT IS DAY OR NIGHT, SHE WILL HAVE YOU.

༊*·˚ The urgency of these moments—your hands fumbling, your breath hot against her skin—it’s all just so delicious to her and you —

༊*·˚ The forbidden nature of your relationship feeds her desire, making every encounter all the more electrifying.

༊*·˚ Definitely has a thing for marking you — hidden of course, though sometimes she isn’t afraid to let them peak out —

༊*·˚ Avis is deliberate about leaving traces of your passion, but always where only you or she will see them. Love bites along your inner thighs or scratches down your back are her signature, a private reminder of her.

༊*·˚ Avis, ever meticulous and refined, would likely have a deep appreciation for oral pleasure — both giving and receiving.

༊*·˚ She’s precise, taking her time to tease and savor, drawing out your pleasure until you’re trembling under her touch.

༊*·˚ She’d enjoy teasing you, her lips and tongue exploring every sensitive spot, her movements sensual and deliberate, building you up only to pause and make you beg for release.

༊*·˚ “Patience, my sweet girl,” she’d whisper, her voice rich with amusement. “I decide when you come.”

༊*·˚ Conversely, she’d REVEL in your attention to her, loving the way you worship her body, how you kiss and taste her like she’s the only thing that matters.

༊*·˚ She encourages you to be VOCAL. Avis LOVES hearing you — whether it’s a soft moan, a whispered plea, or her name spilling from your lips. She’ll tease — very subtly degrade you if you try to stifle yourself. “Let me hear those pretty sounds, darling. I want to know how good you feel at being a dirty little whore, hmm?”

༊*·˚ As a woman used to getting what she wants, Avis would enjoy exerting her control through teasing and denial.

༊*·˚ She, and proud she would be to declare this, is highly aware of the power she holds over you and takes immense pleasure in making you wait for her touch, her approval, her satisfaction.

༊*·˚ She might kiss you deeply, her hands roaming your body, only to stop abruptly and smile. “Not yet, darling,” she’d say, commanding while those brown eyes shimmer in mirth. “I want to savor you.”

༊*·˚ Your frustration only fuels her satisfaction, and when she finally allows you to have her, the release is all the sweeter.

༊*·˚ Avis would revel in the age gap between you.

༊*·˚ She enjoys being the experienced, worldly woman guiding you into new realms of pleasure and desire.

༊*·˚ She loves how youthful and vibrant you are, how your innocence (or at least the appearance of it) contrasts with her own sophistication.

༊*·˚ She might call you “Mama’s girl” during moments of intimacy, or when promising you something filthy and exhilarating in the secrecy of stolen moments.

༊*·˚“You’re so eager, you minx ,” she’d croon affectionately. “It’s adorable how desperate you are for me.”

༊*·˚ Avis is a woman of taste, and she’d incorporate luxury into her intimate encounters with you.

༊*·˚ Silk sheets, champagne, and candlelit settings would be her preference, creating an atmosphere of opulence that matches her persona.

༊*·˚ She’d surprise you with a private rendezvous in a lavish hotel room, the bed adorned with rose petals, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume.

༊*·˚ “Only the best for mama’s girl,” she’d whisper against the nape of your neck as you marveled at the setting she’d arranged just for you.

༊*·˚ praise, praise praise !!!! If it was not clear, Avis thrives for praising you!!!! Avis is generous with her compliments, but they’re always laced with her unique brand of authority.

༊*·˚ She LOVES hearing you call her Mrs. Amberg when you’re intimate, but she’s also partial to ma’am or even mama. It feeds her ego and the dynamic between you two.

༊*·˚ Definitely tests your limits. Avis enjoys pushing boundaries, always careful but curious to see how far you’re willing to go for her. A blindfold, a soft scarf tying your wrists, or simply asking you to trust her completely—she knows how to toe the line between thrilling and overwhelming !

༊*·˚ VERY SENSUAL. For Avis, intimacy is about more than just physical pleasure. She takes every opportunity to touch you—tracing patterns on your skin, pressing kisses to your pulse, and savoring the way you respond to her in every way.

༊*·˚ She takes her time with aftercare, as do you. Despite her intensity, Avis is gentle and attentive once the heat of the moment has passed. She’ll brush back your hair, press soft kisses to your temple, and whisper words of reassurance as she holds you close.

[antizenin]

𑁤 ONE KISS AWAY FROM LOSING YOU ⋮ NANAMI KENTO

THIS JUST IN . . . nanami kento has been caught booking a hotel room with a mystery person. we couldn't capture a clear photo of the person, but it's definitely someone not in the royal family's caliber. who could it be?

( fic demographics. ) jujutsu kaisen, nanami kento, angst & sexually explicit | minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact & 2.1k words !

➛ prince!nanami kento, afab!reader (she/they), nickname: love/my love, secret relationship, pleasure dom!nanami, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, praise, not proofread.

SECRET ROMANCE BREWING? NANAMI KENTO CAUGHT WITH A MYSTERY BEAUTY!

By Gojo Satoru | May 5, 2024

While the past few months have been a bit lackluster when it comes to the Nanami’s, this week I’m happy to report something very enticing to our readers’ eyes. Just two days ago, the young prince, Nanami Kento, was seen entering the extravagant hotel, the Renaissance, with a hand clutching onto his forearm. Not dressed in his usual pristine attire, I nearly missed him, but I’d  recognized those bulking arms and stark blonde hairs from anywhere. (It was also his signature round glasses that gave him away.) 

The mystery beauty by his side, however, was able to keep a much more discrete profile. With a hoodie on, they kept their heads down as they entered the beautiful hotel. With some dignity and honor, I had left the two alone to enjoy their time together (and because the prince is quick on his toes), but it’s no doubt what they’re going to do. Nanami Kento is regularly discussed as a man that goes by the books. Rarely shed in any negative light— minus the rumors that he’s a stuck up snob and thinks highly of himself— people have been speculating when this clean streak of his would come to an end. I’m just happy I’m the one to document it. 

For more news on the world of the royals, rich and famous, please subscribe to our newsletters or download our app through Gyomei Plays for a discounted price of $0.15/month. Get sizzling news on not just the Nanami family, but hear on what Duchess Maki is up to and about her solitary confinement after murdering the majority of her family after the passing of her late twin Zenin Mai, or snoop into rising Indie artist, Geto Suguru, and how his new album is turning out. I hope to bring you more tantalizing articles very soon. (Hopefully unveiling the mystery partner of ex-goody-too-shoes Nanami Kento.)

—

MAY 3, 2024

Nanami Kento has never been in love before. Has never allowed himself to. He knew that this life he was born into wouldn’t allow for it. Keeping his heart chained and locked, he couldn’t quite understand just how you managed to find the key. And his mind couldn’t wrap around the idea of just how easily he had given in to you. 

Is it because of your glistening smile that your eyes and lips that you did when he first met you? A simple waitress that was doing their job in the fancy restaurant that his parents had reserved a table for. His parents had requested for the best and in return, had gotten you. The dark bags under your eyes was enough evidence of your exhaustion, yet you kept such a relaxed yet kind tone even when his parents were snipping at you. They could never be satisfied. 

Is it your voice and how you carried such a melodic laugh? He had made a comment about one of the choices on the menu, making a snide remark about oysters and just how he couldn’t escape them. It was under his breath. Truthfully, he didn’t expect you to hear it, but you did and you had let out the cutest laugh with a subtle snort at the end that led his parents to grimace. However, the two corners of his lips had curved upwards and he started showing more interest.

Is it because even in dim lighting, you still managed to shine? That while he broke his internal promise with himself as he got to know you, no matter where the two of you went, you managed to be the center of attention is his mind? From renting out places for the day to spend time with you to booking hotel rooms to enjoy the night in each other’s arms, he’s come to memorize every course of your body. He’s memorized every curve and every angle that he needs to put you in for the light to hit just right to continue to make you flourish. 

Even in moments like this, where he’s checked the both of you in and has led you upstairs. Making a few wrong turns before arriving at the room and hastily opening the door, where he gently pushes you on the bed and captures you with the length of his body. He switches on the bed lamp because he wants to see you. He wants to look into your eyes as he breaks his promise over and over again, falling deeper for someone that he knows that in the end, he’ll have to let go.

—

No matter how habitual it is, you find yourself giggling into the gentle and feathery kisses Nanami places on your lips. And no matter how habitual your giggling is, Nanami can’t help but peer down at you every time you do so. The way your nose would scrunch together as your small laughs make his heart race. From small pecks to elicit more sounds to swallowing them up and dragging a moan out of you instead. One hand that caresses your face while the next holds onto your waist, traveling down to unbutton your pants. Loosening its grasp, Nanami dips his hands between the hem of your pants and underwear, feeling your bare skin against the palm of his hands. Your stomach tenses with anticipation as you continue to kiss him back.

Your hands tangle into his blonde locks, squirming underneath Nanami as he nears your core. Yet, he stops right as he’s a mere centimeter away, dragging his hand out and gripping onto the fabric of your bottoms. You whine despite his tugging against your clothes, wanting the touch of his fingers against your cunt— to feel his thick digits stretch your tight walls. Just the thought alone has your arousal seeping through the crotch of your underwear as your hips forcibly rise above the sheets as Nanami pulls off the tight-fitted pants. 

“God,” he huffs. “As much as I love these on you, I hate the trouble I’m going through to remove them.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re not as strong as you look, big boy,” you jest, gently jabbing at his chest; his still clothed chest that vibrates as he chuckles. And while he might say your smile is glistening, his is your entire world. Such a stoic man portrayed by the media, you consider every chance you get to make him smile a blessing. Just as hard as Nanami’s falling hard for you, you’re trapped in the clutches of how strong your love for him is as well. You yearn for him just as much as he does— if not more. 

It’s not because of his socioeconomic status within society. It’s because of his brown eyes that are like a hot cup of coffee. Piping hot as just one sip will rejuvenate every bone in your body, giving you the energy to keep going. When you stare into them, it’s as if your lifespan has extended exponentially. He’s given you life. That itself is all the power that you need.

So attentive and genuine with each and every action he makes. You don’t care about the price tag listed upon every gift he’s given you, but the practicality and meaning each of them have. He’s listened to you, followed all of your “pointless” ramblings about the things you like and dislike. He’s shown interest in all of your hobbies and quirks, and in return you do the same. And whether or not you both end up liking it, you both enjoy the quality time spent together. Because who knows how long this will last.

“You’re right,” Nanami chuckles in agreement. “I’m always weak when it comes to you.”

You shutter before whispering, “I hate how you can make something so corny sound so seductive.”

With yet another chuckle, he leans down; his lips ghost yours. “I try.”

—

You’ve come to realize that Nanami is a relentless man. Two strong hands that have your legs pinned up and pressed to your chest. A painful and compromising position, your muscles ache as your pussy is exposed all for Nanami to inspect. Brown eyes that seem captivated and mesmerized by how your juices have clung to your folds, making your cunt shine like porcelain. You crane your head to look down at him, gnawing on your bottom lip as you watch his thumb press down on your clit.

Your heart beat rises, pattering heavily against your chest as you watch the man dip lower to taste your pussy. A chaste kiss planted before his tongue teases and prods at your hole. A hum that reverberates against his chest as he instantaneously decides— delectable. His lips that pucker around your clit, sucking on your dark nub as your mouth falls open and your head falls back. Your toes curl as you feel Nanami knead at the skin of your thighs while simultaneously eating away at you. His eyes have fluttered shut to further savor your taste. 

His tongue explores your caverns and you pulsate around the feeling, closing your eyes shut to engrave this moment in your soul. You mewl and whine, calling out his name in such prosody.  Your hands travel to tangle themselves in his blonde hair, tugging at them as your pleasure grows stronger. Nanami grunts at the pain you cause. 

Eyes opening, you peer down at Nanami, watching how his muscles flex and contract as he holds you down. How he has his face buried between your legs as he laps up your pussy with an insatiable need. He barely comes to a stop before one of his hands leaves the comfortable position of holding you up to slot in between your lips. Two thick digits that glide in between your folds, collecting your juices before prodding right at your entrance. You clench needily as you wait in anticipation for the stretch they’re going to give you. Mewling out his name “Kento” in such a way before your grip on his hair tightens. You don’t have to say anything else. The tone in your voice is all that he needs to decipher what you want— you want more. And Nanami Kento is always too willing to give you whatever you want. He’d give you the world. 

Two knuckles deep into your pussy, the juices of your cunt seeping into the fabric that Nanami feels bad for the maid that’ll be left to clean up their sex-induced mess. You squirm in his hold, back slightly arching despite the hold he has on you with one arm. His fingers thrust in and out of your sex, unrelenting as he’s determined to bring you to yet another orgasm. Such a messy process unbefitting for a prince, but the lust tinting his eyes lets you know there’s no going back from this. 

“Kento,” you cry out, feeling his fingers curl inside you. Your swollen clit is still in the mouth of a dragon as he claws at the insides of your walls. “‘S too much! Please— please!”

Your words say one thing while your body says another. Your hands push him closer to your mound despite your squirming, an internal battle that you’re having with yourself. And sometimes he’s convinced himself that only he knows just what you need. He breaks away for a moment, lust-blown eyes with your slick coating the bottom half of his face. Nanami says, “it’s okay. I know you can take it. I know you take whatever I give you.”

His voice dips, becoming deeper than it already is. It has your stomach coiling as you feel that familiar heat as your nails dig into his scalp. Against your pussy, he breathes, “Fuck.”

“‘M g’nna— I’m—” 

Nanami coos, silencing you as your lips tremble. “Shhh… It’s okay, love. I got you.”

Your mouth goes dry, only able to croak out a few undecipherable noises before you’re cumming against his tongue. Nanami laps up your taste, cleaning you up with the pink muscle inside his mouth. When you come down from your high, your voice trembles as you mutter, “Kento, I love you.”

His heart pounds against his chest. While not the first time you’ve said this, it still elicits this reaction. He stammers, not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he does, too. He’s just got too much. “As do I, my love.”

—

“Y’feel so good,” Nanami breathes in the crevice of your neck, hips thrusting back and forth as your moans and whines fuel the room. “You always feel so good.”

His once perfectly kempt is now messy, hanging over as he rises from the crook of your neck. A hand comes up to caress your face as his brown eyes meet yours, staring at each other with such heavy longing. “Gosh, you’re so beautiful.” Your eyes crinkle, welling up with tears that threaten to spill. You can’t quite identify the reason for them. Are they for this overwhelming amount of love or is it for the fear of the future? “So are you, my prince.”

[ahhnini]

imagine rafe meeting your family on thanksgiving!

warnings - nervous rafe, fluff, condescending family members, not proofread!

a/n - hope you all have a warm and safe thanksgiving! <3 if you don’t celebrate I hope you have a fantastic day regardless! hope yall accept this as a apology for the last rafe angst :(

“you warm? I know you’re not that used to the cold, you can turn the heat up if you want.” you say, eyes shifting back to the road. “we’re almost there anyways, i’m so excited for you to meet them…rafe? you okay?”

your boyfriend was shivering like a wet dog. not only was he freezing from the cold temperatures, his nervousness was becoming apparent.

you arrive at your grandma’s house, pulling right up into the driveway. the weather predicted a snowstorm happening later this evening, so you wanted to arrive before the roads get slippery.

you look towards rafe, taking his hands in yours. “they’ll love you, I promise.” you peck his lips, giving him a sweet smile. “if you wanna get on their good side fast, carry in the food and help a little in the kitchen, ‘kay?”

following your words, rafe carries in the pumpkin pie. your grandmother gives you a tight bear hug, and you introduce rafe to her. she smiles and takes the pumpkin pie from his hands, setting it in the fridge.

you see rafe pick at his hands. knowing that he’s still nervous, you whisper to him, “you’re doing amazing, baby.” he whispers back, response having you hold in your laughter, “can I sit on the couch or do I have to sit on the floor?” after failing to stifle your giggle you reply, “one of the bedrooms. we can lay down and chill there for awhile. c’mon.” you drag him down the hallway and into one of the rooms. you close the door, dust the bed, and gesture for rafe to sit down with you.

“you’re so tense. here,” you shuffle on the bed, kneeling behind rafe and kneading his shoulders. his tense muscles relax instantly, and he softly sighs. “its jus’ that my family was never this close with one another, and you have such a big one. it feels new.” you hum, continuing to massage his back, “I understand, but you know I wanted you to meet them for a reason, right? I want you to be a part of my family, I want you to feel welcomed.” you kiss him on the cheek before bouncing off the bed, sitting next to him and leaning your head on his shoulder. “we can stay in the room for now, but the rest of my family is gonna come soon. you have absolutely nothing to worry about, i’m here.”

once you heard more voices bleed into the room, you knew the party had started. “you ready?” “no.” rafe has a slight pout on his lips. “I did not spend all of our time in this room looking up motivational posters for you to say no. we’re going.” he groans, dragging a hand down his face.

everyone’s eyes are on the two of you. you say hi to your relatives and introduce rafe along the way. so far, they’re all liking him, and it’s boosting rafe’s ego.

“don’t get too cocky now. I haven’t said hi to my condescending aunts.” his smile falters. as you walk towards the back of the house, you put on a fake smile as you politely say hi, and try to strike up a conversation with them.

as expected, they ask who you brought over. “my boyfriend!” rafe’s smile returns on his face, but now it was your turn to frown. “boyfriend, huh? didn’t think you had it in you. you’ve got quite the catch there, hope he doesn’t get tired of you.” one of the chuckle, sipping on her white wine afterwards. she then leans toward rafe, “she can be very exhausting at times.” your frown deepens, and you quickly excuse you and rafe from the conversation.

you puff your cheeks as you try and hold back tears, rafe kissing your cheeks. “that was…you okay?” you nod, “yeah, yeah. every year they do that. they just…they never grew out of their high school mean girl phase. it’s fine. I usually avoid them anyways. you still nervous?” he shakes his head, soft smile adorning his face. “good, ‘cus my grandma wants you to help her with something.” you point over his shoulder, your grandma waving rafe over.

as dinner went on, rafe had gotten more comfortable talking. his posture relaxed, and his words weren’t as that calculated anymore.

“c’mon, just one song!” one of your uncles drunkenly ask rafe. he shakes his head, declining politely, “I don’t sing!” you smile at the cute interaction, wanting to have your own fun and tease your boyfriend. “i’ll sing with him!”

three karaoke songs later, you both sneak off into the restroom, wanting to cool down from the chaos. “don’t ever make me sing again, y/n.” you giggle, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. “you’re amazing, you know that?” he nods, tightening his grip around your torso and swaying you around with the music playing in the background.

the house got less and less crowded, everyone was starting to go home, you were about to as well. you were at the front entrance when your grandma stopped you, giving you one last kiss on the cheek. unexpectedly, your eyes widened as she gave rafe a kiss on the cheek as well, wanting the two of you to come back as soon as possible.

taglist - @nemesyaaa @julie123456897@mfdoomdickrider@grxnde-dwt @littlelamy @rafeeekam @xcinnamonmalfoyx

[allbecauseoftheboys2]

Samuel sipped his beer and watched Angel and his mother yell at eachother in Cantonese. Samuel could never be entirely sure if they were actually fighting or just having an animated conversation, and he could only pick out some basic words. Whatever was happening, this was more interesting than the football game in the other room. Angel set a bowl of brussel sprouts on the counter with a thud. He gaped at something his mother said, and turned red. More shouting and gesturing. Angel's mother pointed at Samuel. Angel pulled a pie out of the oven. An oven mitt was thrown onto the counter. Angel's father's car pulled into the driveway; he had been out golfing with Samuel's brother. Angel's mother tsked, threw up her hands, and went outside to greet them. Angel harrumphed and drank a deep sip of wine. "My goodness, what was that all about?" Samuel asked after he had a sip. "My mother wanted to know why I'm not married yet," Angel grumbled. "To a woman?" "No, to you. She's fine with the gay thing, oddly. I think it's cause my sister's married with kids." Samuel raised an eyebrow. "What did she say earlier to offend you so much?" Angel folded his arms. "I told her that we were thinking of getting married, but like, we weren't sure yet. I can't quite explain to her, we're a different kind of couple." He gestured upward to the delicate gold chain around his neck. "And you know what she said to me?" "Mm?" Angel put a hand on his chest. "She had the AUDACITY to say that there used to be a parade of boys in my life, but since meeting you I have stopped sleeping with so many guys and moved in with you, so clearly I want to marry you. Sam, my mom called me a slut." Samuel laughed. "Oh sweetheart." "And sure, I did whore myself out at Folsom, but I thought I was being subtle with how many guys I mentioned having overnight..." Samuel gestured with an open palm. "Well, I mean, your mom has a point. If I domesticated a slut, it's my responsibility to house and feed them." "Domesticated?" Angel screeched. Samuel doubled over with laughter. Angel drank more of his wine. "I'm not a feral creature. Domesticated, my ass. Well. I am here making Thanksgiving dinner aren't I?" "You are. And you are doing a great job." Samuel set his glass down and embraced Angel from behind. "I'm teasing you, but I liked that you were slutty. You always knew what you wanted from other men, and got it. It impressed me." Angel leaned back against him. "Impressed huh. Are you're impressed a slut knows how to throw a Thanksgiving meal together?" "You always did like to be stuffed." Angel groaned. "Oh my god Samuel." But he couldn't suppress a giggle. "I'm sorry, I had to." "It was funny," Angel admitted. Samuel kissed his cheek. "I am pleased you are my slut now though, and that you want to live in my house and have Thanksgiving with me. I am grateful for you in my life." "Really?" "Yes. And I rather like the idea of marrying you." "You do?" "Yes." "Man, don't do that. You'd have my mom for a mother in a law," Angel said. Samuel shrugged. "I'll just have to learn how to yell in Cantonese then." "Did you understand any of that conversation we were having?" "No. I've realized that most of my knowledge of Cantonese comes from what you use in the bedroom." Angel blushed. Samuel whispered the words for "more", "harder", and "faster" in his ear, and he felt Angel's entire body go hot against his. "Oh Samuel, you stop that!" Angel hissed. "Don't tease me, especially since you know aren't letting me jerk off-" His family members came back in from putting the golf clubs away in the garage. Samuel gave him a pat on the ass. "Come on love, let's get dinner on the table. You can give me a language lesson later." "You are infuriating." Angel pointed a serving spoon at him. "You're lucky I like you." "Yeah so why aren't you married?" Angel's father asked. There was a beat of silence, and then another explosion of Cantonese. Samuel refilled Angel's glass of wine. _________________ Captions are fictional.

Roasted brussel sprouts with bacon

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] |

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to voice the tension. 

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you. 

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do. 

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online. 

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

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

a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

[marril96]

Safe Haven

Chapter 2: Soft as a Smile

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: After months of no contact, Agatha shows up at your door badly injured, and it’s up to you to help her.

Previous chapter.

It was Agatha's voice that shook you from the fantasy of reconciliation to the strained but steadily improving reality where she was badly injured and taking care of her was more important than daydreaming about a change in your relationship.

"Can I have a glass of water?"

"Of course!"

As if on autopilot, you leapt to your feet. You hated that you had to let go of her hands. Hated that, once again, you were the one to sever contact, however temporary it was.

The three months you'd gone without touching her had felt like an eternity.

You never wanted to part from her again.

Agatha took the glass from you with both hands. It was only then that you noticed lines, an angry red, cutting deep across her wrists. Restraints, you assumed. She must have pushed and pulled until she'd managed to get them off.

Her hands trembled, and, instinctively, you reached to help her hold the glass up to her mouth. She threw you a brief glance, embarrassed, ashamed at needing help at such a basic task as drinking water.

"It's okay," you assured her. She had nothing to be ashamed of. It was the people who did it to her that should be ashamed, though you doubted their kind was familiar with the concept.

As Agatha finished, and you laid the glass on the table beside the supplies you'd gathered for her care, you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. A wordless repetition of your words. It was okay. You were here, and you loved her; temporary weakness didn't change that.

Even if it was permanent, it wouldn't change a thing.

Powerful or not, at full strength or injured, she was your girl. She would always be your girl.

Agatha's arms shot up, a gesture you'd come to know by heart. When she wanted affection, she took it. When you needed it, she gave it to you. No words necessary.

You allowed her to pull you to her and bury her face in your stomach. Instinct prompted you to reach for her, to hold on to her, most likely too tightly considering the condition she was in, but she didn't utter a word of complaint, so you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. To get lost in her, so fragile, so vulnerable, wrapped around you like a child in need of comfort.

You hoped you could provide it.

You hoped you would be good enough.

"I love you so much," you said, your heart brimming with it, ready to burst. "I know you don't trust me right now, and you have every right not to, but, please, trust that."

"Would I be here if I didn't trust you?" Agatha asked.

"I don't deserve it."

"Neither do I, yet here you are."

Quite a pair the two of you made. A match made in hell, some might say. As if that was a bad thing.

She knew this was the safest place for her. Not just because of the protection spell, but because you were here. She knew you wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on her. If hunters were to come knocking, you would kill them without a second thought.

For hunting her. For hurting her.

You'd killed for her before, and you would do it again in a heartbeat.

"You deserve the world," you said, and meant it; every syllable, every word. You kept on holding her, kept on pressing her to you as if to make sure that she was real. To make sure that this wasn't a dream, and you were going to wake up any moment now, cold and alone.

"I know," Agatha said with feigned arrogance, prompting you to chuckle. "Right back at you, honey."

The two of you stayed that way for a few moments, engulfed in each other, lost in the embrace you'd both been craving for all these months. Not having her with you was hell. The words you'd said to her last spinning around your head in an endless loop was an even worse one.

It was her who initiated the parting. "All right, honey, I'm digging the moment, but I need to breathe."

Though unwilling to do so, you instantly released her. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not any more than breathing does," she said in a jovial tone that you assumed she put on for your sake. "That's what happens when you get kicked in the ribs for hours. Jot it down for future reference."

Your teeth grit to the point of pain. Fists balled, nails digging into your skin.

They would die for that.

There would be blood.

"After I clean you up, I'll make you a potion." You sucked at potions, but she could guide you to doing it right.

"Don't bother. Whatever they shot me up with is blocking all magic inside me. It wouldn't do shit."

Fuck! "Then I'll be extra gentle."

"That's a first," she said with a naughty grin.

You quirked up an eyebrow. "I don't recall you complaining."

"Because I'm not."

"Then what are you doing?"

Being a little shit.

"Making small talk."

"Ah. Of course."

You missed this. The casual atmosphere, the playful banter, that pucker of her lips that you found to be the most adorable thing in the world.

It almost made you forget she had just escaped brutal torture.

One look at her face, however, was enough to remind you of the horrifying fact.

"I'll be careful, but if I hurt you, just say so and I'll stop," you said, plopping down onto a seat opposite Agatha on the couch and reaching for the rag you'd prepared.

She gave a small nod. Her eyes were on your hands, tracking your every movement. Trusting, but verifying.

Wetting the rag, you gently dabbed around her mouth. Blood slid off her skin with ease. If only it were that easy to remove the bruises. If only a piece of fabric soaked in warm water would take away her pain.

As soon as her face was clean, you moved to her wrists. She let out a hiss as the rag brushed against the thin cut, still open, still raw.

"Sorry," you said. "There's some dirt in there. I need to clean it out."

"It's fine," Agatha assured you.

She let you finish your work, first on her left wrist, and then her right one, gritting her teeth throughout. Pushing through the pain, through the clear discomfort.

"What did they want from you?" you asked in an attempt to distract her. Hunters usually killed witches on sight. As much as they hated your kind, they didn't keep you. Not even to torture you.

They had to have wanted something from her. Something she either couldn't or didn't want to give them.

"Information," Agatha said.

"About what?"

She instantly averted her eyes, focusing on you wrapping bandages around her wrists.

"We can talk when you're ready," you assured her, giving one of her hands a quick squeeze.

Whatever it was that they wanted to know, she clearly didn't feel like talking to you about it. Not yet, anyway.

The last thing you wanted to do was pressure her.

After what she'd been through, it was a wonder she allowed you to bring it up at all. Especially as the mere act of talking — of breathing, of living — brought her pain.

Agatha took in a big breath, face contorting with pain as she did so, then said, "They knew there were two of us."

You frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"They wanted me to tell them where my, quote, companion was."

Oh.

Oh.

Blood ran cold in your veins as the realization set in.

The hunters hadn't just wanted Agatha — they had wanted you, as well.

It was a well known fact that the two of you were a package deal. Where there was one, the other was nearby.

Why kill only one witch when they could kill two?

They must have heard rumors, or been filled in by the witch they'd had on payroll, about Agatha's traitorous tendencies. They must have thought she would give up your location; maybe not right away, but with the right incentive, under the right amount of pain, everyone was bound to crack. Especially the most infamous witch of all.

They didn't know Agatha at all.

She was many things, plenty of them bad, but when she loved someone, she was all in. She had a heart, a big one, and it loved as fiercely as everyone else's; even more so. She may not show it to the outside world, but it was there. You felt it in every pet name she uttered, in every touch of her hand. In every gesture, no matter how insignificant it appeared at first. Even during your worst arguments, that heart cherished you.

You'd never felt truly loved until you'd met her.

She'd made sure you would feel it every single day.

When she said she could go for two weeks instead of two days, she meant it. Because she had something — someone — to protect. She'd let them hit her, kick her, torture her; if she hadn't managed to escape, she would've still been there, silent as a mouse, gritting her teeth through each blow.

All so you wouldn't have to.

Agatha raised a finger in warning. "Before you go all, 'Oh, no'—" she put on a mock voice that was supposed to be a rendition of yours — and it was, an almost uncanny one, which you found mildly offensive, "—in that sad little voice of yours, remember that it was my decision not to tell them anything. And I would do it again if I had to."

In other words, don't feel bad about it. She'd chosen to protect you at the cost of her own wellbeing.

She'd put you first once, and she would do so again.

Your eyes burned with welling tears. "I was so awful to you."

Agatha shrugged. "Just because you said some… unsavory things doesn't mean I want you to die."

What you'd said was beyond unsavory. It was cruel. Borderline sadistic.

"You could've died," you pointed out.

"Honey, I was dead as soon as they captured me. Well, I should've been," she said nonchalantly, as if she were talking about the weather. "I didn't see the point of dragging you into it."

Yet you'd called her selfish. Had said she didn't care about you, that she'd loved power more than you. That you'd never felt loved by her.

God, you were a bitch.

Gently, you picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Is there anything I can do?"

"About those shitheads? You can watch me kill them when I get my power back." She smirked. "You love that."

There was something attractive about her draining witches dry. When she would kiss you after, she would be brimming with magic, new and electric. Ecstatic. It gave your heart the zoomies.

"I do," you confirmed, allowing your lips to curl into a smile, "but, I mean, to make things right between us."

Agatha sighed. She reached out, and you instinctively went to her, kneeling down by her seated form. As soon as her hands cupped your cheeks, your eyes fell closed. How you missed her touch, so tender, so sweet. So loving. Yet another proof of the lies your insults spewed.

Every time she touched you like this, she was telling you she loved you. Without a single word uttered, you knew she felt it, and she made sure you felt it just as intensely, just as fiercely.

How could you say she never loved you? How could you say you'd never felt it?

"You want us to be okay?" she asked.

You gave a nod, a tiny, timid one. "Yeah."

"Then we're okay."

You stared. "Just like that?" Surely, there had to be more to it. She couldn't just forgive you.

"Do you want me to be angry at you?" Agatha asked.

Yes, you did. You wanted her to be absolutely pissed. You wanted her to throw things, or blow something up, or scream at the top of her lungs like she usually did when she was mad.

You wanted her to do to you what you'd done to her.

"Agatha, I hurt you." A tear, two, three slid down your face, the memories of the things you'd said stabbing at you like knives. "Hurt me back."

"Why?" she demanded.

Because you'd hurt her first. "Because I deserve it."

"No, you don't." Her fingers rubbed your cheeks. Wiped your tears. "Someone else would, but not you. Never you."

"Why not?"

"Because I love you. Because I know you." Then, reluctantly, she added, "Because I hurt you first."

Right.

The reason the entire argument had erupted in the first place.

Agatha had forgotten your anniversary, having busied herself draining a — honestly, rather unimpressive — witch, while you'd waited for her at the restaurant she'd explicitly told you she would be at the day before.

You'd waited for her for over an hour like a fool. Had even started worrying that something had happened, that someone she'd slighted in the past (or the last twenty minutes; it didn't take her long to piss people off) had harmed her.

To add insult to injury, she had been the one to call you, asking where the hell you were, because she, having just absorbed some magic, was horny, and it frustrated her that you were nowhere to be found.

"I was looking forward to that dinner," you said, remembering how excited you were. How jovial. It was supposed to be one of the best nights of your lives.

It ended up being the worst.

"As was I," Agatha said. "I just thought it was supposed to take place the day after."

Right.

Forgetting things might as well be her middle name.

At least she managed to remember your birthday. She'd never failed to surprise you with a present she'd somehow know you wanted despite you not telling her a thing. She was perceptive like that.

"Of course you did," you snarked.

Agatha pouted in that way you found both adorable and sexy. "Will you let me make it up to you?"

Of course you would. "I expect something fancy."

"I wouldn't go for anything less. Who do you think I am?" she said, feigning offense.

You grinned. "It's a deal."

She blinked innocently. "So, you forgive me?"

How could you not forgive her when she looked at you like that?

How could you not forgive her when she looked like that?

Consciously or not, the injuries worked in her favor. She could punch you in the face, and you would probably find it hard to stay angry at her.

"I forgive you," you said.

There were few things in the world you could never forgive her for. Especially at this point in your relationship.

She smiled. "I really am sorry."

"I know you are."

It was a bitch move, yes, but it had only happened once. As much as it hurt, it wasn't like she had a habit of forgetting important dates.

Forgetting important things that didn't pertain to your relationship, yes. Names, dates, entire events. If she didn't find it personally significant, her brain erased it.

But something personal? Something in relation to you? Never. Those things stayed pinned at the top of her mental list.

You could forgive one blunder.

So long as she didn't make a habit of it.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange