sarjalian-blog

[pathologicalreid]

little duck | s.r.

in which Spencer is too excited about his first Halloween as a dad to remember he's supposed to be celebrating his birthday

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: jareau!reader, birthday party, halloween, dias des los muertos, roslyn talk, this IS my ffofa family but you don't need to read it to read this (just know that reader and jj have beef), mostly wholesome content, babies and having babies, the spencer reid dilf agenda! word count: 1.53k a/n: is this any good? not sure. it's definitely cute though.

Your eyes flickered around the kitchen, trying to spot a familiar mess of brown curls that you’d lost track of about an hour ago. “Hey,” You said to Penelope, putting an arm around her shoulders, “Have you seen my husband anywhere?”

The blonde shook her head, taking the opportunity to glance around the house to see if he was hiding in plain sight, “Haven’t seen him,” she shared a look with Emily, who shrugged, “Did you check outside?”

Shaking your head, you sighed while picking up some trash from the counter and setting it in the trash. “No, thanks though,” you flashed them a small smile before continuing your way around the house, he wasn’t in the office or the library either.

The house was decorated in a hybrid celebration of Spencer’s birthday and Halloween. Décor for the latter had started going up in September, but the fake spider that Spencer put in the guest bathroom still made your heart race. Balloons fluttered in the air while you strode past them, “Hey, there’s the lady of the house,” your head snapped up.

“Hi Dave,” you greeted Rossi with a hug, “How are you enjoying the party?”

He lifted his glass of punch up, “Other than the fact that I’m not sure how you got the punch to turn green, it’s a beautiful party. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Thanking him, you promised to come back and chat once you found Spencer, who was still missing. As for the punch, you were under strict orders not to tell anyone how the punch had turned green, but you knew that Spencer had used spinach as a natural food dye. Personally, you were avoiding the liquid like the plague.

Finally checking outside, the only thing you found was Matt’s older four chasing each other with glow sticks while their father watched on. Kristy was inside with Rosemary, who wasn’t quite old enough to chase her older siblings yet. You smiled at the thought that maybe next year she’d be able to join the big kids.

Henry and Michael were on the playset, the older of the two trying to impress his younger brother by crossing the monkey bars. You waved at Michael on the swing before closing the door behind you, turning around to continue your search in the house, jumping when you found someone behind you. “Oh,” you hung your head in shock, “You scared me.”

Your sister smiled at you, “Sorry, I saw you looked like you were searching for something, I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

JJ made your chest ache. Every time she offered to do something for you or surprised you with a gift, she continued to get into your good graces, but it just reminded you of your broken bond. Shaking your head, you looked around the living room, “I’m just looking for Spencer.”

Recognition flickered in her eyes, “He went upstairs with Amelia about ten minutes ago. I didn’t see him come down.”

You sighed in relief once you knew where your husband and baby were, “Thank you.” Making your way to the stairs, you turned and spoke up again, “And J, take some leftovers home! I really don’t need all of it.”

Hopefully, you could convince everyone to take at least something home. Throwing parties was a curse, there was always too much food. You made your way upstairs, checking the master bedroom before peeking your head into the nursery, finally finding Spencer.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Mila propped up in front of him, still learning how to stand unassisted. You leaned against the door frame, watching Spencer adjust her Halloween costume as she stared at him in wonder.

It was a tradition in your family for your mom to make the costume for Halloween, at least the first one, and Spencer was more than willing to adopt any tradition available to him, especially if it involved Halloween. You gave your mom free rein of the costume idea, so you shouldn’t have been surprised when she showed up before the party today with a baby duck costume in tow.

She was blowing raspberries at him while he brushed some feathers out of her face, “We’ll have to trim some of those, honey,” he spoke to her gently. He had refrained from putting the hood over her head, either because he didn’t want to ruin the tiny ponytail she had sticking up from her head or because he didn’t want her to get too warm, but she seemed more than content to be dressed in the bright yellow outfit.

You were thankful that she’d be comfortable in the costume because the rest of the week would be jam-packed. Tomorrow night was the FBI trunk or treat, then a Halloween party at Rossi’s, then actual Halloween, and then a Dia De Los Muertos party at Penelope’s to round off the week.

Honestly, you weren’t sure who was going to be more exhausted by the end of the week, you or Mila.

Eventually, you caught the gaze of your eight-month-old, who reached out and made grabby hands at you, exposing your location to Spencer, who turned his head to look at you, “Hey,” he said, still holding her upright even though his eyes weren’t on her.

“Hi,” you greeted back, unable to take your eyes off of the baby. More specifically, you were unable to take your eyes off of her costume.

You took a seat on the floor across from Spencer, who helped Mila off of her feet so that she could crawl to you, “Go see mama,” he urged her gently, watching as her tiny arms and legs carried her across the floor.

Once she reached you, she pushed herself up on your leg until you scooped her up, settling her in your lap and raising your eyebrows at him, “You know there’s a party going on downstairs.”

“I had noticed that, yes,” he answered, neatly folding the hood of Amelia’s costume and setting it in a pile.

Adjusting the bow on top of her head, you craned your head down and kissed the side of her head—she gurgled in response. “Did you know that they’re all here for you?”

Spencer smiled slightly, “I knew that too.”

Mila continued to babble while you looked at your husband curiously, “And yet,” you started, “You’re up here, putting her Halloween costume on while you should be at your birthday party.”

“I just wanted to see her in it,” he confessed, eyes flickering down at his daughter in her baby duck costume.

You had to admit, she was heart-achingly cute in the handmade costume. You were so happy when your mom brought up making the costume, not wanting to ask right out for it.

From the day she was born, Amelia was surrounded by family, you and Spencer made sure of it. She was cuddled up in the hospital with a blanket that Penelope crocheted. Even her nickname—Mila—had been granted to her by Derek’s daughter, who couldn’t quite swing the three-syllable name at the time.

There was a pit in your chest that was brought upon you by the symbolism of the costume, you often wondered what life would be like if your eldest sister was still around. You wondered what she’d think of your baby’s middle name—Rose—and if she’d think it was cool. “Hey, Spence?” You whispered, carefully standing up with Amelia in tow.

“Yes, my love?” He responded, following your lead and getting up off the floor, taking the baby from you, and changing her into pajamas.

You hummed behind him, taking the discarded costume and folding it up, placing it on top of the dresser until you needed it tomorrow. “Happy birthday,” you told him for the nth time today.

He smiled at you, resting Mila on his hip before he turned back to you, “Thank you.” Spencer leaned over and kissed you, the action receiving a coo from your daughter.

Laughing softly, you cupped her head tenderly, “It was a pretty good year, huh?”

Spencer pulled you into his side, you being held in one arm, and Mila in the other. “Yeah,” he murmured, “This one was definitely a favorite.”

Becoming a parent with Spencer was a dream come true, there was nothing you could think of that would top this year. Tilting your head back, you looked up at him, “So, what are you going to wish for this year?”

His gaze flittered down to the baby on his hip.

You shook your head immediately, “Pick something else,” you said, giggling at his silent suggestion. To you, it felt much too soon to think about another baby, and you knew Spencer was mostly joking. The two of you had previously decided on waiting.

Spencer sighed in response, looking between you and Mila, “More of this,” he answered, “The three of us, together.”

Raising your eyebrows, “Avoiding a party together.”

“As a family should,” he affirmed, beaming at you.

You were smiling so much that your cheeks ached, and you nodded your head in the direction of the door, “C’mon, there’s a cake downstairs with your name on it. Literally.”  

[stylesispunk]

Silent strain | part vii

Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: Time passes by, but Joel's feelings and the promises he has made to you are still lingering.

w.c: 9,6k

warnings: angst, harassment, mention of being hostage, mentions of blood, fluff. no proofreading. oh, there's a time jump.

a/n: Hello! This is the third chapter in a row that I don't feel satisfied with. I hope you like it though. Thank you so much for all the love you have given me with this one and I want to tell you that the next chapter will be the last one. I have some ideas for new fics, so I hope to have the strength to write. Thank you so much again and remember that Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading.💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

I would go mad if something happens to you.

Months pass and life cycle moves. You couldn't even get used to the idea of it. Since you were a little girl you could notice the tree's leaves changing into brown and blossoming months after.

Time went too slow when you were a kid, but it went too fast when the world descended into madness.

It passed fast when you lose your parents.

It passed fast when you lost your sister to a mad man who bit her.

And it passed too slow when you cried to sleep hoping to find someone and kill the loneliness that consumed you.

You wouldn't have imagined that there would be a man and a daughter that would change the scary ending of a woman navigating into a mad world.

Now with Rosie growing up, you could see that time didn't forget, it pauses.

Spring blossomed, the heat of summer came and autumn leaves started falling on the ground.

And Rosie was seven months, she had become a source of happiness for you and Joel. You had got used to the normalcy Jackson provided, completely detached form the reality back at the QZ. Here, you could breathe without constantly looking over your shoulder. The peace felt surreal, as if Jackson existed in a bubble untouched by the chaos outside its walls. You found a rhythm in the days: waking up to Rosie’s soft coos, the gentle mornings spent together with Joel as you adjusted to the family life, you’d both never thought possible. And then there was Ellie, who’d become your family too, her bond with Rosie growing stronger with every passing day. It was as though the world had given you a second chance, a life that felt safe, a life you could finally call your own.

 But still, some nights you had to get up from bed and comfort Ellie from the guilt she felt and not being the chance of saving the world, at not being able to give Rosie a better world as she had promised you before she left to that hospital.

In those quiet, midnight hours, you would find Ellie sitting by the window, looking out into the dark, her expression shadowed by a weight that hadn’t left her since her return.

She held Rosie close, as if this little piece of innocence could somehow soothe the burdens she carried. And every time, you would gently place a hand on her shoulder, grounding her back to the present.

“Ellie, you’ve given her everything she needs—a world where she can grow up safe, with people who love her,” you’d say, your voice soft but steady. “That’s more than most people get in this life. You saved her, Ellie. And you’re saving her every day.”

Ellie would nod, her fingers brushing over Rosie’s little hand, but the guilt lingered. You could see it in her eyes—the questions, the what-ifs. She’d murmur about the promise she’d made to you and herself, the weight of what she couldn’t change. And in these moments, you reminded her that she wasn’t alone.

Joel, too, had his own ways of comforting her. He would tell stories of the world before, of the simple joys he’d had with his own daughter, Sarah. Ellie listened closely, soaking in the memories and glimpses of a life she could only imagine. She became part of this family, tangled in the bond you and Joel shared with Rosie. Tommy and Maria had welcomed a baby boy, who become part of your little family too, creating a new sense of hope that replaced the endless need for answers.

As autumn deepened, the nights grew longer, but the warmth in your small home was a steady light. Together, you were all healing, not just from wounds of the past but from the burden of being the ones who had survived when so many hadn’t. You realized that the love you shared was a gift, one that filled in the cracks left by the world’s broken promises.

Jackson had given each of you something to hold on to: a chance to live, not just survive.

To be human and to have kindness all over again.

The arrival of a new doctor, a young woman named Lena, had shifted things in Jackson. She was efficient, kind, and carried herself with an air of calm that put people at ease. It wasn’t long before she’d settled into her new role, and everyone, even Paul, seemed to take a liking to her. You noticed the way his attention veered toward her whenever she was around. For the first time in months, you felt him loosen his grip on you—both literally and in the unwelcome ways he used to hover.

But the relief was short-lived. Though Paul was now distant, something lingered in the way he looked at you from across the square or when you were with Joel, his gaze sharp, bitter, as if he were wrestling with unspoken resentment. It sent a chill through you, the way he lingered just long enough to make you question his intentions. You’d catch his eyes on you while laughing with Joel or holding Rosie close, and despite the distance he kept, it was clear he hadn’t completely let go of the past.

“You’re safe,” Joel would say when he felt you tense under Paul’s gaze, his voice warm yet firm, as if willing you to believe it as fiercely as he did. “I won’t let him hurt you, not again. I promise.”

Over time, you tried to let Joel’s words settle the unease in your heart, and each day in Jackson was a step further from the shadows of the past. Rosie’s laughter filled the quiet corners of your home, and Ellie’s confidence slowly returned, bolstered by her new role in the community. The family you had all become created a protective circle, one that, despite the lingering fear, was beginning to feel like a fortress of your own making.

But in a lawless world, good things weren’t forever.

You were in the storage room, organizing some of the supplies for the community. It was a quiet day, and the rhythmic task of sorting and counting had put your mind at ease for a while. The door creaked behind you, and without turning around, you assumed it was Ellie coming in with Rosie, as she often did when Joel was out on patrol.

“Hey, you can leave Rosie’s blanket in the corner,” you called out casually, continuing to count the jars of preserves. When there was no response, you glanced over your shoulder. The door was closed, but you didn’t see Ellie or hear Rosie’s familiar babbling.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Slowly, you set down the jar in your hand and turned fully toward the door, a growing sense of unease building in your chest. You walked over to check the door, trying to calm the alarm bells ringing in your mind. But as your hand reached for the handle, the door wouldn’t budge.

It was locked.

A cold chill ran down your spine, and you turned quickly to face the room, dread pooling in your stomach. Standing by the shelves was Paul, his eyes fixed on you with an expression you couldn’t quite read—calm, yet unnerving.

“Paul,” you said, your voice low and controlled, though fear was rising inside you. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t move, just stood there, blocking the only exit. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said simply, his voice almost conversational, like you were discussing the weather.

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. “I’ve been busy,” you replied, stepping away from the door, putting distance between the two of you.

“I get that,” he said, taking a step forward, closing the gap. “But I think there’s something we need to talk about.”

“I don’t think there’s anything left to say, Paul,” you replied, your voice steady but your pulse racing. You tried to keep your movements calm, looking for a way out without escalating the situation.

Paul’s eyes darkened slightly. “You’ve always been different. I saw it the first time we met. You’re not like the others. Strong. Independent. And I was there when Joel wasn’t, remember? I took care of you.”

A wave of anger surged through you at his words. “Joel has always been there,” you said firmly, your voice sharpening. “And I don’t need anything from you.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, the calm mask he wore slipped. “I could’ve been good for you,” he muttered, his voice lowering, a bitter edge creeping in. “You should’ve given me a chance.”

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and you felt your muscles tense, ready for anything. “Unlock the door, Paul,” you said, keeping your tone steady but firm, your heart hammering in your chest.

He stared at you for a moment longer, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he finally moved toward the door, his hand resting on the lock. “I hope you think about what you’re throwing away,” he said, his voice cold now.

He unlocked the door, but didn’t open it. Instead, he stood there, watching you, as if waiting for you to say something. You didn’t. You just stared back at him, your resolve unwavering, until he finally opened the door and stepped out, leaving you alone in the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you let out a shaky breath, your legs feeling weak beneath you.

You stood there for a moment, letting the reality of what had just happened settle in. Your hands trembled slightly as you grabbed the supplies you’d been working on, trying to focus on anything to calm yourself down. But the fear and anger that Paul had stirred inside you wouldn’t leave. You had to get out of that room, out of the suffocating memory of his presence.

Leaving the supplies behind, you walked out of the storage room, making your way toward home. Every step felt heavier as your mind raced. You knew Joel had to know what had just happened, but you dreaded telling him. You could already imagine the storm that would follow—the fury in Joel’s eyes, his protective instincts kicking in. He wouldn’t take this lightly, and you didn’t want anything to happen that would make the situation even worse.

But Paul had crossed a line. He’d locked you in that room, he’d tried to manipulate you, and that was something you couldn’t let slide.

When you finally reached the house, your heart was pounding. The house felt empty without Joel or Ellie there. Rosie’s toys were scattered across the floor, a few baby blankets draped over the couch, and it brought you some comfort knowing that your daughter was safe, likely with Ellie or Maria.

You sat down for a moment, running your hands through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t avoid this any longer.

Just as you were about to get up, the front door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, his face tired from a long day of patrol. He paused when he saw you sitting on the couch, his brows furrowing with concern as he sensed something was off.

“Hey,” he said softly, coming over to you. “You okay?”

You forced a small smile, nodding, though you felt like every nerve in your body was screaming the truth. Joel’s eyes narrowed as he took you in, sensing something was off despite your best efforts to hide it. He sat down beside you, reaching out and gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your cheek in a way that made your guard falter.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. “I can see it plain as day when something’s eating at you.”

A sigh escaped you, and you looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s... it’s just been a long day. The supplies inventory went a little longer than usual.” You winced at your own excuse, but the last thing you wanted was to burden him with this, not after everything he had already carried for you. And yet, the memory of Paul’s face as he’d locked that door lingered, filling you with an unease you couldn’t shake.

Joel’s hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you finally looked up to find his gaze fixed on you with that fierce, unwavering look that said he’d stand by you through anything. You could almost feel his determination, his need to protect. And you knew, deep down, that keeping this from him would only make things worse.

“Are you usure?” he asked, his soft brown eyes looking deep into your eyes.

“I’m sure,” you replied, forcing another smile that felt brittle on your lips. You could see the uncertainty lingering in his eyes, but you desperately wanted to believe your own words, to convince both him and yourself that everything was fine.

But as you spoke, the truth gnawed at you. You could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken worry hanging like a cloud between you. You could sense Joel's instincts kicking in, the way he was calculating every detail, every change in your expression.

“Okay,” he said slowly, though the skepticism in his tone was evident. “But if something’s bothering you, you know you can tell me. You don’t have to shoulder it alone.”

You nodded again, though the weight on your chest remained heavy. You wished you could share everything with him—the fear, the anger, the vulnerability—but you were afraid of what that might bring. Afraid of how he would react if he knew just how deep your scars ran.

Joel shifted closer, his presence radiating warmth and comfort. “Let’s go check on Rosie,” he suggested, a gentle smile breaking through his concern. “I think she might be waking up from her nap.”

You smiled up at him, a playful glint in your eye. “Oh no. Ellie stole Rosie. She took her on a walk.” You leaned your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you. It was a comforting sound, grounding you in the moment.

Joel chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That girl’s gonna spoil her rotten,” he said, the worry in his voice easing just a bit as he relaxed into the light-hearted banter. “C’mon, let’s go rescue our baby from her.”

As you stepped outside, the crisp air greeted you, the autumn leaves swirling around in a golden dance. You spotted Ellie at the end of the street, her silhouette bouncing with Rosie strapped to her chest in a baby carrier.

“Look at that!” you said, nudging Joel playfully. “She’s got her all to herself.”

As you approached, Ellie turned to greet you, her grin wide. “Hey! We were just enjoying the fresh air. Rosie loves it out here!”

Joel’s brows furrowed slightly, a mix of concern and annoyance crossing his features. “You sure she’s okay out here?” he asked, eyeing the carrier with a protective gaze.

“Relax, old man,” Ellie teased, rolling her eyes but clearly enjoying the banter. “I’ve got this.”

You watched the exchange with a smile, appreciating the bond forming between them. It was a light-hearted moment that filled you with warmth, but even as you laughed and chatted with them, a flicker of unease nagged at you.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Paul was still lingering in the background, like a storm cloud waiting to burst. But for now, in the safety of this moment with Joel and Rosie, you pushed those thoughts aside, choosing to savor the laughter and the love that surrounded you.

“Alright, let’s head back home,” you suggested, hoping to steer the conversation away from any looming threats. “I think Rosie could use a snack before her next nap.”

“Good idea,” Joel said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you all started to walk back. At that moment, surrounded by the people you loved, you felt a fleeting sense of safety, a reminder that there were still beautiful moments to hold onto amidst the chaos of life.

The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room. Joel lay in bed, propped up on one elbow, watching you sleep. Your face was relaxed, peaceful in the way only sleep could allow, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of contentment—where the world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of those he loved most.

He shifted slightly, careful not to wake you, and glanced over at Rosie’s crib, where their daughter slept soundly, a little bundle of joy. The way she curled up, her tiny fingers reaching out as if searching for comfort, tugged at his heart. It was a reminder of everything they had fought for, everything that had led them to this moment of relative peace.

But as he watched you, he also felt the weight of the past pressing down on him. As the sun continued to rise, casting a golden hue in the room, Joel felt an overwhelming urge to protect you both, to shield you from any harm that could come your way. He wanted to be the kind of man who could ensure you felt safe, cherished, and loved—every single day.

He gently reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment as he admired the way the morning light danced across your features. It was a simple act, but it filled him with warmth, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could create a life free of fear.

Just as he was about to lean in closer, Rosie stirred in her crib, letting out a soft coo. Joel’s gaze snapped to her, and a smile spread across his face. He glanced back at you, still lost in sleep, and quietly slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb you.

He made his way to Rosie’s crib, lifting her gently into his arms. She let out a sleepy yawn, her eyes fluttering open, and he chuckled softly. “Good morning, little girl,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

As he cradled Rosie, he couldn’t shake the feeling that today would be different. There was a strange feeling tugging his heart.

He wanted to talk to you, to reassure you that no matter what had happened, he was there for you, and he wouldn’t let anyone take that away.

He carried Rosie into the kitchen, starting to prepare breakfast, humming softly to her as he moved about the space. The smell of coffee brewing filled the air, mixing with the scent of warm pancakes. He couldn’t wait for you to wake up and share the morning with him and Rosie, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

After a few moments, he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. He turned, and there you were, stretching as you entered the kitchen, a sleepy smile gracing your lips. The sight of you made his heart race; you looked beautiful even in the early morning light.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, trying to sound casual, but the warmth in his tone betrayed the excitement he felt at seeing you.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice still thick with sleep. You glanced at Rosie in his arms, your eyes lighting up. “What’s going on over here?”

“Just making breakfast,” he said, moving closer so you could take Rosie from him.

You took Rosie, your face lighting up as she cooed in response. “You’re the best,” you said, planting a soft kiss on Rosie’s forehead.

Joel couldn’t help but grin, watching the two of you together. It was moments like this that reminded him of why he had fought so hard to protect you both. He wanted to create a life filled with love and happiness, a life where fear didn’t overshadow everything else.

As you moved to the kitchen table, settling Rosie in her high chair, he couldn’t shake the feeling that had settled on his heart.

After breakfast, the mood was light, laughter bubbling up between you and Joel as you tidied up the kitchen. But the reality of the day weighed heavily on Joel's shoulders as he checked the time. It was time for him to head out on patrol.

“Hey,” he said, brushing his fingers against your arm as he stepped closer. “You sure you’re okay with me leaving?” His brow furrowed slightly, a hint of concern lingering in his eyes.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just spending some time with Maria and Rosie today.” The reassurance seemed to ease some of the tension in his features.

“Alright.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture that continued giving you butterflies inside your stomach.

With one last look at you and Rosie, Joel grabbed his gear and headed for the door, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet house. You watched him leave, a mixture of pride and concern washing over you. You knew he had a duty to protect Jackson, but every time he walked out that door, your heart clenched a little tighter.

Once he was gone, you turned to Rosie, who was babbling happily in her high chair, her small hands reaching for the toys scattered around her. You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm; it was infectious.

“Looks like it’s just you and me today, kiddo,” you said, scooping her up and placing her on your hip. “Let’s go see Maria. She’ll love to see you.”

As you walked out the door, the crisp autumn air greeted you, and the vibrant colors of the leaves seemed to dance around you. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over Jackson, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

You strolled through the streets, greeting familiar faces as you made your way to Maria’s house. It felt good to be part of a community, to know that you were surrounded by people who cared about each other.

When you finally arrived, Maria was outside, tending to her garden. She looked up and smiled warmly at the sight of you and Rosie. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite little girl!” she exclaimed, kneeling down to meet Rosie’s curious gaze.

“Hi, Maria!” you greeted, handing Rosie over so she could be cuddled in Maria’s arms.

“Come to brighten my day, have you?” Maria teased, cradling Rosie gently. “What are you two up to today?”

“Just thought we’d hang out, maybe help you with some chores around here,” you replied, the mention of chores bringing a smile to Maria’s face.

“That sounds perfect! I could use an extra set of hands.” She looked at you knowingly, her expression softening. “And it’ll be nice to catch up.”

As you entered the house, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making your stomach rumble. Maria always had a way of making her home feel inviting and warm, just like her personality.

While Maria prepared some snacks, you settled onto the couch with Rosie, who was busy reaching for the various toys scattered around. “You’ve been so brave lately,” you murmured to her, feeling the weight of your own fears lift slightly in the comforting presence of Maria and Rosie.

“Paul threatened me yesterday” you confessed.

Maria paused her movements, “Joel went after him, didn’t he?” she asked after a long pause, her voice cautious.

You shook your head, feeling a mix of emotions rise in your chest. “He threatened me, Maria. He’s been hanging around, and I don’t feel safe anymore.”

Maria sighed, her expression conflicted. “I’m not defending Paul, believe me. What he did was wrong. But there’s something you need to know about him, about why he is the way he is.”

You looked up at her, surprised by the weight of her words. “What do you mean?”

Maria took a deep breath and walked over to the table, sitting down across from you. “Paul wasn’t always like this. When he first came to Jackson, he was different, quiet, kind, a good doctor. He’d just lost his wife and daughter in the outbreak, and I think that broke something in him. He’s been carrying that grief for years, and I think it’s twisted him into someone he wasn’t meant to be.”

You frowned, trying to reconcile the man Maria was describing with the one who had threatened you. “That doesn’t excuse what he did,” you said softly, more to yourself than to her.

“No, it doesn’t,” Maria agreed. “But it explains it. Paul never got help. He never really let himself heal. And now, he’s become this… person who tries to control everything because he couldn’t save the ones he loved. He’s stuck in that grief, and it’s poisoning everything around him.”

You sat in silence for a moment, letting her words sink in. It didn’t make you feel any better about what had happened, but it gave you a new perspective. Paul wasn’t just a man who had tried to manipulate and threaten you, he was a broken person, consumed by his own loss.

"I lost my family too," you murmured, your voice quiet but filled with a deep ache. "Joel lost his daughter." You felt the familiar sting of grief rise up in your chest. "He hasn’t done—" You paused, the weight of what you knew about Joel, the secrets he carried, pulling at you.

Maria looked at you, her expression soft but knowing. “It’s different for everyone,” she said gently, sensing the unfinished sentence. “Grief changes people in ways we can’t always predict. Some people shut down, some lash out… and some do things they never thought they’d be capable of.”

You swallowed hard, nodding but not trusting yourself to speak. Joel had done things—things that no one else knew, things that weighed heavily on him. And you had promised to carry those secrets with him, even if they still haunted you both.

“But what happened to Paul is not your burden to carry,” Maria added, her voice firm. “You’ve been through enough. You and Joel have your family to think about now, and Paul can’t be a part of that. I’ll talk to Tommy; we’ll make sure Paul knows he can’t come near you again.”

You nodded slowly, grateful for her understanding but still feeling uneasy. “I just want to feel safe, Maria. After everything… I just want to protect my family.”

Maria reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “You will. We’ll make sure of it.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, feeling a little lighter knowing that Maria was on your side. But as you sat there, sipping your tea and listening to the quiet sounds of Jackson waking up outside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things with Paul weren’t over. His pain, his brokenness—it wasn’t something that could be easily fixed or swept away. And while you didn’t want to live in fear, you couldn’t deny the sense of unease that lingered in the back of your mind.

Later that evening, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. You found yourself drawn to the bar in Jackson. Ellie was with Rosie at Dina’s place, assuring you she would take care of her while you could be yourself for a bit.

As you entered, the familiar sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air. You scanned the room, spotting a few friends from the community. The atmosphere was warm, and you tried to let the energy wash over you, but the nagging unease about Paul lingered in the back of your mind.

You made your way to the bar, ordering a drink and chatting with the bartender for a moment. But as you turned to survey the crowd, your heart dropped. Paul was there, leaning against the far wall, a half-empty glass in his hand. He hadn’t seen you yet, but you could feel the tension in the air thicken.

You considered your options: you could leave, slip out the door before he noticed you, or you could stay and confront the fear that had been growing ever since your last encounter.

You took a deep breath, your pulse quickening as you weighed the choice. Deciding to stand your ground, you turned back to your drink, attempting to appear calm while keeping your gaze from drifting back in Paul’s direction.

A few moments later, you felt a presence beside you. “Mind if I join you?” Paul’s voice cut through the noise, smooth but laced with an undercurrent of something darker.

You forced yourself to look at him, masking your discomfort with a polite smile. “Actually, I was just leaving,” you replied, your voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling inside.

He chuckled softly, a hint of arrogance in his demeanor. “You don’t have to be like that. I’m not here to cause trouble.” His eyes locked onto yours, searching, probing.

You crossed your arms defensively, unwilling to let him in. “Is that so? Because it feels like you have a knack for trouble.”

He leaned in closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. “You don’t understand, do you? I know what you and Joel have been through. I can help you.”

A wave of anger surged through you, pushing you to your feet. “Help? By locking me in a room? By manipulating me?” You couldn’t keep the sharpness from your tone.

Paul’s smile faltered, and for a brief moment, you saw a flash of something, frustration, maybe even desperation “Actually I wanted to say sorry for that” he said.

You straightened, your heart racing as you felt a protective instinct for Joel kick in. “I don’t believe you.”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, you felt a chill creep down your spine. “You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he said, his tone shifting dangerously low.

Before you could respond, a figure appeared behind you. It was Joel, his presence commanding and protective. He caught your eye, a silent question passing between you.

“Everything okay here?” Joel asked, his gaze flickering to Paul, the tension in the air suddenly palpable.

“Just having a friendly chat,” Paul replied, his tone too casual. But you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his demeanor shifted as Joel approached.

Joel stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think you should be talking to her at all.”

You felt a mix of relief and fear wash over you, knowing that Paul was the last person you wanted to deal with while Joel was around. But you also saw the challenge in Paul’s gaze, a flicker of anger igniting in him.

“I was just leaving,” Paul said, his voice tight. “But I’ll be watching, you know.” He winked at you before pushing away from the wall, heading toward the exit.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful for Joel’s presence but still shaken. “Are you okay?” Joel asked, his hand finding yours, grounding you in the moment.

“Yeah,” you replied, squeezing his hand tightly.

“I’ve got your back.” Joel reassured.

Later, some nights after that night, you found yourself wrapped in the warmth of your bed. The familiar scent of Joel lingered in the sheets, soothing your racing thoughts.

Joel lay beside you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he traced shapes in the air with his fingers, a contemplative look on his face. After a moment, he turned to you, propping himself up on one elbow. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, concern etched in his brow.

You met his gaze, trying to smile. “I am now. Just… a lot on my mind.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I get it. I don’t like that guy lurking around. But you don’t have to worry about him; he’s all talk.”

You swallowed, grateful for his reassurance but still unsettled. “I know. It’s just… I don’t want him to mess with our life here. I’m finally feeling like I belong.”

Joel’s face softened at that, and he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You belong here, with me and Rosie and Ellie. No one can take that from us.”

The warmth of his words washed over you, and you nodded, feeling a wave of comfort. “What about tomorrow? What are you thinking?”

Joel smiled, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “I was thinking about finding a guitar for Ellie. I promised I’d teach her a few songs, and she’s been talking about it nonstop.”

Your heart swelled at the thought of Ellie learning to play. “That sounds perfect. She’ll love that.”

“Yeah,” Joel said, a hint of a grin creeping onto his lips. “I was hoping you’d join me. It’d be nice to have you there, and I could use your eye for spotting a good guitar.”

The idea brightened your mood, and you found yourself nodding eagerly. “I’d love to. It’ll be fun to spend time with you outside.”

“Good,” he replied, a sense of relief washing over his features.

“But what about Rosie?” you inquired.

“I already talked to Tommy, Maria is helping at watching her, so don’t worry, mama” he said, caressing your arm.

You shifted closer to him, resting your head on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The warmth of his body enveloped you, and for a moment, the weight of the world outside melted away.

“Joel?” you murmured, looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything. For keeping me safe and for being here.”

His expression turned serious, and he placed a hand on your back, pulling you closer. “I’d do it all over again if it means keeping you and Rosie safe. You’re my world.”

You smiled, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. “And you’re mine.”

“I’ll go mad if something happens to you” he said.

The next morning, the sun broke through the clouds, casting a warm glow over Jackson. You and Joel stepped outside, the crisp autumn air filling your lungs with each breath. The vibrant leaves crunched beneath your feet as you walked, the colors painting the landscape in hues of orange and gold. It felt like a perfect day for an adventure.

Joel’s hand found yours as you strolled along the familiar path, his touch grounding you in the moment. “You ready for this?” he asked, a hint of excitement lacing his voice.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your spirits lifted by the beauty of the day and his presence by your side. “I can’t wait to see Ellie’s face when she gets that guitar.”

“Me neither. Just hope we find a good one,” he said, glancing sideways at you with a grin.

As you walked, you chatted about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing easily. It was moments like these that made you realize how far you had come from the chaos of your past. The threat of the outside world felt distant, and for a while, you could just be.

“Look at that view,” you said, stopping to take in the sprawling landscape before you. The mountains stood majestically in the distance, their peaks dusted with early signs of winter.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Joel agreed, his eyes scanning the horizon.

You stepped into the shop, the door creaking ominously behind you. The interior was dim, lit only by the flickering light of the rays of sunshine. Dust danced in the air, swirling around forgotten instruments that lined the walls, remnants of a world that once thrived.

Joel moved cautiously, his eyes scanning the shop for any signs of danger. “Keep your head on a swivel,” he murmured, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, feeling a familiar knot of tension in your stomach. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness of the shop. You stayed close to Joel, your heart racing as you navigated through the narrow aisles filled with instruments. You couldn’t shake the feeling that danger lurked just beyond the walls.

Joel picked up a guitar from a nearby rack, strumming a few notes. The sound was rich and resonant, a stark contrast to the silence that enveloped the town outside. “This one sound good,” he said, a flicker of excitement breaking through his serious demeanor.

“Perfect for Ellie,” you replied, forcing a smile. The tension still hung in the air, but you wanted to enjoy this moment, to reclaim a sliver of normalcy even in a world turned upside down.

As Joel inspected the guitar, you glanced out the grimy window, your heart tightening at the sight of the empty street. Jackson felt safe, but you couldn’t shake the memories of the horrors you had all faced. The ever-looming threat of raiders or infected was never far from your mind, even in the moments of calm.

“Let’s hurry,” you urged, a sense of urgency creeping in. “I don’t like being out in the open for too long.”

Joel nodded, placing the guitar back on its stand. “You’re right. Let’s see if there’s anything else we can grab before heading out.”

You moved deeper into the shop, scanning the shelves for any useful supplies. A few picks and a worn-out tuner caught your eye, and you quickly grabbed them. Just then, a faint rustle echoed from the back room.

Joel stiffened, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife tucked into his belt. “Stay close,” he said, his voice low and serious.

You felt your heart race as you moved beside him, every instinct screaming to prepare for the worst. The rustling grew louder, and Joel nodded toward the back room, signaling for you to stay put as he crept toward the sound.

As he approached, the rustling stopped. You held your breath, every muscle tense as you watched him disappear into the shadows. Moments felt like hours as you waited, fear coursing through you.

“Joel?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Then, you heard it—a muffled sound, a faint cry. Panic surged within you. “Joel!” you called again, urgency propelling you forward.

Joel emerged from the shadows of the back room, his expression a mixture of relief and caution. “It’s just a cat,” he said, his voice steady, though you could see the tension in his shoulders. He stepped aside to reveal a small, scruffy tabby, its green eyes blinking in the dim light.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful for the distraction but still shaken. “Just a cat?” you said, half-laughing, half-sighing. “I thought it was something serious.”

“Don’t let it fool ya,” Joel replied, kneeling down to scratch behind the cat’s ears. “Even the little ones can bite.”

You smiled at his comment, but the nagging feeling in your chest remained. Something felt off. It had been too quiet out there, and you couldn’t shake the sensation that trouble was lurking just beyond the walls of your temporary safety.

After gathering a few supplies, you felt the weight of worry settling heavily on your shoulders. You couldn’t focus on the task at hand; your thoughts kept drifting back to Rosie.

“Joel,” you murmured, glancing back toward the entrance, “we need to hurry. I have a bad feeling about Rosie.”

He looked at you, concern etched across his features. “You think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, biting your lip. “But I can’t shake this feeling. It’s like something is off.”

Joel nodded, his expression turning serious. “Alright, let’s finish up here and head back. We’ll check on her.”

As you left the shop, the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the deserted streets. The eerie silence wrapped around you like a thick fog, making every step feel more precarious than the last.

Once you reached your home, the sense of unease deepened. You pushed the door open, calling out, “Rosie! Ellie!” Silence filled the room, and your stomach dropped.

“Where are they?” you whispered, panic creeping in.

Joel’s face tightened as he moved through the house, checking rooms with quick precision. “They might be outside,” he suggested, though you could see the concern in his eyes mirrored your own.

You rushed to the backyard, calling out for Ellie and Rosie, but only the rustling of leaves answered. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, shadows stretching long across the ground. The peaceful atmosphere of Jackson suddenly felt ominous.

“Joel!” you shouted, your voice cracking with fear. “What if something happened? What if Paul—”

As you approached Maria’s home, your steps quickened, a feeling of unease settling deep in your stomach. Joel, sensing it too, sped up beside you, his hand brushing your arm to reassure you.

You knocked once, then twice, before pushing the door open, calling out, “Maria?” But there was no response. Just silence.

Your heart pounded as you moved quickly through the house, each room emptier than the last, until you reached the back room. There was Maria, alone, her face pale and her hands clenched in a fist.

“Maria, where’s Rosie?” Joel asked, his voice tight, barely masking his growing fear.

Maria looked up, guilt and sorrow written across her face. “I... I put her down for a nap, and I just stepped out to check on something in the kitchen. I swear, I was only gone for a minute, but when I came back...” Her voice faltered, breaking as she looked away. “She was gone.”

A cold wave of fear washed over you as you stumbled back, your mind racing with questions, each more terrifying than the last. Joel’s face had gone pale, his hands clenched as he took a step forward.

"Who saw her? Did anyone see anything?" Joel's voice was barely controlled, but Maria shook her head.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I... I never thought—”

Without another word, Joel turned and stormed out of the house, and you followed him, your own heart pounding with panic as you raced into the street. People began to gather, sensing something was wrong, whispers passing between them.

"Paul," Joel muttered, his jaw clenched with such intensity that you could see the tension rippling through his shoulders.

A knot twisted in your stomach as his words sank in. You hadn’t seen Paul in days, and the thought that he could have taken Rosie filled you with a terror so deep it was paralyzing. But Joel’s fierce determination grounded you, his hand reaching out to squeeze yours tightly, his gaze steely as he looked at you.

“We’re getting her back,” he said, voice low and unshakable. "No matter what it takes."

“No,” you said firmly, meeting Joel’s intense gaze. “I’m going to get her back.”

He shook his head, looking as though he was about to argue, but you placed a hand on his chest, your expression resolute.

“I know Paul. He’s obsessed with me, Joel. If he sees you coming, he’ll… he might hurt her just to get to me. But if I go, I can talk to him, convince him.” Your voice was steady, stronger than you felt, but deep down, you knew this was the only way. “He wants me to come to him. Let me do this.”

Joel’s jaw clenched as he searched your face, the raw desperation in his eyes mirroring your own. “I can’t let you go in there alone,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t,” you whispered, holding his gaze. “I promise, you won’t.”

After a long, agonizing moment, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Alright,” he said, his voice rough, strained. “But I’ll be right behind you. I’ll keep my distance, but I’ll be close, watching, ready.”

You nodded, relief and fear warring within you as you squeezed his hand. “I know you will.”

With one last look, you turned and headed toward the edge of Jackson, your heart hammering as you moved toward the place you suspected Paul might be hiding. You could feel Joel’s presence following you at a careful distance, his silent promise of backup giving you the strength to take each step forward.

As you reached the secluded area outside the town, you spotted an old cabin tucked within the trees. It looked run-down, barely visible from the path, but a faint light flickered through the window—a sign of life.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the door, keeping your composure steady even as every instinct screamed at you to run. You knocked, and a shuffling sound came from inside. Then, the door creaked open, and there he was—Paul, his eyes lighting up with a twisted sense of satisfaction as he saw you.

“I knew you’d come,” he said, his tone smug and expectant, his gaze flickering with a manic gleam. “I knew you’d understand… that you’d finally come to your senses.”

“Where’s my daughter, Paul?” You kept your voice calm, unwavering, as you held his gaze.

He hesitated, his face twisting with something dark. “She’s fine. I wouldn’t hurt her. I wouldn’t hurt something… something that’s part of you.” He stepped back, motioning for you to come inside. “She’s in here, waiting for her mother.”

You steeled yourself and stepped inside, eyes scanning the dim room until you spotted Rosie in the corner, bundled in blankets, asleep but unharmed. Relief flooded through you, but you kept your expression controlled, knowing that any sudden reaction could set Paul off.

“Paul,” you began, keeping your tone soft, as non-threatening as possible. “You don’t have to do this. We can go back to Jackson. I’ll come with you. Just let me hold my daughter first.”

He looked at you, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but he nodded slowly. As you approached Rosie, every muscle in your body tensed, ready to grab her and make your escape.

Just as you picked her up, Rosie stirred, and her eyes fluttered open, her tiny face relaxing as she saw you. You held her close, your heart pounding with both relief and terror as you turned back to Paul.

Paul watched you, his eyes hollow and haunted, but behind that darkness was something else—a hint of pain, sorrow. His gaze lingered on Rosie, softening just a little, but it returned to you with a fierce, unsettling intensity.

“You remind me of her, you know?” he began, his voice low, almost a murmur. “My wife. She was… strong, like you. Determined.”

You held his gaze, wary but silent, waiting to see where he was going with this. He continued, his eyes distant, as if he were seeing something from a lifetime ago.

“I lost them both. My wife, my daughter—they were everything. We were together, out there in the wilderness, surviving. I thought… I thought we’d be safe. But one day, it was just me.” He paused, his face twisting as he choked back something raw. “Just me. I couldn’t save them.”

Your heart twisted with a twinge of pity, the sorrow in his words tugging at you, but you kept your guard up, knowing how quickly his demeanor could shift.

“You—you and Rosie,” he said, his voice cracking. “It felt like fate when I saw you that day. Like I’d been given a second chance to protect someone.” He took a step closer, and you tightened your grip on Rosie, keeping her secure.

“Paul… I understand that pain,” you said softly, hoping to reach the part of him that was still rational. “But I’m not her. And Rosie… she’s Joel’s daughter. We have our own lives.”

He looked at you, his expression darkening with a flash of anger. “But he can’t protect you like I can. He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose everything like I do. You should be with someone who understands—who would do anything to keep you safe.”

You took a steadying breath, meeting his gaze. “Joel knows that pain too. He lost his own daughter… and he’s done nothing but protect us, even from things like this. I’m sorry, Paul. I know you’re hurting. But you have to let go.”

He shook his head, the bitterness etched into his face as he clenched his fists. “You don’t get it. You were supposed to be my second chance.”

Just then, movement outside the window caught your eye, and you realized Joel was close, watching, ready to act. You turned back to Paul, feeling a surge of courage as you took a small step forward.

Paul’s face twisted with rage as he realized what was happening, his hand darting toward his belt, where a knife glinted in the dim light. But before he could make a move, Joel burst through the door, his presence a wall of fury and determination.

As soon as Paul saw Joel approaching, something in him snapped. His face twisted with desperation and anger, and in one quick, impulsive move, he shoved you out of the way. You stumbled back, caught off-guard, and before you could steady yourself, your head struck the corner of a table with a sickening thud. The world around you spun, and then everything went dark.

Joel’s heart dropped as he watched you collapse, unconscious, with Rosie still in your arms. A flash of fury crossed his face as he looked back at Paul, whose regret flickered only for a brief moment before being replaced by fear. Without hesitation, Joel moved forward, carefully scooping you and Rosie up into his arms, his eyes never leaving Paul.

“You’ve done enough,” he growled, his voice tight with barely restrained rage. “Stay away from my family.”

With that, Joel lunged at Paul

Joel's fist connected with Paul's jaw, the force of the punch sending him sprawling to the ground. Paul grunted in pain, his eyes wide with shock and anger, but Joel didn’t give him a chance to recover. He was on him in an instant, kneeling beside him with fury blazing in his eyes.

“Stay the hell away from her,” Joel hissed, his voice a low growl. He grabbed Paul by the collar, ready to land another blow, but Tommy’s voice cut through the haze of rage.

“Joel! Wait!” Tommy shouted as he stepped into the room, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “We need to handle this differently!”

Joel’s breathing was heavy, the adrenaline coursing through him. He looked back at Paul, who was scrambling to his feet, but then he turned his focus to you.

He dropped to his knees beside you, cradling you and Rosie in his arms. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, trying to soothe Rosie, who was wailing. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you both.”

Rosie’s little hands clutched at your clothes, her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at Joel, searching for comfort. The sight of you unconscious, the blood trickling from your temple, sent a fresh wave of panic through him.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he urged, gently shaking your shoulder. “Please, just open your eyes.”

“Joel,” Tommy said, kneeling beside you, his expression serious. “We need to get her to Maria. She can help.”

Joel nodded, his jaw clenched. “Right.” He carefully lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest, your head resting against his shoulder. He felt the warmth of your blood seeping through your clothes, and it made his stomach churn.

“Rosie, come on,” Joel said softly, glancing at his daughter, who was still sniffling. “We’re going to take care of Mommy, okay? You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m right here,” Joel whispered, holding you tighter, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He started moving toward the exit, Tommy leading the way to ensure they could get through the chaos of the bar.

As they stepped outside, the sunlight hit Joel's face, the brightness contrasting sharply with the darkness of the situation. The street was alive with the hustle of Jackson, but in that moment, all he could focus on was you and Rosie.

“Tommy, get help!” Joel commanded, his voice low and urgent. He could feel the tension coiling within him, a mix of anger at Paul and fear for your well-being.

Tommy nodded, sprinting off toward the clinic. Joel turned his attention back to you, feeling your body against him. You were still unconscious, and the sight of the blood on your temple made his heart race with anxiety. He needed you to wake up, to fight through this.

“Stay with me, please,” he whispered, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You’re strong. You’ve always been strong. I need you to open those beautiful eyes for me.”

As they reached the infirmary, Joel burst through the doors, his heart pounding. He called out for Lena, and within moments, she appeared, her expression shifting from surprise to concern as she rushed over.

“What happened?” she asked, quickly assessing the situation.

“Paul... he—” Joel stammered, glancing down at you in his arms, “He pushed her. She hit her head.”

Lena nodded, her hands moving, delicately “Get her on the table,” she instructed, guiding Joel to a nearby exam table. He gently laid you down, feeling Rosie cling tightly to his leg.

“It’s okay, Rosie. Mommy’s gonna be okay,” he reassured, but doubt crept into his mind.

Lena started examining you, her hands steady and practiced. “Joel, I need you to step back for a moment.”

“No,” he said fiercely, unwilling to leave your side. “I’m staying right here.”

“Joel,” she said firmly, her eyes meeting his, “I can’t help her if you’re in the way. Trust me. She is gonna be okay.”

Now, as you lay unconscious in the infirmary back in Jackson, Joel was a wreck. He hadn't left your side since Tommy and a few others had found you in the remote cabin, blood trickling from your temple, unconscious and barely breathing. Paul had disappeared—vanished before anyone could catch him. The sight of you lying on that cold floor, helpless, had destroyed Joel in a way he hadn’t felt since Sarah’s death.

Joel was beside you now, his hand gripping yours, his face hollowed with sleepless nights and worry. He couldn’t keep his emotions in check anymore. “I swear to God,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’ll kill him. I’ll find him, and I’ll make sure he never gets close to you again.”

But there was a vulnerability in him, one he couldn’t hide. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, his lips tight, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. He hadn’t protected you, not like he promised. Paul had gotten close to you and Rosie, and Joel hadn’t seen it coming.

Tears filled his eyes, something that hadn’t happened since Sarah. “I let this happen. I should’ve known… I should’ve been there.” He shook his head, looking down at you, his voice dropping to a broken whisper. “You don’t deserve this. Not you.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small, simple ring he had found not long ago. His fingers trembled as he held it in his palm, staring down at it. “I found this for you,” he whispered. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment, but now…” His breath hitched, and he let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Now I’m sitting here, talking to you while you’re not even awake.”

He gently slid the ring onto your finger, his heart aching as he did. “I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “And when you wake up, you’re marrying me. That’s a damn promise. I know marriage doesn’t hold the same meaning as before, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know how much I love you, every single day.”

Joel leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath shaky as he held onto you like you were his lifeline. “Just wake up, baby. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

And as Joel sat there, his heart breaking all over again, you stirred. It was faint at first, a small twitch of your hand in his, but it was enough. Joel’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with hope.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice filled with both desperation and relief. “Come on, sweetheart. I’m right here. Just open your eyes for me.”

Slowly, painfully, you did. The room swam into focus, blurry at first, but the first thing you saw was Joel’s tear-streaked face hovering over you. His hand squeezed yours, and the relief in his eyes was overwhelming.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he cupped your face gently. “You’re gonna be okay.” He kissed your forehead, then your temple, his lips lingering as he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

You felt the weight of the ring on your finger, and despite everything, a small, tired smile tugged at your lips. “Is this… your way of proposing?” you rasped, your voice hoarse from the injury and exhaustion.

Joel let out a breathless laugh, his own tears spilling over as he nodded. “Damn right it is,” he whispered. “And when you’re feeling better, we’re gonna make it official.”

You squeezed his hand weakly, the pain still radiating through your body, but you knew one thing for sure: you were going to be okay. You had Joel, and despite everything Paul had done, he couldn’t take that away from you.

Joel smiled through his tears, pressing another kiss to your hand. “I love you,” he whispered, “I’m never letting you go.”

Tags 💌: @jasminedragoon @orcasoul @missladym1981 @hiroikegawa @eleganthottubfun @lumpypoll @cuteanimalmama @thespookywookies @goodvibesonly421 @karaslqve @greenwitchfromthewoods @somedayheaven @bambisweethearts @joelsteinfeld @guelyury @biapascal @picketniffler @mrsyixingunicorn10 @httpvomitello @kulekehe @callmecath1 @persephone-girl @colmiillo @pedroswife69 @kulekehe @capswife @fallout-girl219 @sullyselena @cymbalta-slut @my-tearsricochet

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[wyphobia]

could you write about streamer abby 🥺

streamer abby

a/n: i literally love this au so much. i kept thinking about this req so i wrote this quickly even though its 2am °՞(ᗒᗣᗕ)՞° sorry if its lazy or it has typos!! lmk if u want more of streamer abby because id rlly love to expand on this au! im so tired so thank you for reading <3

warnings: Could be taken suggestively, size difference.

you have a simple life now that you’re in your early twenties, which is way earlier than you thought you would, but when your wife is loaded from twitch money whos to complain? abby takes care of you, you take care of abby.

she buys you pretty clothes and dainty jewelry. loving to see you spin around for her in a new outfit she had picked out and paid for herself. eyeing you up, asking herself how she got this lucky. if you needed something it was taken care of, if you wanted something, it was yours. sometimes she would buy you gifts just because she wants to treat her gorgeous wife. setting a gift bag down on the table and watching your eyes light up with curiosity.

when abby gets recognized it public it normally doesn’t bother you, it happens so much you expect it at this point, but that doesn’t mean you don’t watch where someones hand is placed, or how comfortable they immediately get with Your wife. putting you in a sour mood for the rest of the outing. abby watches you sulk the whole way home knowing you’ll get over it.

you often bring her dinner while shes streaming, knocking on her office door waiting until she lifts up one side of her headset and calls out “come in!” you walk in and set her plate on down carefully on her desk

“thank you, baby” she says softly and kisses you on the cheek. her chat floods as normal, not-so-painfully forcing you to sit in abby’s lap looking pretty and talking to her rambling chat while she queues up for her next quick play on overwatch. answering questions, saying hi to people you recognize from other occasions, thanking donators, all while abby mindlessly stares off onto the screen resting her head on your shoulder and wrapping her arms around you. her chats probably more obsessed with you than they are abby, but definitely not more than abby’s obsessed with you.

on some nights its late, and you’re watching a show in your shared bedroom. abby’s “working late” which is essentially her just screaming at the top of her lungs as she streams a horror game for the 5th night in a row. it echos the walls from behind you. it does bother you sometimes when you’re trying to sleep and she wont shut the hell up. but its worth it when she crawls into bed nearly 30 minutes later smothering you in kisses and apologizing for keeping you up. you love it, you’re addicted to it even. you’d let her scream every night until the sunrises for her to talk to you in that sweet raspy voice of hers you keep telling her shes gonna lose if she keeps it up.

she wraps her strong arms around your frame, molding you like putty. lazily kissing your neck. “i know its late…i’m sorry..” she mumbles into your skin so delicately. abby was always so Gentle with you, for a woman who could bench press you, she sure did treat you like you were made glass, like if she hurt you, she Herself would bleed. “‘s kay..” you mumble back to her. she kisses your forehead one last time before closing her eyes. fingers running through your hair as you both fall asleep. it was a routine, a beautiful one you loved. you’d do it all again tomorrow, and thank a higher power that it was possible.

[shjsnjkj]

DAD'S BEST FRIEND┊l.hs

kinktober day 21! - masterlist

warnings: smut, MDNI, unprotected sex, making out, nicknames, age gap

genre: smut

wc: 2,5k ✧.*

☆ heesung x reader ; Heeseung was your favorite person when you were a little girl, but after moving to a new country, you slowly started to forget him through the ages. Forget all his beautiful features, the memories you shared with him, and the song he sang to you the last night you saw him. Receiving little kisses and sleeping with him wasn't the same as you remembered either.

taglist:

When you were a little girl, your dad used to invite his best friend, Heeseung, over to your house every weekend, and you couldn’t have been happier. You loved him because he was always kind, and he brought you small yet sweetest gifts like chocolate, a plushie, flowers, hair clips, and other cutesy things. You ran into his arms, he picked you up and gave you a little peck on the cheek.

Heeseung adored you and treated you like his own little girl. That's why he surprised you with something nice on weekends, and you slowly started to feel like he was your family member.

In the summer you went on a holiday together to the sea. You built sand castles and played together in the sea. He stayed by your side all day, read you a goodnight story, and even slept with you after dinner when your parents went out to have a romantic dinner together. You felt never-ending joy throughout the whole week but little did you know, that this was the last time you would spend this much time together and be this close to him.

After the trip, your parents announced that you’ll be moving countries next month. Your little heart broke when you realized that you won’t see Heeseung anymore. You started crying.

“Dad I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to say goodbye to uncle Hee.” -You cried holding his legs.

“Darling, you will see Heeseung, you don’t have to say goodbye forever”

“That’s not true, please let me stay here with him ”

And you were so right. After you had to say goodbye for almost 10 years, you slowly started to forget the hurtful, empty feeling that Heeseung left in your heart as you grew up. Furthermore, you made a lot of friends at the new place which also made you forget about the feeling of missing him. Searching him through the internet or asking his number from your parents was nowhere in your mind either.

This summer you went to work in a cafe. Today was a usual day, you did all your tasks at your workplace until your dad called you up at the end of your shift saying that you’ll be going on a vacation 2 weeks later.

“Hello darling, just wanted to let you know that we’re going on a trip soon. So buy yourself something if you want. Tell me how much money you need and I’ll send it to you.” -then he hung up on you.

“Fine Dad, thank you for saying and listening to my answer as well.”

Right at that moment your phone started buzzing again.

“I forgot to mention that Heeseung will be joining us, he can finally take some weeks off of his company”

You froze at hearing Heeseung’s name. The last time you heard his name was the time when you said goodbye to him. It was around a decade ago. You remembered that moment so well. He gave small kisses on your head while you hugged him as tightly as you’ve never before. Oh gosh, just forget it for now. A-and what about his company? He probably has a wife and kids for now too. It won’t be the same as it used to be — you thought.

However, the real question was how should you act? How should you greet him? Or worse how will you talk to him?

“Are you ready sweetheart?” -Your mother asked.

“Nuhuh” -you muttered under your breath- “Yes I am” - you screamed from your room.

“Let me take this from your hand” -Your dad said, putting your suitcase in the car.

You put up your headphones on your head and sit inside the car. The ride was quite long but you were busy guessing what will happen when you saw Heeseung. Will he treat you like a baby or will he remember you? How will you react after seeing him with his wife and children? Will you be alone for the whole trip? You didn’t know the answers to your questions. Slowly you saw the airport sign which helped you come back to reality and realize that it’s time to face Heeseung.

You stepped out of the car, got your suitcase, put your headphones down onto your neck, and headed inside the building with your family.

In less than 5 minutes you heard your dad’s voice, greeting Heeseung.

“Heeseung, long time no see, it’s good to see you again.”

You stayed aback, and looked down, not ready to meet him. But as soon as your name was called you turned your head to the left and your gaze met with Heeseung’s immediately.

There was he, in black jeans with a white shirt, and black sunglasses at the top of his head letting you see his brown bambi eyes for the first time after a while.

“Y/n come here, say hi to your uncle.” -He said sweetly.

You froze. Despite being the next to greet him you couldn’t take a step further.

Heeseung saw your shocked reaction so he decided to come instead and quickly greeted you with a warm hug as always. But this time you didn’t jump into his arms.

“Hello sweetheart, did you miss me? I missed you so much, you know?” -You just stood there still not moving but then it felt right to hug him back slowly, your hands staying on his back. His perfume and warmth made goosebumps all over your skin so you decided to take a step back.

“Don’t mind Y/n she’s a bit quiet these days.” -your dad told Heeseung.

“Ah, I understand. She grew up, I’m no longer her favorite uncle Hee.” -He showed you a sad expression and turned his gaze back to your dad.

No longer your favorite? And what if he’s still your favorite? What if you still love him deep inside just as much as when you were little?

You felt a pang of guilt for your cold reaction. Despite the years apart, Heeseung's warmth hadn't changed. Later, you wanted to say something, to show him he still meant a lot to you, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you offered a small smile, hoping it conveyed what you couldn't express aloud before.

As you boarded the plane together, you couldn't help but steal glances at Heeseung. His presence stirred up a mix of nostalgia and newfound curiosity. He looked almost the same like he didn’t age at all but he was more handsome in your eyes. You didn’t remember him looking like this but your relationship won’t be the same again, right?

Your parents sat at the first class (of course), Heeseung sat at the business class and here you were on the economy part stuffed between a lot of people. You were ready for the trip, feeling excited. You decided on sleeping after the plane took off, entering dreamland. After an hour you woke up and went to the washroom. It was locked. You waited for a few seconds then Heeseung stepped out of the cabin.

“Oh, hey Y/n. Are you here in the business class too?”

“Uhm, n-no. I’m in the economy class.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I have an empty seat beside me. Come and sit with me, okay?” -He gave you a heart-warming smile and stroked your arm softly.

“Really? I mean, thank you Heeseung.” -his touch sent a shiver down your spine while you tried to get out a word from your mouth.

“Yeah, of course. By the way, there is no need to speak formally with me baby. Just call me Hee or anything you want as you did before.”

“Oh, okay ” -you blushed and looked down, couldn’t look into his eyes- “Then I’ll go and look for you when I’m done Hee” -the word Hee felt weird trailing off your lips but you tried to adjust to it.

After getting your stuff, you moved to the business class and searched for Heeseung. When you found him you sat down and made yourself comfortable. You thought about watching a movie to pass the time somehow until suddenly you switched your plans. You hesitated about this move but slowly reached Heeseung’s side and touched his arm. He immediately turned his gaze to you and gave you a soft smile.

“Do you want to talk for a few minutes? We talked a long time ago.” -you whispered.

“Of course Y/n! As long as you want.”

“First of all, sorry for behaving like that before. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. I was shocked because it was the first time I saw you after 10 years.A-and..” -you stopped when he held your hand.

“You don’t have to say sorry Y/n. I fully get you. How about we make more memories this time to fill the gap of the past years? -your hands still in his.

The first few days were amazing. Every morning you did your morning routine, dressed up in a bikini and a dress on top of that. Some days you let your hair fall down onto your shoulders and the other days you braided it. You packed your camera, and favorite book in your bag then you heard a few knocks on your door. It was Heeseung.

He went out with you every day to buy breakfast and eat it next to the sea. Those croissants were your favorite next to the cappuccino. You explored the village together while taking photos non-stop, and talking about everything you missed out from each other’s lives. After lunch, you bought some snacks and fruits to eat at the beach later. It made you feel nostalgic when you swam or jumped into the water together. Furthermore, sometimes you didn’t even realize when Heeseung took photos of you or accidentally you held hands.

Tonight, you went to a restaurant that had the perfect view to the coast and the village. You both admired how it was lit up by the moonshine and the pretty lights which made the night more beautiful.

“Do you remember when we were together like this years ago? Your parents had dinner, while we ate hamburgers with fries and a milkshake.” -he smiled brightly.

“I remember it too well…”

“Then we walked back together to the hotel and I slept with you after reading some goodnight stories and even played the guitar for you to sleep well.”

“Honestly, I can’t sleep well for years so I might ask you to sing something for me later.”

“Of course, princess but I have to ask you for something in return.”

“It depends on what would you ask.”

“Sleep with me.” -you choked on your drink.

“What?”

“Just like when you were younger. Nothing else just sleeping in the same bed. I miss that moment. That was the last vacation we spent together.”

You did what you've agreed on. Heeseung played the guitar for you while you entered dreamland.

A few hours later, in the middle of the night, you felt an arm around your waist. There was no need to check who’s arm was that because you knew Heeseung stayed with you for the night.

“Uncle Hee” -you tried to turn around and face him which wasn’t quite easy due to his strong grip.

“Hm?” -he slowly opened his eyes.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Go on baby”

“Do you think this is wrong what we’re doing?”

“What do you think Y/n? Do you feel like this is wrong?”

“Uhm I don’t know actually. This feels so right but..” -you looked down, thinking about how to say out your feelings.

"But? Baby, don’t think about anything right now just try to relax." -He gently cupped your face, his thumb tracing your cheek. "As you do that, I’ll make sure you don’t overthink what feels wrong or right." -His voice lowered as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Your heart raced as Heeseung's lips finally met yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was everything you had dreamed of and more, a perfect blend of the familiar comfort he had always provided and the new, exciting feelings blossoming between you. As you melted into the kiss, you knew that there was no way back.

His large hands started caressing your body while he kissed your plump lips passionately. From the new sensual sensation, you couldn’t hold back your moans which only made Heeseung want more from you.

Then, he moved to your neck peppering them with loads of wet kisses. Gently, he turned you to your back and pulled up your nightgown to reveal and let him kiss your soft bare skin. Goosebumps spread all over your skin from his touch and lips. “Heeseung” -you breathed out his name. He just reacted with a smirk and then came up to your beautiful face to give you one last kiss before pulling down your pantie.

“Aw baby, you’re so wet already. You’re so cute.” -He whispered and gave a small kiss to your pussy.

You tried to relax as much as possible but it wasn’t easy when Heeseung’s cock was buried deep inside your cunt and all you could think about is how he perfectly he stretched you out. Heeseung groaned at the feeling of how tight you were and squeezed around his length.

As he pounded into your sweet and sensitive pussy desperately, he reached your cervix making your eyes roll back in pleasure. Heeseung pulled you impossibly closer to his body by your waist and trusted you even deeper making you a moaning mess. You felt like you’d reach your orgasm anytime.

“Fuck, look at you right now princess, you’re taking me so well” -He said between his deep thrust.

“Heeseung, I-I’m gonna cum.” -You cried out, getting more closer and closer to it.

He grinned and slammed his hips into you harder and faster making clapping sounds of your skins smacking against each other.

“Cum for me sweetheart” -He said out of breath as he came at the same time as you right that moment. You clenched around his cock and he let his head fall back from satisfaction. His hot cum dripped down on your thighs which made you the happiest in that moment although you still trembled from the sensation. You were panting and mewing while Heeseung cleaned you up to pull you closer to him as fast as possible.

After that, he put the blanket on you, and gently pulled your fragile body into his arms. You kissed each other for a few more minutes until you started to feel sleepy and closed your eyes.

"Goodnight baby" -Heeseung whispered to your ear while looking at you finally drifting off to sleep.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [eventually smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking ]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 1 - Trent. | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 12.5k

The first time Trent bought you a gift, it was for your birthday—years ago, when everything between you was still in that gray space. You couldn’t name it if you tried but it wasn’t friendship but it certainly wasn’t something else. It was subtle at first, the way things were changing. He wasn’t even supposed to come to your party. He had a match but he made the effort to drop by for a little while. He didn’t make a scene or grab attention; it wasn’t like him to do that. But there was something about the way he navigated through the crowd, like he was looking for someone in particular. You. When he found you, standing near the edge of the party, he smiled, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, because there was something he was holding back, something he didn’t know how to say.

“Hey, happy birthday, pretty girl,” he said. The nickname he’d called you for ages made your heart ache every time. He leaned in to hug you. It should've been quick, casual, nothing out of the ordinary. But the moment his arms were around you, you felt a warmth spread through your chest that only he made you feel.

“I didn’t think you were coming?” You smiled back at him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, glancing around at the crowd before dropping his gaze to you again. “I can’t stay long, but I, uh… I wanted to give you a little something on your actual birthday.” He smiled as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box.

“Oh…Thanks… that’s really sweet, T. What is this?” You stared at it for a second, a little surprised. It wasn’t awkward as much as it was charged. 

“Just something I saw and thought of you,” he said simply, though the weight of those words hung in the air. You blinked, taken aback.

“You think about me?” You asked. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he smiled, almost shyly, and ran a hand over his hair. 

“Uh yeah,” he admitted earnestly, but almost embarrassed. He thought about you a lot and he could never tell you just how much, so his voice was soft. It made your heart skip in a way you hadn’t expected. There was a pause, the kind that felt heavy with everything unsaid between the two of you. Your fingers trembled a little as you opened the box. Inside was a necklace—delicate and beautiful, not over-the-top in looks but you knew the price tag was almost stupid. It was Van Clef, it was a gold little diamond butterfly and it just felt… right. It felt very you and Trent. Like something if you knew, it was extravagant but on the surface it looked like something so simple. It sparkled in the light, and you could immediately tell how much thought he had put into picking it.

“T… this is gorgeous,” you breathed out, lifting it out of the box to admire it closer.

“I’m glad you like it.” He watched you, his eyes softening. Without thinking, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a hug again. But this time, it was different—charged in a way that had never been there before. His arms circled around you, and you could feel the way he pulled you in tighter, almost as if he didn’t want to let go. You rested your head against his chest, the soft sound of his heartbeat steady in your ear, and the warmth of his body seeped into yours. It was the kind of hug that made the world fall away. You were vaguely aware of the party continuing on around you, the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses, but all of that seemed distant. All you could focus on was the way his hands rested on your lower back, the way his body fit perfectly against yours, and how easy it would be to stay like this. The hug lingered, far longer than what anyone could consider appropriate for two friends. You both knew it, but neither of you pulled away. It felt like you were both standing on the edge of something, something that was just waiting for one of you to acknowledge. But neither of you did. Instead, you stayed wrapped up in him, in that quiet moment that felt suspended in time. When you finally, reluctantly, pulled back, your eyes met his, and for a brief second, the space between you felt charged with all the words neither of you had the courage to say.

“Thank you, T,” you whispered, your voice soft but thick with something unspoken.  He smiled, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—something deeper.

“You’re welcome, pretty girl, happy birthday.” Your fingers brushed against the necklace, still cradled in the box. You hadn’t even put it on yet, but already, it felt like it meant more than just a birthday gift. It felt like a secret, something that was just between the two of you. After he left that night, you went up to your room and immediately clasped the necklace around your neck. The weight of it was delicate but constant, a reminder of him. You wore it every day after that, like a piece of him was always with you, even if no one else knew what it meant. And in the days that followed, you caught yourself touching the necklace absentmindedly, like a reflex. Whenever someone asked about it, you’d smile and brush off the question, but inside, it felt like the necklace was tethered to a part of your heart that Trent had unknowingly claimed. You hadn’t yet figured out what it all meant, but every time you saw him after that, it was there—hanging between the two of you, unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a necklace. It was a shift, a turning point, a moment where you could feel something deeper taking root. You wore it like a secret, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t the only one thinking about him. Trent was thinking about you, too. More than he could ever say.  The necklace tethered you to him in ways you hadn’t yet fully realized. You wore it every day, and though no one else knew it was from him, he knew. It was like a private, silent confession, a symbol of something growing between you two, something neither of you had the courage to speak aloud. Even when you were with other guys—laughing with them, holding their hand, even kissing them—Trent would notice the necklace hanging against your skin. It was a quiet, painful reminder that no matter how close anyone else got, you were still wearing something of his. His. Trent winced every time he saw it. The sight of you with someone else, another guy’s arm draped around you, it hurt more than he liked to admit. But it was the necklace, his necklace, that held his attention, keeping him tethered to you despite the distance he tried to keep. It killed him to see you with them, laughing, kissing, as if they had some claim over you. And yet, there was that small, irrational part of him that found solace in the fact that, even in those moments, you still wore something he had given you. 

That night, the night of your birthday, the hug—the way your body had pressed against his—was terrifying to Trent. The way your soft scent of cedarwood and violets lingered on his clothes long after you let go, the way your hands had touched him with that familiar warmth, all of it burned into his memory. He had hugged you countless times before, but this time was different. This time, it felt like you fit perfectly into him, like his body had been waiting for yours all along. And your laugh…  god, the way it sent him over the edge. That night, it was like his walls were crumbling, every instinct in him screaming that this was more than friendship, more than some passing crush. It was deeper, more consuming than he could have ever imagined. Suddenly, the idea of you and him wasn’t just some distant dream. It was real. He was completely attached to you now, and that terrified him more than anything. But what was he supposed to do? Jack was his best friend. Jack… your older brother. Jack… his best friend since primary school. Trent couldn’t betray him like that. He couldn’t act on these feelings, no matter how much he wanted to. He shouldn’t have been so drawn to you, but every time you were near, it was impossible to ignore the pull between you. So he kept his distance as best he could, leaving you tied solely by a sentimental gift.  He continued to see other girls, hoping it would distract him, help him forget. But nothing worked. Every time he kissed another girl, held another girl’s hand, there was a hollowness in his chest because none of them were you. They didn’t laugh like you, didn’t look at him the way you did, and they certainly didn’t smell like the Byredo al d'Afrique. Even as he pretended to move on, the memory of that hug—the way your body had fit so perfectly against his—haunted him. It was no longer just a harmless crush. He was in deep. And he didn’t know how to stop it. And the necklace, the first of many gifts that followed it, sitting atop your decalogue every day was just rubbing salt in the wound because no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, Trent knew the truth. He wanted you. He was completely, undeniably attached. And that terrified him more than anything else. 

This year, It had been one of those birthdays you didn’t want to celebrate. The boy you’d been seeing had ended things, and you were still licking your wounds from the whole ordeal. Despite your reluctance, your best friend Layla and your brother, Jack had insisted on throwing you a party at the house. The decorations were beautiful, and your friends had shown up, making it as lively as it could be. But no matter how much you smiled, how many ‘thank yous’ you muttered, there was a hole in your chest that only one person could fill.

Trent. 

Your brother’s best friend—who, at this point, was just that. A best friend of your brother. Nothing more to you. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. Trent had been away for a match, he always was around your birthday so you hadn’t expected to see him at all tonight, but still, a part of you couldn’t help but pout as you realized he hadn’t even texted. He always texted. If he was away. He always made an effort. No matter where he was. It stung more than you wanted to admit. The night dragged on, drinks were poured, and laughter filled the air, but your mind was stuck on the absence of that one text message. You were lost in thought when you suddenly heard Layla’s voice, sharp and breathless, cut through the chatter.

"Oh my fucking God," she muttered, her eyes wide, fixed on something outside. Her hand gripped your arm tightly. You frowned at her, confused, but followed her gaze to the window. That’s when you saw him. 

Trent.

He was stepping out of a sleek Mercedes G-Wagon, a bow—an actual bow—wrapped around the top of the car like something out of a commercial. Your heart stopped, your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, you didn’t register the car, didn’t understand what it meant. All you could see was him.  He looked impossibly good, dressed in all black, his usual confidence radiating off him as he made his way up the driveway toward the house. Your mouth fell open, and you barely noticed the laughter that erupted around you. Jack and Trent’s friend Noah let out a booming laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Trent, you’re tapped," Noah chuckled, clearly amused. Jack stood frozen for a second, staring out the window with his arms crossed. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me." He shook his head slowly, mumbling under his breath, Your heart was in your throat, pounding loudly in your ears. You felt like the whole world had slowed down as you watched Trent approach. Your eyes hadn’t left him, too stunned to even react properly. The car, the bow, all of it started to sink in, but none of that mattered as much as the sight of him standing at the front door, about to walk in. He had messaged you. Not with words on your phone, but with something far more impossible to ignore. Layla squealed with excitement, grabbing you in a tight hug, her energy infectious as she bounced on her toes. You were still in disbelief at the sheer grandiosity of the gift, staring out at the car parked outside with its oversized bow. But despite your shock, it seemed like everyone around you had expected something like this—teasing aside, they weren’t that surprised. Layla leaned in close, her voice dropping into a sing-song whisper.

“He loves you,” she teased, drawing out the word with a knowing smirk. You shook your head quickly, a small laugh escaping you.

“No, he does not,” you said, trying to brush off the idea. You wished he did, but in your mind, that was far from reality. You were just Jack’s little sister, nothing more. 

“He’s just being nice.” Out loud, you were casual. Your tone was a little firmer, as if trying to convince yourself as much as her.  Layla grinned, nudging you with her elbow.

 “I wish boys were ‘nice’ like that to me.” She giggled. Meanwhile, Jack was dapping up Trent, shaking his head in disbelief but with a smile.

"You’re fucking insane, bro," Jack said, his voice carrying a mix of awe and amusement. "But… nice of you. She hadn’t been happy all night ‘til you showed up." Trent flicked his eyes to you, catching the beaming smile that had spread across your face. He smiled softly, a hint of pride tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew it wasn’t the car that had lifted your spirits. It was the fact that he’d made the effort to be here, to make sure your birthday wasn’t just another forgettable night. You walked over to him again, the warmth in your chest now overwhelming. You hugged him tightly, your arms lingering around his neck longer than they should have, his hands slipping lower than they should have. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “But I can’t keep something like this, T.” You cooed. He brushed off your words with a casual wave of his hand. 

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s yours, pretty girl. It’s in your name as well so...”  He spoke softly and so you nodded, still overwhelmed by the gesture.

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice softer this time. Then, in a moment of quiet vulnerability, you leaned in closer. “The car’s amazing, T, but I’m just happy you’re here. I’m so happy to see you.” You whispered. Trent’s smile softened as he pulled back to look at you, his eyes warm and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“That’s all I wanted,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You happy.” In that moment, standing so close to him, everything else—the party, the noise, the teasing—faded away. All that mattered was him and the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room. As the night stretched on, the earlier excitement of Trent’s arrival slowly blurred into the haze of laughter, drinks, and celebration with everyone. But naturally, as you always seemed to, you found yourself tucked into a cozy corner with him, your head buzzing with the warmth of alcohol and his presence. The two of you were caught in that space where the party seemed distant, as though the music, chatter, and clinking glasses belonged to another world. Here, in this little bubble, it was just you and Trent, giggling over some joke neither of you could remember anymore.  His hand rested on your waist, the touch light but electric, sending little shocks of awareness through you. You didn’t want him to move, didn’t want the moment to end. Each time you laughed, you leaned into him a little more, the casual way his fingers stayed on your side feeling like the most natural thing in the world. You both pretended like you didn’t know what you were doing—that the long looks, the lingering touches, and the proximity weren’t flirting. But they were, and you both knew it, even if neither of you was brave enough to say it out loud. You were swaying slightly, both of you tipsy, your heads fuzzy from the night’s drinks. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you, mingling with the scent of the air that breezed in from the nearby window. Your stomach fluttered with every laugh, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much, and all the while, his hand stayed at your waist, like an anchor keeping you steady. Then, someone from the party stumbled past, bumping into you and sending you careening into Trent’s chest. For a moment, everything slowed. His arms instinctively wrapped around you to steady you, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You looked up at him, your face mere centimeters from his, and time seemed to freeze.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and gentle, as though the world outside this corner didn’t exist. You nodded, biting your lip.

 “Yeah, I’m okay,” you whispered, your words barely audible over the pounding in your chest. But neither of you moved. Your lips were so close, dangerously close. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the heat between you simmering just beneath the surface.

“Okay?” he asked again, his gaze flickering down to your mouth for the briefest second.

“Okay.” You nodded again, your voice catching in your throat. 

“Okay.” He echoed. You two couldn’t get another word to even enter your brains. You were so fixed on these new feelings of closeness. 

 “Okay.” You smiled, breathless, and repeated. The word was like a lifeline, something to cling to as the air around you grew thick with tension. The more you said it, the closer you felt to losing control, but also, it was grounding. Keeping you both on the side of restraint. You both must have said it back and forth a dozen times, each ‘okay’ becoming quieter, softer, more charged. The weight of what wasn’t being said hung between you, heavy and undeniable. His eyes were dark, full of something that matched the way your heart was racing. The world felt like it was spinning, but not from the alcohol. It was him—his nearness, his hands on you, the way he was looking at you like he was holding himself back with every ounce of self-control he had. Despite the fog of drunkenness, there was a clarity in the moment. You both knew exactly what you wanted. It would have been so easy to kiss him. To close the gap and let the world slip away. You could feel his restraint in the way his fingers curled slightly into your side, in the way his breath hitched. You wanted it too. You wanted to close your eyes and let it happen, but something inside both of you whispered not like this. 

For Trent, it was about not wanting your first kiss, your first real moment together, to happen in a blur of alcohol, where the next morning was uncertain. He wanted it to mean something. To remember every second. His mind was a haze of swirling thoughts, but one thing was crystal clear—he couldn’t do this, not like this. He wanted more than just a fleeting, drunken kiss. His body was betraying him, his thoughts as slurred as his worlds but he knew… not like this. For you, the reasons were the same, but more. Not drunk. Not in public. Not after he gave you a gift like that. You couldn’t risk the night becoming about the car or about a moment you wouldn’t remember with perfect clarity. You didn’t want the first kiss to be lost to hazy memories. You wanted to be able to hold onto it forever. So both of you stayed frozen, neither willing to pull away, but neither ready to cross the line. The air between you hummed with unspoken desire, but you both clung to restraint like a lifeline, knowing that whatever this was, it deserved better than tonight. Slowly, Trent’s hand slid from your waist, leaving a ghost of warmth behind, and he took a small step back bumping into the wall behind him, breaking the tension but not the connection. His eyes met yours, soft but full of promise, like he was telling you without words that there would be a right time. Just not tonight. You let out a shaky breath, smiling at him, and he smiled back. The moment passed, but it wasn’t gone. Just waiting.

Trent and your feelings needed to be locked away and one of the largest reasons was Jack especially. Growing up without your mum left a gap in your life that never fully healed. Her absence was something you felt deeply, especially in those quiet moments when you needed her comfort the most. Your dad did everything he could to support you and Jack, but eventually, the weight of memories became too much for him. Once you and Jack were old enough, he moved away, explaining that staying was too hard, but he’d held on for you as long as he could. Even with your dad far away, he stayed close in his own way. Yet, you still felt a sense of isolation that seemed impossible to shake. Your only true constant was Jack. He was more than just a brother; he was family in every sense, and when he succeeded in his career, he’d insisted you live with him. It was his house, but your home. Jack’s success had brought him plenty of friends, but none as close as Trent. You remembered the first time you saw them together as kids, the two inseparable on a football pitch, laughing and shouting like they were the only ones who mattered. Your crush on Trent had grown from those early days, blossoming from something innocent into something you couldn’t ignore. Your mum used to always tease you about it and  you’d deny it but in retrospect she was right.  Watching Trent grow into himself over the years only made things worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. Through your teenage years, you’d felt every moment of jealousy, angst, and longing when he showed up with a new girlfriend. Your crush wavered in intensity but never fully disappeared, flickering in the background as life moved forward. Now, though, it felt different. More possible. Jack was still oblivious, still the overprotective brother who’d sooner scare Trent away than entertain the idea of his friend being with you. But the way Trent had looked at you recently—the almost possessive glances, the magnetic pull between you—had left you wondering if the years of pining might finally be leading somewhere.

From the very first moment Trent walked through your front door, it was impossible not to feel the pull. And now…He was everything a girl could dream of: a sexy, successful Premier League footballer with confidence that was borderline delusional and a smile that made your heart race. Every time he visited, you felt that familiar rush of adrenaline. You’d sneak a glance in the mirror, adjusting your hair, making sure you looked your best, hoping he’d notice you more than just as his best friend’s little sister. And Trent did notice. His eyes had a way of finding you across a room, holding your gaze a moment too long, his lips curling into that lazy smile that sent a shiver down your spine. Whenever he spoke directly to you, his voice was lower, softer, meant just for your ears. You savored every second he paid you any special attention. His touches—casual brushes against your arm, a hand lingering on your back as he squeezed past you in the kitchen—felt like electricity on your skin. You lived for those moments, those fleeting touches, and the way he seemed to light up when he was around you. You dated other guys, tried to create distance, but no one could ever quite compare to Trent. Each new boyfriend felt like a distraction, a poor substitute for what you really wanted. And it was never easy. Whenever your dating life came up in conversation, especially in front of Trent, you hated it. You could feel his eyes on you, a heavy gaze filled with something unreadable, something that made your heart clench. He didn’t like it either—you could tell. He’d get quiet, tense, like he was holding something back, and you’d wonder what he was thinking. But you were off-limits. Trent had made that clear without saying a word. He flirted with you in ways that made your heart pound, yet he always knew just when to pull back, to keep things on the safe side of friendship. He was careful, disciplined, as if he knew that if he ever let himself fully give in to what was simmering beneath the surface, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And so, he kept you at arm’s length, even though you could see the desire flickering in his eyes, could feel it in every lingering touch, every stolen glance.

Jack was a nerd… and his friends were nerds… Trent was a nerd and you knew this because you knew them all too well. To the outside world, to girls that knew them; they were a friend group of objectively good looking successful men but you knew better than that. You had been tagging along for years. Every week, whenever their friend group would convene at Jack's house predominantly to watch films. It began unintentionally but now… you made sure you were home that day.  Your brother’s friend group had a tradition of movie nights—an excuse for a bunch of twenty-somethings to kick back in your brother’s house, or rather your house, enjoying each other's company and the latest blockbuster or old film they likely weren’t alive for when it came out but it was a ‘classic you have to have seen’ they’d tell you. They were a year or so older, all of them already finding their paths in life, with successful careers to boast about. It was one of the reasons you decided to live with your brother after graduating uni; that, and the lure of the sprawling, comfortable home he offered you. But, if you were being honest, the only success story you cared about was Trent's. Every time your brother mentioned one of these movie nights, you found yourself at home ‘by coincidence,’ always ready with a casual excuse about why you weren’t out with your own friends. Deep down, you knew why you stayed. You liked hearing Trent talk about his matches and his training, his voice animated with the passion he felt for the game. His presence in the room was magnetic, drawing your attention even when you tried to play it cool. Trent had a love for films that rivaled his love for football though. He cherished these nights, getting to be ‘normal’ hanging out with his friends and unwinding after a long week. But more than the movies, more than the camaraderie, what Trent loved most were those fleeting, stolen moments with you. When the group would start to drift towards the cinema room, you and Trent would linger in the kitchen, finding little excuses to extend those precious seconds together. Maybe it was grabbing a snack or pouring another drink, but it always ended up with just the two of you, your eyes meeting across the counter, a secret smile shared between you.

He’d take his time getting to the cinema room, always managing to sit next to you on the plush sectional. He loved the way you’d turn to him, your eyes bright as you asked about his latest match or teased him about something trivial. You didn’t even know it, but he lived for those moments—when your hand would casually brush his, or when you’d lean in just a bit closer, letting your arm press against his. The air would thicken with a tension neither of you acknowledged, but both of you felt deeply. There were times when you got a little more daring, your playful nudges becoming something more, your laughter a bit louder, your touch lingering. Trent would feel his breath catch in his throat, his heart pounding as he willed himself to stay composed. You had no idea how much those moments meant to him, how he silently prayed for them every time he walked through your brother’s door. He savored every second you paid him attention, every word you spoke to him, every shared laugh and every fleeting touch. Those nights were his guilty pleasure, a few hours where he could pretend, just for a little while, that the feelings he had for you weren’t forbidden, that there wasn’t an unspoken line he wasn’t allowed to cross. And every time you got a little braver, a little more handsy, you made it harder for him to keep pretending. 

For you, at those movie nights, it was like there was a magnetic force drawing you together. No matter how crowded the room was, you’d always end up next to each other on the couch, under the same blanket, your bodies instinctively leaning closer. Not too close but his arm would casually rest along the back of the couch behind you, his fingers sometimes brushing your shoulder, sending sparks through your skin. The air between you crackled with tension, a tension that both thrilled and terrified you. You’d tell yourself it was innocent, that it was just because you were comfortable with each other. But in those dark, quiet moments, you could almost hear the unspoken words that hung heavy between you. It was a game you both played—pretending that being this close, sharing these stolen moments, was enough. But deep down, you both knew better. There was something between you, something powerful and undeniable, just waiting for the right moment to break free. And until then, you’d keep circling each other, caught in a dance of longing. 

It was one of those balmy summer nights when your brother set up the projector in the back garden for a movie night by the pool. It was the first movie night of the summer, and the energy was already thick with a heady mix of warmth, laughter, and unspoken tension. The boys were sprawled out across the patio, beers in hand, enjoying the evening sun dipping below the horizon. And then you spotted him. 

Trent.

"I didn't know you were back," you grinned, moving to stand next to Trent out on the patio, all of the other boys wrapped up in conversation of their own. This conversation alone though had been what he was waiting for since he got to the house. 

"Yeah? Miss me?" he asked, his voice playful but with a hint of something deeper.

"Of course," you teased back, stepping into his embrace. The way Trent hugged you made your insides flutter… frankly it made you want to scream. He smelled like something familiar yet intoxicating, and the way your bodies fit together just felt right. His hands, as always, hovered just above the curve of your waist, teasingly close to somewhere more dangerous, igniting that tension you'd both danced around for so long. He meant that cuddle and you could feel it. Cuddles between you two know were like some sort of edging. It would get you off but never enough… not even close.

"Who am I supposed to sit with if you weren't here?" you teased, your voice laced with the familiarity of years of flirty banter. Ever since these movie nights started, you always ended up next to him-it was magnetic, almost like a tradition neither of you wanted to break.

"Well you're not sitting with anyone else," he said casually, but there was weight behind his words. Indirectly, Trent wasn't just talking about the movie. He meant it in a way that felt more like a promise, like he was staking a claim that went beyond who sat where on a garden chair. He was protective over you, in ways even your brother or anyone could never know. 

"No?" You shook your head, smiling.

"No," he replied, his eyes steady on yours.

"Besides, who else is supposed to listen to you yap during the films?" He smirked and it was deadly. His smile was devastatingly handsome and it made your stomach flip. 

"I don't talk that much," you quipped back, feigning offense. "You're so dramatic." you swatted at him, your fingers catching his chest just ever so slightly. 

"I'm not," he retorted, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You just don't shut up." His fingers found your waist, pinching playfully, but his hand lingered a little longer than it needed to, sending a shiver through you.

"Sorry, I won't make a peep this time." You bit the tip of your pointer finger holding it between your teeth in feigned bashfulness  unknowingly teasing him. He smirked, his eyes flicking over you with something between amusement and desire.

"Nah, don't do that. Your voice has become part of my favorite film scores now. Just meant to be in my ear." His words, low and teasing, held more meaning than you wanted to admit. You felt the heat between you, the invisible line you kept pretending didn't exist becoming thinner and thinner.

As more of their friends arrived you minded your own business trying to play nonchalant.  But you hung around. You were nearby, casually bent over in your bikini, picking up something you’d dropped near the pool. The moment seemed innocent enough, but you were oblivious to the eyes trailing every move you made. One of Jack’s friends, reclining in his chair, couldn’t help but groan as he watched.

“Mate, not gonna lie, she looks better every summer.” His voice was low enough that Jack, who was inside grabbing more drinks, wouldn’t hear. It was a fine line but one that existed where this friend group was close enough to tease you, treat you like the younger sibling you were but also just close enough to simultaneously be attracted to you. You were less than a year younger than some of them, you were grown, and they knew that. And in the summer, when Jack set up the movies by the pool… you were a more than welcomed addition to movie nights. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Noah, chuckled in agreement, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer than they should. Trent was quiet at first, his jaw tight as he tried to keep his gaze elsewhere. But when he glanced up, seeing the way the sunlight caught your hair and how the curve of your body seemed effortlessly graceful, he slipped. 

"She’s fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.  “I mean.. She’s leng, you know?” He attempted to not wound so smitten but that was all the ammunition Noah needed. He shot Trent a look, grinning ear to ear, and shoved his shoulder with a teasing nudge. 

“Bro, sod off and just admit you want to sleep with her. How long are you going to drag this out?” The banter took off from there, the boys piling on with their relentless teasing. 

“Yeah, honest mate, stop pretending like you’re not into her,” another one quipped, the laughter bubbling up as they watched Trent squirm in his seat, struggling to deflect. Trent opened his mouth to defend himself, his words tripping over each other in the attempt to stay cool.

 “It’s not like that,” he tried, but the boys weren’t buying it. They roared with laughter, enjoying his discomfort far too much. Noah, never one to let an opportunity slip by, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief.

 “Bro, we all know she wouldn’t think twice about letting you fuck her. Both of you are not fooling anyone.” He joked. Trent’s smile faltered for a second, but then it returned, a little weaker than before. His eyes betrayed him as they drifted back to you, drawn like a magnet, just as you stood up and turned around, meeting his gaze head-on. For a brief moment, everything slowed—the noise of the teasing boys faded, the laughter dulled, and it was just you and Trent, eyes locked in a moment heavy with something unspoken. You smiled at him, a casual, carefree grin, completely unaware of the conversation happening just feet away. The boys fell silent, their eyes darting between you and Trent, waiting for someone to make the first move, their teasing now hanging in the air like a challenge. Noah couldn’t resist breaking the tension. “Oi, Trentski, come on—tell me you two haven’t already hooked up?” The question hit Trent like a bucket of ice water. He straightened up, shaking his head a little too quickly, his voice firm and almost defensive.

 “Nah, nah! Jack would kill me if he thought anything was going on. I’m not stupid. Nothing happened.” He said it with conviction, but the boys saw through it. He wasn’t lying, nothing happened physically, but something was going on. Their teasing resumed, but Trent was barely listening anymore. His mind was racing, the banter and laughter just background noise to the thoughts swirling in his head. Not stupid, sure… But in that moment, watching you, the line between caution and temptation felt dangerously thin. Maybe not stupid, but a bit horny for you, he thought, the words playing on repeat in his mind as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping no one would notice. You walked over, oblivious to the weight of the conversation you’d just missed.

“What’s got you lot creasing?” you asked, looking around at the group, your eyes finally landing on Trent.

 “Nah, nothing. Just giving Trenty a hard time, as usual.” Before anyone else could, Noah blurted out an answer.  He winked at you, and you furrowed your brow, confused but not pressing the issue.  Trent smiled weakly at you, hoping to shake off the intensity of the moment, but as you stood close, your skin warm from the sun, he felt his pulse quicken. Every inch of him wanted to pull you closer, but he knew better. Jack would be back any second, and the boys were already wound up from teasing him. As you looked at Trent, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you, just a little longer than they should have. And when he smiled back, there was something different in it—something soft, almost vulnerable. It sent a warmth through you, one you tried to ignore, but couldn’t. The boys resumed their chatter, their attention drifting back to harmless jokes, but Trent couldn’t shake the feeling. Every summer, he’d watched you grow into yourself, more confident, more radiant, and every summer, it became harder to pretend he didn’t want something more. The line between you had always been there—unspoken but understood—and he’d never been foolish enough to cross it. Until now.

The sun had finally sunk below the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything but you stayed in your tiny bikini, relishing in the warm weather. You laid stretched out in a tiny fuchsia crochet set letting the evening heat soak into your skin as Jack got the film sorted. 

"Hey," Trent said as he came over, casually lying down next to you.

"Hi," you greeted back, glancing up with a soft smile. The way you were laying made your bikini push your tits together in a way you knew was hard not to notice. You couldn't help but tease, "I'm so glad it's finally summer." you cooed. 

"Me too," Trent replied, though his focus wasn't entirely on the season.

"Yeah, you should be," you giggled, your eyes flicking over his bronzed skin. "You look better tanned." You teased him.

"Damn, alright." He feigned offense, but the smirk tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn't too bothered by the comment. In fact, he liked that you were paying attention.

"Take it as a friendly suggestion," you teased, eyes sparkling. "Got any big holiday plans? You asked. 

"Eh, some," he shrugged, but his attention wasn't on the holidays. It was on you-how the setting sun hit your skin, the way you casually lay there, completely at ease but still making his thoughts stray. You muttered a quiet ‘cool’ though; feeling slightly awkward. You knew Trent had a life outside of this, outside of you, filled with other girls, holidays, a footballer’s luxury lifestyle but he'd never flaunted it in front of you. Still, the thought of him away from here, away from you, left a weird pang in your chest. "Is it?" he asked, a glint of mischief in his eye. He knew where your thoughts went and he wanted to drag you back into lightheartedness. 

"I don't know, you didn't tell me any details." You raised an eyebrow, biting on your finger with a flustered giggle. Unintentionally, Trent’s eyes were drawn to your lips.

"Maybe I don't want you keeping tabs on me," Trent teased, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I don't... I have zero interest in your whereabouts," you stuttered, caught off guard by the teasing tone in his voice and the way he was looking at you. You were lying and he knew that. Neither of you would say that though. 

"That color looks good on you. Take it as a friendly suggestion." He leaned in slightly, his voice lower as he said. You watched, heart racing, as his tanned hand reached over, squeezing just above your knee. His fingers slid up your leg, hooking slightly under the band of your bikini.

"Serious though, it looks good," he repeated, his touch lingering. You almost blacked out. 

"I got it," you smirked, swatting at his hand half-heartedly, pretending you didn't want him touching you when, in truth, it sent a thrill through you. "Thank you for your input. It's noted." You snapped.

"Good," Trent replied with a wink, his gaze lingering on yours a little longer than usual, leaving you breathless and wanting more. Noah watched the whole interaction between you and Trent with growing amusement, shaking his head before turning to Jack. 

"Mate, you just let him go on like that?" he asked, motioning toward Trent, who was snapping the band of your bikini playfully against your skin.

"They're mates," Jack brushed it off, trying to seem unfazed. "It's not like anything happens." Jack's tone was casual, but the truth was he tried not to think too much about the way Trent interacted with you and you with him. You were the most important people in his life and he couldn’t imagine it past that. He couldn’t risk imagining there being anything more because he couldn’t risk losing either of you. He knew you had a crush on Trent, and Trent entertained it, but Jack couldn't believe Trent would actually act on anything. He laughed, trying to brush the situation off. "As long as it's not you, geez. At least I know Trenty doesn't have an STD." Jack smirked. Noah scoffed. 

"Aye, Y/N, whatever happened to that Manny lad you were seeing?" Another boy, grinning, piped up. You blinked, brought out of the blissful haze of being near Trent, who was now lying beside you but his hand retreating after the other boys attention shifted to you. 

"Oh... just stopped talking, I guess," you answered, your tone casual but clearly uninterested. That wasn’t really what happened but it was an easy answer.

"So he pied you, huh?" Jack teased, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you.

"No, I got bored," you snapped back, shooting Jack a glare. The relationship ended because the guy you were seeing was nicely put.. Insane. Also, neither of you were that interested in the other but Jack and his friends didn’t need to know the semantics. The details would probably enrage Jack so you let them think otherwise. 

"Yeah, sure," Noah sarcastically added with a laugh, fueling the banter. You rolled over onto your stomach, attempting to ignore them, but you could feel Trent's eyes locked on the curve of your ass as your bikini shifted with the movement. The reverb of your ass had him locked in.

"So... bored, huh?" His gaze was hot, unmistakable, and he leaned in, his voice quieter now, meant just for you. You hummed in response, feeling the weight of his stare. Trent knew you had been seeing people here and there, and it always bothered him, though he tried to suppress the feeling. He tried to ignore this one, he really did. But this one specifically? The fact the guy you’d been seeing had played for a rival football club? It stung in a way Trent wasn't ready to admit. The idea that it was over, though, thrilled him more than it should have. Trent lowered his voice even further, leaning closer. "In what department? Besides the club he plays for?" He smirked.

"All of them," you replied with a knowing smile, your eyes gleaming as you added, "Bedroom specifically." You confirmed the answer he was skirting around. Trent smirked, his gaze darkening as he processed your words. 

"Interesting, interesting. Y/N, you're always interesting," he muttered, he tapped fingers near your knee, the tension between you two palpable. His gaze flicked back up to your eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world-the jokes, the boys, the movie night-faded into the background. There was something simmering between you two, unspoken, but undeniable.

You were sprawled out on the couch, wallowing in the aftermath of said breakup days later. It wasn’t that you still had feelings for the guy, you knew your heart lied somewhere you couldn’t entertain but the sting of rejection lingered, clinging to you in a way you hated. Frankly, he treated you like shit, you should’ve been relieved you were out and you’d tried to brush the whole thing off, but the hurt of being left behind always cut deep. He blamed you for whatever and ended things and you hated being ‘broken up’ with. Your solution, as it had often been, was to go out—to drown the pain in loud music, drinks, and distraction. It was irresponsible but you found solace in losing yourself. 

“What’re you up to this weekend?” Jack asked, dropping his bag by the door. He came home and saw you lounging on the couch, barely moving. You didn’t even look up.

“Going out Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and brunch on Sunday.” You told him in a monotone voice. Jack shook his head, clearly disapproving. 

“I don’t like it, Y/N. You gotta chill. That kid was a prick anyway. You don’t need to do this” He told you. Jack was right, he was a prick but that barely scratched the surface describing how messed up he was but you’d never let your brother know. But what Jack did know was your habits. He knew you had a way of not necessarily acting out but finding comfort in strangers when things got scary, probably not in the healthiest way. You just hated being alone. You knew he knew all this so you bit your lip, not in the mood for another lecture, but your stomach twisted with his words. 

“Whatever,” you muttered, shifting on the couch. Jack had his own way of coping with the way losing your mum affected you both. You went out looking for detachment whereas Jack was looking for meaning in relationships. In your opinion, it always seemed to be with people who were playing games with him. And lately, it involved spending more time with Megan, a girl he’d been seeing.

“I’m going out tonight with Megan,” he announced, and you immediately kissed your teeth, rolling your eyes.

“What?” he asked, frowning now.

“Nothing,” you replied, but the tension was unmistakable. He wasn’t going to let it drop.

“Y/N, what?” he repeated, a little more forcefully this time. “Go on… tell me.” He quipped. You sighed. 

“I just don’t think Mum would like her.” The room went quiet for a moment. You didn’t know why you said it, but it slipped out before you could stop it. Jack stared at you for a beat, his expression softening. He felt bad so he let out a long sigh, shaking his head but smiling faintly. 

“Y/N… I don’t think Mum would like what you’re doing either.” His words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You knew he was right. You’d been using going out as an escape, not a solution. Still, you weren’t ready to deal with any of it just yet, so you kept quiet. Jack stood up, getting ready to head upstairs. 

“Noah and Trent are coming over later, they’ll probably stick around till I’m back, yeah?” As he left the room, he called back casually. Your heart immediately skipped a beat at the mention of Trent. Jack’s best friend, your longtime crush, the boy who had been increasingly hard to ignore lately. You sat up on the couch, feeling the familiar mix of anticipation and nervousness churn in your chest. Trent was coming over, and suddenly, your evening was looking a lot more complicated.

You and Layla were standing in the kitchen, both sipping on iced coffee and talking about the party you had planned to go to later. The energy was light, and you were trying to distract yourself from your recent split by laughing about it. Trent was walking nearby, just out of sight, but within earshot as you rambled on walking back from the toilet.

"I just want a man who knows how to properly fuck me. I’d like him to actually know where my clit is this time," you blurted out, clearly letting your frustrations slip. "I mean, like, after all the crap with him, I deserve someone who knows what the fuck they're doing in bed, you know?" You laughed and Layla agreed wholeheartedly. Trent, who had been casually walking back to Jack and Noah in the other room from the toilet, froze the moment those words left your mouth. His mind short-circuited. Every fiber of him wanted to walk into that room and say something, but instead, he felt a surge of heat build up inside him. He couldn't think straight. This is what you were thinking about? He could show you. He could be the one to do that for you. He knew what he was doing in the bedroom. He could feel himself getting hard just hearing you talk like that. He needed to leave. He couldn't be around you right now, he couldn’t hear you right now, not with those thoughts filling his head. As Trent made his quick exit, trying to steady his breathing, Layla leaned in closer to you, smirking. 

"So, what's your dream man then? Tell me more about this man who apparently knows where the clit is," she teased, eyeing you as you thought for a moment. Without missing a beat, you started listing off traits, unaware of how specific it was getting. You went through physical traits first. 

“Like deep brown eyes, that can flick from sexy to cute really fast.” You told her as you continued to rattle on. "And athletic, someone who can actually keep up with me. He has to have a sense of humor, be a little protective but not in a weird way, you know? And, like, I just want him to look at me like I'm all that matters.” You cooed. Layla let out a playful laugh, nudging you.

"So….Trent?” She teased you. You waved her off. “Y/N, you just described him to a T!" Your eyes widened as it clicked, and you burst out laughing, slightly embarrassed but also secretly acknowledging the truth in her words. Meanwhile, Trent, oblivious to this part of the conversation, was already long gone, desperate to get himself under control and not think about what you had just said. You and Layla headed upstairs to get ready and after the lengthy process you came downstairs looking dressed to kill in a dark red leather set. Trent’s jaw slacked whereas Jack lips pulled tight in annoyance. 

"Y/N, that skirt is too short," Jack said, his voice stern as you walked into the living room.

His eyes narrowed in disapproval, making you roll yours. Layla, standing beside you, took your hand with a mischievous grin and spun you around for effect. 

"Give us a spin!" Noah teased, his laughter making the room feel light. You playfully obliged, your matching set on full display for your audience as you spun holding Layla’s hand. 

"Jack, I’m not changing, it's a set!" you whined, tugging on the skirt a bit. It was a good outfit, after all.

"Y/N, go change," Jack said again, his tone serious. Before you could respond, Trent, who had been leaning against the wall, stood up and casually walked by you, his presence sending a wave of tension through the room. As he passed, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. 

"Can see your ass," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. You froze, trembling slightly at his words, your mind racing.

“And..?” The whispered question slipped out before you could stop yourself, turning to face him, your heart pounding. Trent smirked, taking a step back, eyes lazily traveling down your body. 

"That was all I had to say. Just wanted you to know." He cooed the words with a wink, leaving you on edge, a mix of frustration and desire coursing through you. Fuck, You just wanted to to ask him to just grab you right there. The desire to tell him to take this stupid outfit off you was nearly overwhelming. Your breath hitched as a thousand unspoken words passed between you. Jack, completely oblivious to the charged moment, snapped you back to reality. 

"Y/N, don't bring anyone home tonight." He told you. You blinked, refocusing on your brother. 

"I won't," you cooed innocently, giving him a smile as if everything was perfectly fine.

Trent smirked, stretching his arms above his head, looking every bit like a man who had just won some sort of conquest. There was a quiet confidence in his stance, as if he knew he had gotten under your skin but also that you wouldn’t get with anyone else tonight.  He didn't even need to say more-he knew where you both stood, and it felt like the beginning of a game you were both playing but refusing to name.

Late that night, you stumbled into the house, laughing with Layla as you both attempted to be quiet but failed miserably. 

"Laylaaaaa," you slurred, giggling as you tugged at the hem of your too-short skirt, "all he did was wink at me! And honestly, that did more for me all night than any man with his hands on me did!" You waved your hands dramatically, completely oblivious to the fact that Noah and Trent were still at the house, forgetting what Jack had told you. You really should call them roommates and not Jack’s friends for how often they overstayed. Layla snorted, steadying you as you wobbled on your heels. 

"You are such a mess," she teased, trying to help you get your shoes off as you stumbled through the entryway.

"I just want his lips all over meee," you whined, pouting dramatically, and unaware of the fact that your voice was now carried into the living room where Trent was sitting. Noah glanced over at Trent, his brows shooting up in amusement as he heard you. You didn't even realize you'd been overheard, lost in your drunken haze. You didn’t need to say a name. They knew. Trent sat up a little straighter on the couch, eyes glued to you as you staggered into the house. His face was neutral, but his jaw tightened as your words lingered in the air. Noah shot him a look and smirked, clearly entertained by the situation.

"So, how was your night?" Noah called out loud enough for you two to hear, the teasing tone in his voice unmistakable. Layla shot him a playful glare. 

"Don't make things worse, Noah," she said, though her lips were twitching with amusement. Trent, who had been sitting quietly, finally spoke up. 

"Y/N," he said, his voice smooth but commanding, "c’mere." Your heart skipped a beat, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His tone wasn't playful or teasing like Noah's-it was firm, and it cut through your drunken fog in an instant. You turned to face him, your eyes wide, and despite the alcohol in your system, the weight of his gaze made you feel giddy. Without even thinking, you moved toward him, your steps a little unsteady but your focus completely on Trent. You dropped down onto the arm of the couch beside him, still smiling, but your stomach was in knots. Why was he looking at you like that? You couldn't quite read him, and it made your heart race. "I'm glad you had fun tonight," Trent said, his eyes not leaving yours. His voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you hold your breath. "I'm glad you made it back home... with Layla." Trent's voice was teasing now, but there was an underlying intensity in the way he was looking at you that made your skin tingle. His hand brushed against your knee, and even though it was a light touch, it sent sparks through you. His hands moved to hold your thigh to steady you from falling. But the way his massive hand looked, squeezing your thigh and the way he emphasized ‘with Layla’ implying he was glad you didn’t come home with a man sent a thrill through you. You bit your lip, trying to play it cool despite the fact that your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it.

"Yeah?" you cooed, leaning slightly closer, drawn to him without even realizing it. You giggled at absolutely nothing. 

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice soft, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that made you squirm. There was a cheeLay glint in his eyes. He couldn’t not be mildly amused by you. You were grinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The sounds of the house, the fact that Noah and Layla were still there—it all melted into the background. All you could focus on was the way Trent was looking at you, his expression unreadable in your state, but his gaze unwavering. It felt like there was a magnetic pull between the two of you, and for a moment, you almost leaned in closer, your lips parting slightly as your body reacted instinctively. Noah, still watching from the other side of the room, exchanged a glance with Layla, but neither of them said anything. The tension between you and Trent was palpable, and it seemed like everyone in the room could feel it. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been this close to him, or felt this aware of every single movement he made. And as much as you tried to play it off, your body was betraying you. The butterflies in your stomach, the way your pulse quickened with every glance-it was undeniable. Finally Layla pulled on the back of your top dragging you off the arm of the couch. You stumbled to stand. You swayed on your feet, eyes barely focusing as you leaned heavily into Layla’s grip. 

“Layllllaaaa,” you whined, drawing out her name in a drunken slur, but she hushed you quickly.

“I know, I know, just shhh,” Layla whispered, firmly grabbing your shoulders and trying to steer you away from the living room where Noah and Trent were still watching, both amused and concerned. You weren’t having it though. You tried to lean toward her, but your balance betrayed you. 

“I think he’s so pretttyyy,” you whispered—or at least, you thought it was a whisper. In reality, it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Your eyes landed on Trent again, and your sloppy grin only grew wider. Layla let out an exasperated laugh, her grip on you tightening. 

“You’re gonna die tomorrow,” she muttered under her breath, trying not to laugh too much. Noah snickered, leaning back on the couch. 

“Y/N, no.” He laughed. “Embarrassing this,” he teased, shaking his head. “Layla, get her to stop.” You waved off Noah’s comment, your eyes still focused on Trent, who was watching you with a mixture of amusement and worry. His brows furrowed as he stood up, clearly ready to help. 

“Alright, need to get you to bed, drunk girl” he said, his concern more for your well-being than your drunken confession.

“No! No, you… stay right there, thanks, T, ” Layla said quickly, her eyes wide as she turned to face Trent, trying to keep him from getting closer. She knew that the moment Trent moved toward you, you’d start spilling even more of your feelings, and that was not something either of you could handle right now. Trent hesitated, watching you carefully as you stumbled a little in Layla’s grasp. He knew Layla was right, but his instinct to make sure you were okay was hard to ignore. He caught your eyes again, and for a second, you stared back at him, your drunken haze making you bolder than you’d ever be sober. “She was talking about a guy from tonight by the way,” Layla told them, trying to cover for you but it was a poor attempt. Her own words slurred slightly with a laugh. Trent’s lips twitched, and Noah chuckled. Layla was quick to save the moment, dragging you toward the stairs. “Okay, seriously,  time for bed,” she announced, shooting Trent a look as if to say please don’t do anything else. As Layla guided you to the stairs, you couldn’t help but glance back at Trent one more time, your heart still fluttering despite the alcohol in your system. His eyes followed you, and for a moment, you swore he almost smiled, but he caught himself, shaking his head slightly. You were a mess, but something about the way he looked at you made your heart race, even in your drunken state. You slumped down on the stairs, too tired to get up them and drunk to carry yourself any further. “Okayyy, come on, we’re going upstairs,” Layla coaxed, looking down at you with a sigh. Turning to the boys, she teased, “You guys have a good night wasting away your 20s.” She shot Noah and Trent a look, knowing they could be out having fun, but had opted for a quiet movie night instead.

“At least we’re not wasted!” he retorted, grinning at Layla. Noah laughed, raising his drink in mock cheers. But Trent wasn’t amused by the joke. He stood up, his face serious, and moved over to where you were sitting on the stairs. 

“Layla, seriously,” he quipped, giving her a knowing look. He understood the caution before but this was just dragging on. You needed to get to bed. So then he turned his attention to you, his voice softening. “C’mere you,” he said gently, and before you knew it, he had effortlessly scooped you up into his arms.

“Hiii,” you whispered softly, your voice slurring as you looked up at him. Your faces were close, so close that you could see the small cluster of freckles just under his eye, something you’d almost forgotten was there.

“Hi,” he replied, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he glanced down at you.

“You’re nice to me,” you earnestly confessed with a giggle, your words filled with drunken sincerity.

“I am,” he confirmed with a quiet chuckle, agreeing with you as he adjusted you in his arms, holding you securely. You gazed up at him, your drunken haze giving you a boldness you wouldn’t have had otherwise. 

“Do you think I’m pretty?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost vulnerable. He hummed thoughtfully, his eyes briefly scanning your face. 

“I do,” he admitted, but then added with a teasing smile, “And you’re also drunk, so get to sleep for me, yeah?” You gave a small, tired nod as he carried you into your room. Layla followed closely behind, making sure you didn’t stir up any more drunken confessions. As Trent laid you down gently on the bed, your head spun, but his presence was oddly comforting and igniting wild ideas in your head.

“You’re pretty too,” you mumbled drunkenly as your eyes fluttered open and shut, too tired to see his reaction. Trent smiled to himself, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before stepping back. Layla watched him with a knowing look but didn’t say anything, giving him space to exit quietly but he didn’t. "Laylaaa, the skims," you whined again, your voice slurring as you fumbled with the hem of your top. You were too drunk to manage even that simple task, your arms flailing in frustration. All you wanted was to get out of your clothes and into your favorite pajamas. Layla, herself a bit unsteady but far more sober than you, stumbled toward your dresser, trying to locate the pajamas you always begged for after a night out. 

"Okay, okay, I'm getting them," she muttered, half-laughing as she rifled through the drawer, her own movements slowed by the alcohol. Meanwhile, Trent stood frozen by the door, his eyes catching on the scene before him. You, in your half-dressed, vulnerable state, were peeling your top off over your head, exposing more than you probably realized. His heart raced, and he suddenly found it very hard to look away. This wasn't the first time he'd seen you drunk, not by a long shot. But something about tonight felt different. The way your words had tumbled out earlier, drunk but still sincere— it was all seared into his mind. It wasn't the usual teasing banter he'd come to expect from you. It was raw, unfiltered, and it came directly from you this time, not overheard in the midst of a party not passed along by "T... you can go now," Layla interrupted sharply, snapping him out of his daze. Her voice cut through the fog in his head, reminding him of where he was and that he was dangerously close to crossing a line. She glanced at him with wide eyes and a cheeky grin clearly noticing the tension in the room.

"Uh, yeah, right. Shit, sorry," Trent mumbled, shaking his head like he was trying to clear the thoughts clouding his mind. He turned on his heel, moving toward the door as quickly as he could without looking like he was fleeing. But even as he walked away, the image of you

-tipsy, carefree, peeling off your clothes in front of him-stayed with him. Your tanned smooth skin, the ridge of your spin, the lace of your bra… it was all too much. His mind replayed the way you looked up at him earlier in the night, your gaze soft and inviting, and your words played on a loop in his head. He could still smell the faint hint of your perfume, still feel the crackling tension that had built between you. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, breathing heavily. His heart pounded in his chest. He had to get himself together, or at least pretend to. Back in your room, Layla was still rummaging through the drawers, finally pulling out the set you wanted and tossing it onto the bed.

"Here, now get changed, you lush," she teased, her tone light but her eyes flickering with concern as she glanced at the door Trent had just exited from. You struggled into the pajamas, not noticing the shift in Layla's demeanor, or the way she seemed more aware of the strange charge that had filled the room. She hadn't missed the way Trent's eyes lingered a little too long on you, the way he hesitated as if he were fighting something within himself. "You're a mess, you know that?" Layla laughed, trying to bring the mood back to something light as she flopped down on the bed beside you. You giggled, too drunk to realize what had just happened. 

"But I'm your mess," you teased, hugging a pillow as you settled into the bed. "Mmmm, I want a cuddle," you whined, shifting around in bed, trying to get comfortable grabbing a pillow. You buried your face in the pillow, but it wasn't the comfort you were after. Layla, sitting next to you on the bed, smirked.

"You can cuddle with me," she teased, pulling the blanket over you both and nudging you playfully.

"Nooo, I want a pretty boy," you pouted, your mind already drifting to Trent. You imagined what it would've been like if he hadn't left the room earlier-if he'd stayed, laid down next to you, and pulled you close. Layla raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. 

"Oh, you mean the pretty boy who carried you upstairs and stared at you while you took your top off?" she teased, wrapping an arm around you and squeezing you tight in a playful hug. You could feel the laughter bubbling up between the two of you. "His nonchalance is such a fucking  gimmick," she continued, shaking her head with amusement. "I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching." You giggled, burying your face in your hands as a warm blush spread over your cheeks. 

"Did he... like my tits?" you asked through a fit of laughter, your voice slurring slightly. A bluntness that was carried by alcohol. Layla chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

"I think so," she said, playfully shaking her head. "Pretty sure that was the highlight of his night."

You both burst into laughter, the room filling with the sound of your drunken giggles as you clung to each other. Even in your tipsy haze, your thoughts kept drifting back to Trent. "Okay, sleep please," Layla begged, her voice tinged with both amusement and exhaustion. "You can suck his dick later," she added with a teasing laugh, trying to reel you back from your wild thoughts. You grinned mischievously, your eyes glinting under the dim light of your room. 

"Mmm, I know it's big," you replied, almost dreamily, your head still spinning from the drinks and the charged energy between you and Trent. Layla groaned, shaking her head with a laugh.

"Y/N! I was kidding.” She laughed. “You're losing your mind! You can't do this to him," she scolded gently, though the smile on her face betrayed her own amusement at the situation. You huffed, trying to justify the tension that had been crackling between you and Trent all night. 

"Maybe he wants it toooo," you insisted, drawing out the last word as if it made the case stronger. You could still feel the weight of his gaze from earlier, the way his hands felt when he carried you upstairs-it was all too real. Layla rolled her eyes, though her expression softened as she looked at you. 

"Doesn't mean it should happen," she cautioned, her tone more serious now. "Jack's your brother, and Trent's his best friend. You're both walking a tightrope, and you might be taking it a little too far." Drunk or not, you knew she was right. Layla knew how much you liked Trent but she also knew how important Jack was to you. The alcohol made it easy to blur the lines, to give in to temptation, but Layla's words lingered in the air, a reminder that there was more at stake than just a one-night fling. As you drifted off to sleep, the night's events began to fade into the haze of alcohol. But for Trent, the feeling lingered. He knew you weren't just Jack's little sister anymore, and tonight had made that painfully clear. He wondered what would happen if you both ever acknowledged what was brewing between you, a tension that seemed to be growing stronger with each passing day.

•

Thank you for reading! I hope you like the beginning of this new series! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what you think is to come!

Next part - Chapter 2 - Bruises xx

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1738

Chapter 20:

You all had sat around the warm fire, sharing some of Jen's handmade on-the-spot perfume paste that took away the stench of dead leaves, sweat, and mud that existed on you.

Slowly, the mood had started to change, and with Teen back to his live self and his new scar; everyone took turns showing off their scars, briefly mentioning the cool story behind it.

That was, until Agatha joined, sitting at the empty space between you and Rio; not too close to any of you, as if herself feeling divided.

And then Rio had to tell about her scar, changing the mood as subtle messages were clearly behind her story; upsetting both you and Agatha.

You watched Agatha be the first one to leave the circle right after Rio confessed her "scar." You barely lifted your head to watch her go or cared when Rio went after her.

By now you had come to realize who this mysterious green witch was, and what she was to Agatha.

A part of you, deep down, was not surprised. You often spent a lot of time away from one another and she was not forced to remain focused to you alone; the fact that you did it for her, was merely out of your loyalty for her.

Yet somehow, it still bothered you. Seeing those looks she would often give you, now directed to her. The way Rio would try to invade her personal space and make her react, testing your patience and the fact that you did not wish to interfere.

Perhaps you should, but who were you to lay such a claim? When you had left Agatha on her own so many times? And who said Agatha wished to be claimed by you?

Those questions and thoughts had darkened your mood and it was evident on your face, something the other witches noticed.

They didn't know exactly what relationship you had with Agatha, mixed signals confusing them to the end, but they had their suspicions.

Thankfully for you, there was one kind hearted soul in the group that did not like to see you down.

"I still don't think I thanked you enough...uhm..." Teen started, keeping his usual smile but feeling slightly embarrassed since he never got your name.

Truthfully, you had not told anyone your name, and Agatha had only been calling you by your nickname; something no witch had dared to call you.

You smiled faintly and turned your attention in him. "Y/N," you introduced yourself, earning an even bigger smile from him.

"Well then, thank you," he continued. "I owe you."

"You owe me nothing. I am glad you are okay. " You offered a small weak smile.

"Though I have to ask... how did you do it?" He asked, grabbing his little book. "What kind of spell was that?"

To your help, somehow, came the oldest of the witches; Lilia. "This was no spell, kid," she explained, earning his attention. "This are the tricks and magic of a Moon Witch."

Teen was suddenly intrigued. "Moon witch? I don't think I have read a lot about you." he confessed.

You offered a sad smile. "I am afraid my kind is not that well known or welcomed. Not many witches are chosen for it, either."

"It is the type of witch dedicated to the moon and its phases. The very same entity witches pray over spells, blessed them with power," Lilia explained, once again.

Teen was very invensted. "So, you do what... Moon magic?"

"If only," Jen interrupted him. "Moon magic s the purest form of magic. It is literally the essence of blessing, purification, and protection of the highest form. Moon Witches are the OG white witches."

"Then why don't other witches take that path? Why is it not known in the books?"

"Because it is a cursed path that you do not choose but rather get chosen," Lilia said, her tone getting colder as personal experiences biased her opinion. "Unpredictable and destructive nature of magic. Spells gone wrong, too much magic unleashed... plagues coming out of nowhere, curses been thrown, kids disappearing into the night..."

Each catastrophe made you lower your gaze and your head, one hand holding tightly your triple moon pendant for some sort of comfort.

You did not argue with Lilia, because there was not something to argue for. She was right in everything and you hated to admit it, but it was all true.

At night, you would still be haunted by experimental spells you did wrong. Of too much magic, you pulled into a potion or a person and caused more destruction than anything else. You were volatile for years, and only after you learnt not to interfere did you find some peace with your magic.

Agatha was the only one that had never shunned you for your powers, never blamed you when things went astray. On the contrary, she had ways to make you see the other side of the issue; to take you realise that it wasn't always that bad... that it could be fun.

"It's a solitary path, kid," you finally said, your voice heavy as was your heart. "It is not one witches wish to be known for or have in their covens," you lifted your head slowly. "I hesitated to heal you, and if it weren't for Agatha's begging, I wouldn't have interfered. That's not my calling."

Yet despite the grim talking, despite your defeated tone; Teen was not ready to give up. He could still see light within you, still see there was good to be done, and he was determined to help you see it too.

"But you did interfere. You helped me!" He argued, joy and energy still in his dark eyes. "You saved me from death and look." he lifted his shirt again. "You barely left me a scar."

Somehow, despite your best efforts, you could not fight the contagious smile that came from him. Hearing his words, doing his best to cheer you up; it warmed your soul, and you could not remember when someone else had managed to do that.

"You must be the first to say that," you commented.

Surprisingly, Alice chose to join; having been quiet for far too long. "He is right, you know. You saved him, and I saw how you fought that curse when it touched you. Whatever magic you wield, I am glad it is on our side."

"Speaking of curses," Jen interfered. "How is it that you can push away and protect yourself from whatever curse we fought back there and not the poisons from the first trial?"

"Ah," you exclaimed. "Common misconception there. I can protect against evil and darkness but not poisons. They fall into a more... neutral category."

"Well, that must suck."

You could not help but chuckle faintly. "Oh yes. I can go head to head with dark witches, but hemlock can end me in a day."

"So, Y/N," Teen called you out, using your name. "Do you have any cool scars?"

It was then you realised everyone had talked about their scars, some from bigger adventures and some from minor ones. You have been the only one that had yet to confess a part of their past, and frankly, you were not sure how willing you were.

Yet as you stared into their eyes and you remembered how Alice and Teen were welcoming your magic, how even Jen seemed to see you differently; you could not help but feel as if you truly were part of a coven.

A feeling foreign to you but nonetheless welcomed.

"I do, a few," you confessed and loosened up your tie more. Once it was not in the way, you managed to remove your shirt halfway and turned to expose your scarred back. "Caught by a group of modern witch hunters, tried to make me confess the whereabouts of a coven close by."

You felt the stares on your scars that decorated your back and quickly chose to hide them by fixing your shirt; feeling uncomfortable with people staring at them for too long.

Unbeknown to you, Agatha had happened to approach while you were talking and got a good look of the scars you did not have the last time you two reunited.

She remained quiet, watching from the shadows with a dark expression on her face; one that the world had not seen in a very long time.

At the same time, you chose to cover yourself and sit down; looking at the group. Their gazes were mixed, some showing more concern and sympathy and others; pure fury.

"Witch hunters," Lilia scoffed, one fist holding the material of her pants tightly. "One of the worst things mankind had created."

You could not help but nod. "And somehow they made it to the modern era as well."

"They are lucky they haven't met me," she commented. "I still remember the last pair that made me flee a comfy village I had chosen to settle down."

"Thought witch hunters were a myth," Teen argued, looking at Lilia. "I mean, with movies and all those things you hate."

The older woman tried not to get offended. It was not her fault the media represented witches that badly. "Not this kind, kid. Those in the movies are nothing compared to the real deal."

Jen nodded her head. "They are cruel men, taught to recognise spells, and somehow always manage to track down where witches live," she explained, being alive longer than him and Alice; made her little more knowledgeable on the subject.

"And they go hard-core once they find one. Try to draw a confession out of her, secrets and whereabouts of covens, " you added. "In the past, they targeted innocent women who under the pressure of torture confessed to being witches; when they had no magic within them."

The boy seemed horrified at this new piece of information. "This is horrible!"

"This was a witch's life," a new voice added, making everyone spot Agatha leaning on a tree. "Humanity was never accepting of anything different and always went to the extreme to see it gone."

Murmurs of agreement echoed between Lilia, Jen, and you; the eldest in the group. They had seen the rise and almost impending fall of witchcraft, some earlier than others little later.

But they all had been prosecuted one way or another for their craft... and their choice in lovers.

Chapter 21

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: attempts of physical abuse (throwing objects), basically reader's mother being a really horrible narcissistic abusive person.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Listen to that. The opening strains of that old Elvis classic began to swell; a hush fell over the assembled guests. All eyes were drawn to the dance floor where Sabrina now stood, radiant in her lovely gown, and Andrew looked at her with such veneration, as if she had hung the very moon in the sky. In the arms of her now-husband for their first dance as a married couple, the newlyweds shone brighter than the stars outside the manor.

Sabrina’s cheeks flushed rosier than any wine—joy, adoration, and yes, a little champagne too—had left her glowing in a way you’d never seen before this man came into her life, and your heart swelled with happiness for her.

When at last the song ended and they shared a lingering kiss, you joined the room in applause. Someone handed them a mic, and the two tried to pass the mic to each other until Sabrina was the first to give a speech. Andrew squeezed her hand, gave her an encouraging smile, and nodded.

Clearing her throat, Sabrina spoke into the mic. “Hi, everyone,” she began, voice ringing out sweet and clear through the speakers. “I just want to say thank you all for being here on this special day. Sharing it with my family and friends who mean so much to me has made it truly magical.” Another applause returned her gratitude before receding again when she was about to continue.

With misty eyes, Sabrina then turned to her step-father. “I want to thank Jim, for raising me as your own since I was little. You’ve always been the best dad a girl could ask for.”

Then, you watched her smile at her mother. “And Mom, where do I even begin? You've been my rock since day one. From keeping me sane while wedding planning to celebrating with me every step, you know I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be the strong, independent woman I am today without you and Jim. I love you both so much.”

When Sabrina's parents—Jim and Joyce—approached her and gave the couple a big hug, another round of applause arose from the guests. But as Joyce placed a final kiss on Sabrina's cheek before stepping back, the world seemed to dim around you.

Suddenly, everything is so foreign—the image in front of you was never presented to you. Aunt Joyce looks genuinely happy for her daughter, and Sabrina hugs her like she cannot imagine life without her mother—which, at some point in your life, you did believe too. Mother’s words, “You won’t survive without me,” ring like angry bees.

Yet now, the thought of sharing a roof with her again feels unbearable.

Joyce and Sabrina look... uncomplicated, despite your mother's statements about how your aunt wasn't prepared for motherhood. And suddenly, everything feels numb, and you're disconnected.

In your reverie, you missed some of the speeches, only blinking back to reality when Sabrina and Andrew’s enthusiastic cheers echoed through the room. The crowd roared as the romantic notes of the new music played, “Until I Found You” inviting guests to join in the dancing.

As you do at the few parties you’ve been invited to in your entire life, you stay away from the dance floor and become a loyal wallflower. However, this time, with a companion—a better people-watcher than you, Simon. The man sweeps his brown irises around, examining people before one makes him chuckle under his mask.

“Look at that old man, still got it in ‘im, eh?” He commented, his tone tinged with amusement.

Your gaze trails Simon's. Among the dancing couples were your other uncle and aunt, their smiles highlighting the lines on their seventy-something faces, clearly having more life in them than many of the younger ones. You chuckled to yourself.

“Actually, that’s Uncle Mick and Aunt Sarah,” you reply, watching the old couple share a laugh amidst the music. “They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive. Slow dancing is kind of their forte.”

More people-watching, but you fail to notice how often Simon steals glances at you between his own. And by the luminosity of your eyes, he is drawn like an insect in a blazing fire. His slow, "near-dying" heart has yet to realize the change in him. Simon plays on the edges of the rotting wood.

Straightening his gaze, he strikes up a question: “If that old bugger can still cut a rug, why ain’t the famous ballerina ‘avin’ a spin, eh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Simon’s gruff invitation, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest with a foreign carefree ring that you didn’t recognize. Meeting his eyes, you saw amusement there but also something that told you he was serious. Heart tiptoeing at the edges of your ribs, your fingers busying themselves with their own bustle.

Biting your lip, you gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling a smile curling the corners of your mouth. "I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders. “I might suck at slow dancing.”

Simon scoffed. “Absolute bollocks.”

At his disapproval, your smile widened, teeth peeking out from behind those pretty lips. You gazed up at him, searching for something intently.

Somehow in that moment, the noisy celebration around you seemed to fade into a blur, narrowing your world until it was just Simon standing before you. Your chest warmed, as if caressed by the sun on a lush spring day. Capillaries rushed, painting your bones pink. Pink.

Gathering your courage, you mimicked Simon's invitation. “Unless... you're willing to be the judge of that yourself?”

The question came out just above a whisper, heavy with promise. With your heart dangling at the tip of your throat, anticipation mixed with anxiety gnawed at you faster than any termite. Simon gave a subtle nod towards the dance floor with his chin.

“Come on then,” he rumbled.

As Simon led you, you couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella herself; this room made a fairytale for you. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close so your bodies swayed as one. You shyly wrapped your free hands around his neck.

The romantic music continues to flow, caressing your ears with the singer's warm voice, Stephen Sanchez, if your memory serves you right. The merciless thumping in your ribcage persists, and you wonder if Simon feels it, if he has his own version resonating in the hollow of his chest. Settling into a slow sway, you feel his shoulders relax.

“You’re not gonna turn into a swan on me now, are ya? Would be a right shame to ruin such a lovely dance.” Simon asked, tone lighthearted. After mentioning your upcoming ballet performance, he doesn’t slow down his series of jokes about it.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You know that’s not how the story goes.”

Simon's grin grew wide beneath his mask. Cocking a brow, he said, “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then, love.” He challenged.

Taking a deep breath that lifted the smile still on your face, you began the long story of Swan Lake—about what happened to Odette and her flock by the sparkling lake and mostly things you had memorized many times. "So when Siegfried finally learns the truth, it’s too late—Odette ends her life by jumping from a cliff.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he reacts, and you let out a girlish laugh. “That’s tragic.”

You shrug. “I always thought it was kind of romantic.” You giggle again—God, the way this man can make you giggle like a silly schoolgirl—when you see the reaction reflected in his eyes.

“You’re a right bloody psycho, you know that?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not a psycho.” Your tone was flat, trying to be serious but the stubborn grin that followed ruined it.

“She should’ve just gone for another bloke.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, she can’t. She’s been cursed to be a swan forever.”

“Then she should’ve just lived out ‘er days as a swan then,” he said with pragmatism, very much lacking the charm of a fairy tale with all those logics. “Should’ve chased that arse’ole prince all over kingdom for revenge instead. Give ‘im a good peckin’.”

You exhaled in exasperation, but your lips held back a smile. “Please just stop talking.”

Simon chuckled, and fortunately, for his own good, he did. The music was nearing its end, but you were still swaying. Something caught his gaze over your shoulder. He looked back at you, raising a brow to make a suggestion.

“Should we do a spin?” he asked.

“What?”

He nods his chin behind you, and you follow suit—a young couple laughing as they twirl. “Should we give it a go?”

It's somewhat whimsical, somewhat absurd, that not only is this hulking man dancing with you, but he also wished to twirl you like you were partners in some grand ballroom. Yet, as you stare into his smiling eyes, you swear there’s a hint of excitement in them. And what good is a ballerina without a performative twirl?

“Okay,” you accepted his offer.

You placed your hand in his, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers but somehow right against your skin. At your subtle cue, Simon raised your joined palms, spinning you outward in elegance and then back into the solid wall of his chest.

“One more time.” You said, and he did as you asked.

You cup his mask-hidden jaw, feeling for each woven polypropylene against your fingers. The plum of your smiling lips swells with desire, and without thinking, you press your lips to his cheek. Your heart skips a beat, gripped by a jolt of trepidation, fear, and regret that perhaps you have crossed a line, that you might drive him away.

But Simon doesn't.

Instead, he seized your waist and drew you close, eliminating any distance between you. The air was snatched from your lungs in a stolen gasp with the force of his possessive move. Like a lover accompanied by passion as he reaps longing.

(I swell with hope, in the sweet desire of a girl seeking love.)

“I’m dyin’ for a smoke.” He confessed.

You glanced around at the lively party still swirling around you. Turning back to him, you suggested, “Should we slip out the back then?”

“Sure.”

Smiling up at him, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before untangling them from your waist. “You go on ahead—I just need to swap to flats real quick.” You gestured to the high heels that had been enveloping your throbbing toes for hours.

As Simon nodded and turned to go, you hurried off the floor, limping just slightly. The celebratory noise faded as you stepped to the left side of the manor, where the hallway to your room stretched in silence. You turned the doorknob, and the old wood swung with a low creak.

Walking to your suitcase, you flipped it open, took out your Mary Janes, and replaced your high heels with them with a sigh of relief.

Just as you moved to stand, you heard footsteps approaching, then a shadow fell across the open door. Too small to be Simon. Looking up with a start, your heart nearly dropped when you found your mother standing there, arms crossed in a frown full of distaste.

“I've been watching you all night with that… man. You're getting far too comfortable, are you?”

That tone—that same tone that you had heard countless times growing up, signaling the beginnings of an argument. Your shoulders tensed. The pulse inside you quickened as your defenses began to rise, readying themselves in anticipation of the barrage of barbed words that might come next.

The oceans dividing San Francisco and London were supposed to end whatever connection existed between you both—to pretend that it didn’t exist. It should have been a clean finale, allowing you to simply live as a normal girl with normal reactions to everything, as if nothing bad had ever happened to you.

Yet, look, your traitor body is gearing up for battle just the same. Your mind may lie, you may lie, but the wound bearer presents the results of years of being forged beneath her. 5,351 miles stretched, but you are still the same sixteen-year-old girl who bit her tongue, holding her words like a criminal about to be executed on the spot.

What a mother-daughter relationship you have.

You watch warily as Mother begins circling the room, her high heels clicking ominously, slightly showing the red soles beneath them. Louboutins, you remember. You also remember all too well how much those had cost—the very shoes you had “helped” fund years ago when you foolishly still let her access your bank account, even after you turned nineteen.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Mother tries the first question, testing the waters.

Like a frightened little girl—that same little girl from that sunny day so many years ago—you deflect the real question, “Because I invited him.”

Mother, unimpressed, casts you a sharp look, as if daring you to dare her. “You know what I mean. Do you know why he’s here?”

You bit your lip, grasping at straws. “He’s… my boyfriend.”

Mother scoffed mockingly. She turned to you, face contorted in amusement as if you had just told the funniest joke. “Boyfriend? Please. Is that what you think?”

You flinched back as Mother suddenly whirled to face you, her sculpted features twisting into a reflection of pure, unbridled rage. The similar pair of eyes glared at you wide. She buried her nails deep into your epidermis, and you gasped from the sting.

“The only reason a man would want you is between your legs. You think you found love, but really he's with you only because you're easy. You’re just a cheap fuck to him, (Y/N).”

The hot, stinging droplets gathered and spilled over without your permission. You hated yourself for fueling her twisted satisfaction. Hating that she still knew exactly where to aim her barbs to find their mark after all these years.

But nothing compares to the fact that she is your mother. She is your mother, and yet, how could those words come out of her mouth so easily? As if her criticisms had festered within her mind and she was finally allowing them to escape. There's a small, broken part of you that can't help but wonder—and why do you even wonder? You know yourself better than she does, surely.

Or do you?

Or is it true that there really is nothing to take beyond your body like the unloveable, worthless child she always says you are?

You felt a spark of anger flare. “How could you say that to me?” you choked out, baring your wounded heart. Wrong move—you know this, proved many times that showing emotion had never gotten anywhere with Mother before.

But the younger, wounded teenager in you would always crave some kind of validation, some sign she truly cared. Perhaps hidden beneath the person she's become, she still holds a flicker of the warmth she once felt for you. You’re her daughter, and she’s your mother—shouldn’t that be enough for her to finally treat you like one?

“I’m only telling you the truth so you won’t be naive. Do you think he’ll love you when there are so many girls out there who are much prettier than you?”

At times, the wiser you knew not to take Mother’s words to heart—your survival instincts, born of too many experiences, told you not to let her poison seep into your skin. But more often than not, you didn’t know better. Right now, you don’t know better.

(Prying my mouth open, she dripped her bitter blood until we were indistinguishable.)

Clenching your fist, you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t know him.”

Mother’s features bent in hate at your rebellion. The young daughter no more, grown into someone who dared to talk back rather than just gulping down her every word raw.

“And you do?” she spat. “How long have you known this man? Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, but not convinced enough for her to see the gap in your expression.

“Not my business? Of course it’s my business – I’m your mother!”

Summoning the last of your courage, you mumbled, “You’re not… my mother.”

Her neat eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”

It was a second chance, one she rarely gave. For a moment, you considered taking it back—rewording your reply to something less confrontational, something safer. But you were sick of it—years of carrying her wounds you hadn’t even caused, weighing your body down and sinking them deeper into pitless hell. Of always looking past her anger and ego, finding justifications and reasons to tolerate her. Of being under her control when the young girl inside you needed her anger represented.

And you repeated it without rewording: “You’re not my mother. Not anymore.”

As it left your lips, you saw a flicker of change in Mother’s expression—was that hurt in her eyes? So foreign was her expression that you almost doubted yourself. Regret seized you along with the guilt and self-loathing that gripped your heart.

Then, the hurt blinked away as if it was never there. “Look at you,” she hissed, “throwing away your mother, the woman who birthed and raised you with great difficulty, all for some worthless man. I'm not even surprised if you end up pregnant in a few months, or maybe you already are. Don't say I didn't warn you when he leaves you with a bastard child.”

And they were right when they said that anger is the most effective key.

Moments ago, you can still find the shadow of that sixteen-year-old girl remains within, with pieces of her innocence—a bit of a child’s grin. Her body is still in fear, yet her eyes are always yearning for praise from her mother’s voice.

However, as the grown woman you are ignites in a seething cauldron of fury—disagreement with Mother’s treatment—the little girl begins to fade, reduced to ashes amidst the fire. The “why” question echoes loudly with demands. I'm your baby—you made me; why do you hurt me?

“Why? Why are you so sure only bad things will happen? Why can’t you believe I can find happiness?” Warm tears welled up, tasting salty on your lips as you asked.

Mother raised a warning finger. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

But you’ve passed the point of backing down. “Why? Why are you so convinced I’ll always be unhappy? WHY?!”

(As if it had been written long before my creation.)

Taking a sharp, short breath, you feel self-control slipping away. Your lungs hitched with condemnation, constricting you, trying to escape the hell Mother handmade just for you. You’re crossing the line; something scolds (the same voice your mother planted early on) inside your head, but you refuse to give in.

The dim red light between the cracks in your skull grows brighter, and the next thing you say are the words you've been holding back for so long:

“I’m not you! And what happened with Dad was not my fault!”

And finally, silence fills the small space between you, followed by the faint echo of your voice. As the last syllable faded, the words that had been spoken left you feeling conflicted. That little girl would consider this disobedience—the result of the doctrine your mother spat at her every day—but all you know now is the strange lightness in your heart, as if shedding a massive burden that you didn’t realize you had been carrying your whole life.

Mother took a sharp, hissing breath, and you saw the subtle quiver in her clenched jaw. “You're out of line,” she said.

“I'm out of line?! You were the first one to cross that line, over and over, hurting me for years, but now that I finally do it to you, now I'm the one who's out of line?!” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush, all the pain and anger that you had piled up erupting to the surface. “You've always hurt me, said awful things, made me feel like nothing! But the second I did it to you, suddenly I'm the bad one? That's not fair!"

In the blink of an eye, she extends her perfectly manicured hand to grasp the first object within her reach—a heavy crystal paperweight on the table. Your eyes are glued to it, feet ready to flee when she hurls it at you.

“You fucking ungrateful bitch!” she screamed.

Some distant, rational part of you knows you should dodge. But a darker impulse held you frozen, as if welcoming the blunt object to damage your epidermis and even more so to become evidence of her abuse. And perhaps, once the crimson drips from your split temple, it will be enough to reveal the true identity she has been hiding—to destroy the loving mother image she has carefully built for years.

You will make a spectacle of the wound, perhaps even exaggerating it a bit like Mother always did.

It came so close when it landed on the floor next to you. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mother’s face flushed like the devil as she shouted, “I should never have given birth to you!”

Strange, that relief is what washes over you when her words land in your ears. Because for the first time, the two of you agreed on something – she wished you had never been born, just as you had so often wished the same.

Those “precious” teenage years were filled with alternating fantasies—some days hoping she might die, others wishing it was you instead. But you were never able to go through with killing her, or yourself. Because being without Mother meant being utterly lost and alone, and you were too cowardly to cut your wrist open. More days though, you regretted it—how it might have all ended sooner if only you had been braver.

You wonder who's to blame to just make sense of it—perhaps Mother's mother had been cruel, and she thought she had broken the cycle. Perhaps Joyce, for always being the golden child despite everything. Perhaps Dad. Perhaps you.

All those long, drawn-out years, you stayed, you suffered for her. Because the little girl in the bright pink shoes—the color that matched Mother's favorite dress before she threw it away—loved her mother so much. Always making excuses for her. Maybe she didn't know how to love me, or I didn't understand her way of loving me. Maybe somewhere in her anger were kisses in her own language.

You stood frozen as hollowness spread through your chest, as if the eruption had cleansed you until nothing but an empty clarity remained. Even when Simon entered the room, you didn't notice his presence until he spoke.

“Fuck’s all this?” His question didn’t really wait for an answer as he rushed to your side.

Mother smoothed her hair imperiously, then said: “We were just having a talk.”

Simon’s brown eyes scan the scene: the shattered paperweight, Mother’s suspicious fist. He then turns to examine you carefully, searching for any injuries and only letting out a slight sigh when he finds none.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll sort our things.” Simon orders, and without argument, you nod, walking out of the bedroom.

The room felt heavier with tension after you departed, leaving Simon alone with your seething mother. He moved with purpose, in a quick and efficient mind, as he gathered your things—a toothbrush and hairbrush from the bathroom, dresses from the closet, pulling out drawers for any other items. After throwing them into your suitcase, he tidied up his own things with even more haste and less care.

As he picked up his abandoned tie, Mother cleared her throat. “You don’t need to do this, you know. I know my daughter better than anyone, and she’s not what you really need.”

For a moment, Simon paused, jaw working as he reined his temper. Mother thought she had his attention—finally getting him to listen to her. But soon enough, he resumed his task as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Undeterred, she pressed on. “There are prettier, worthier girls than her. Ones who won’t cause you so much trouble.”

Simon’s hands stilled at that, Mother thought she had succeeded in making him consider. Slowly, he turned to face the older woman. But what she read in his eyes was not a realization or even a spark of curiosity. No, it was a look that suggested he knew a lot about people like her, had seen a lot despite him being a decade her junior.

“That what you tell ‘er then?” He began, hate raining down like hail in his voice. “That she ain’t good enough, or pretty enough? That she’s nothin’ but trouble?”

The woman met his gaze, and Simon noticed how her eyes were shaped like yours, except colder, full of twisted conviction whenever she talked about you. “I only speak the truth, for her own good. Someone has to keep that headstrong girl in line before she comes to ruin.”

At that, he let out an impolite scoff, but Simon gave zero fucks. “Yeah? Cause all I see is you tryin’ to keep ‘er under yer thumb.”

Simon watched as the woman's face contorted into an ugly frown of dislike; her mask had been abandoned somewhere. He wondered how you survived all those years at home, how you could still say you “love her to bits” on your first meeting.

But he supposes that’s how children are. Misplaced unconditional love for their lifegivers. Sometimes, his critical mind thinks it’s a shame for the Man in the Sky to give little humans to people who don’t deserve them—to abusers, addicts, snakes like this one right here. But then again, Simon had no right to complain when he stopped believing in any of all that years ago—after he lost everyone that mattered.

"I'm her mother." She repeated.

“And she’s yer daughter. Not yer pet or yer little dog to order about.”

As Simon returned to tending to the bags, the woman took a slow, deep breath. "I know men like you," she replied. “You think you're protecting her—you think you're saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you've grown bored.”

Simon’s tedious task came to a halt, the zipper of the bag half-open. He furrowed his blond brows, brown eyes focused on nothing. Before long, he gathered the bags and shouldered them, his free hand dragging the suitcase as he walked through the gaping door. That woman spoke again, but he turned a deaf ear to her venomous spit.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

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[sequinsmile-x]

Hide Beside Me

Emily shares her oldest secret with Aaron. A few years later, that secret resurfaces.

Part 2/3 (Part 1 can be found here)

-x-

Hi besties <3

Thanks so much for all the love on part 1 - really blown away by it. As always, I got carried away and because of all the detail I wanted to add to this fic to do it justice, this is now a 3 parter instead of a 2 parter!!

Part 3 will be up later in the week.

As always, please let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy, teen pregnancy, abortion, adoption, forced adoption

Words: 3.9k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She’d never truly let herself imagine it. 

Over the years, there had been fleeting moments when it would happen, when her subconscious would torment her with a brief flash of hope that one day she’d be reunited with the daughter she’d never been allowed to know. She’d always shake it off, try and rid herself of the thought that felt nothing but impossible, sure that even if she got the chance to know her oldest child she wouldn’t want to know her in return. The last thing Emily ever wanted was to cause her any pain, to do anything other than love her in the few minutes she’d been allowed a lifetime ago. 

She’d never pictured this. Had never thought she’d be the one who was sought out, and she’d certainly never pictured herself standing on the porch of her home, her infant son on her hip and her other two children inside getting ready for school as Sophia stood a few feet away from her. 

Rebecca. Her name was Rebecca. 

Emily can’t speak, rendered speechless for the first time in a long time. She feels like she’s underwater, her grip on Issac the only thing she’s aware of other than her heartbeat pounding in her head, the rhythm of it echoing around her skull, getting faster with each breath as nausea rolls in her gut. She sucks in a breath, desperate to say something, anything, so she doesn’t just continue to stare at the woman standing opposite her. 

At her daughter.

She opens her mouth, but she’s cut off by the door opening behind her and a tiny hand tugging on the leg of her pants. 

“I ready Mama.” 

She looks down at Rose, and she sees Rebecca do the same, her shoulders getting visibly tighter as she watches the interaction between the two of them. Emily smiles at the toddler, grateful that she’s too young to see the tension in it and she tugs gently at one of her braids, “Go find Jack, okay?” She says, ignoring the slight shake to her voice, “Make sure he’s ready for me?” 

Rose looks back and forth between Emily and Rebecca and tilts her head, her endless curiosity almost getting the better of her, her favourite word - why - on the tip of her tongue before Emily distracts her with another tug of her braid. Rose nods and turns back into the house, “Okay, Mama.” 

The moment Emily and Rebecca are alone again with Issac, the baby happy and content as he always was in his mother’s arms, the other woman clears her throat, drawing Emily’s attention to her. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, choking on the words as she shakes her head at herself, her hands tightly clasped in front of her, beads of blood visible on her cuticles from where she’d torn at them with her teeth, “I shouldn’t have come.”

When she turns her back, Emily’s brain finally kicks into gear, the shock she’d been overwhelmed by disappearing in an instant as she realises she might lose the chance she’d been waiting for more than half her life. 

“Wait,” she says, stepping forward, her heart in her throat, a lump she can’t swallow past as Rebecca turns to look at her, dark eyes meeting dark eyes, “Please don’t go. I’m sorry…I…I just wasn’t expecting to see you.” 

A smile flashes across Rebecca’s face and she crosses her arms over her chest, physically holding herself together, “What, you weren’t expecting your long lost kid to show up randomly on a Thursday morning?” 

It makes Emily laugh, the kind of bluntness that Aaron would always say was all her if Jack or Rose were ever guilty of it, “Something like that,” she says, reaching into her pocket, grateful that she had some of her business cards to hand as she pulls one out and hands it to Rebecca, her chest tight as their fingers skip across each other. The first touch between mother and daughter in 30 years. Both of them had been children last time, and neither of them had any say in the separation that had driven them to this awkward conversation on the porch of Emily’s family home, “Please take this, and call me? Or at least text me so I have your number. It’s my personal line. I need to get the kids to school…” she drifts off, cursing herself for mentioning the children when Rebecca’s smile gets tighter, “We deserve more time to talk about everything than 5 minutes.” 

Rebecca nods and looks at the card in her hand before she slips it into her jeans, “Okay, I’ll call you. I promise,” she looks lost for a moment, unsure if she should step forward for a hug or not, but she stops herself, her hands once again in a tight grasp in front of her, “I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Okay,” Emily says, “Speak to you soon, Rebecca.” she swallows thickly, her daughter’s actual name heavy and foreign on her tongue. 

Rebecca flashes a smile and nods, “Speak soon, Emily.”

She stands frozen in place as she watches Rebecca leave, unaware that she’s tightened her hold on Issac until he cries out, his eyebrows furrowed as she looks down at him, “Oh I’m sorry baby,” she says, kissing his forehead, letting her eye’s drift shut as she breathes him in, the sweet smell of his shampoo calming her down, “Mommy is so sorry.” 

Her brief moment of peace with her son is gone as soon as she realises it’s the same thing she’d said to Sophia - Rebecca -  the first, and only time, she’d held her. An apology whispered against her skin along with the name that had never gone any further than the two of them until she told Aaron about her. 

“Mom,” Jack says, calling from inside the house, “We’re going to be late.” 

She blows out a slow breath and wipes stray tears from her cheeks, stamping another kiss against Issac’s forehead before she walks into the house, “Coming, honey.” 

She somehow manages to get Jack to school on time and Rose is only marginally late for daycare. She’s about to drop off Issac too, but when he grips onto her shirt, his clinginess with her something that had been established since he was born. Tiny and screaming and only calm when he was in her arms or against her chest.  Every time she brought him to daycare on the days she worked he’d do this. He’d grasp the neckline of her shirt and cry, and she’d have to hand him over, assured by the workers that he always calmed down shortly after she left. It was something she was used to, something her heart had learned to take, but today it can’t. She can’t. It feels like his small hand is wrapped around her heart, his tiny sharp nails puncturing it as she finds herself unable to hand her baby over.

As soon as they are back in her car she calls her boss, and says she can’t come in today. A white lie about Issac having a cold that makes her feel guilty is accepted without comment. Her next call is to Aaron. She wants to talk to him, needs to talk to him, and she feels tears pressing at the back of her eyes the moment he answers. 

“Hi,” he says, his voice light and soft like it always was with her, and she can picture his smile, “Everything okay?” 

She sucks in a breath, her grip on the steering wheel tight, “Can you come home?” 

It’s a simple question, but one she’d never asked of him before, and it makes him panic. She can hear it in the intake of his breath, in the way she can hear his chair scrape on the floor, “Emily, are you okay? Are the kids okay?” 

“Yeah, they’re fine,” she says, swallowing thickly, “I promise. I…” she drifts off, unsure how to say it, the words stuck in her throat.

“Sweetheart, I’m coming home okay,” he assures her, fulfilling her request without having to think twice, “But I need to know that you’re okay.” 

She chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “She found me. She…she showed up at the house this morning.”

“Who did?”

She wipes tears from her cheeks and clears her throat, “Sophia.” 

There’s a gasp on the other end of the line followed by a brief moment of silence, “I’ll meet you at home as soon as I can, okay?” He asks, and she nods even though he can’t see her, “Want me to stay on the line with you until I get there?” 

She lets out a shaky laugh, “No, it’s okay,” she says, “I just…need to see you.” 

“I’m leaving the office now,” he replies, and she can hear the elevator, “I’ll use the blue lights and everything,” he jokes, desperate to do what he can for her until he makes it to her side. 

She presses her lips together to control a smile, unsure if it is inappropriate or not, her emotions in turmoil as she shifts between them all in quick succession, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he replies, “Em…she found you.” 

“Yeah,” she says, her chest aching at the awe in his voice, the way he loved her and her story a comfort she’d never get enough of, “She found me.”

___

He finds her in the living room with Issac fast asleep in her arms, his cheek pressed against her chest, a small patch of drool visible on her blouse that Aaron knew cost more than most people made in a month. She’s staring straight ahead, her eyes wide but seeing nothing as her hand drifts idly up and down their infant son’s back, a movement that is more for her than the fast asleep Issac. 

“Sweetheart?” Aaron asks, careful to make sure he’s quiet, not wanting to wake up the baby or startle Emily. She turns to look at him, the brief look of confusion on her face enough to let him know she hadn’t heard his car pull up on the driveway, or the front door open. He looks at Issac, “Is he okay?” 

She nods, taking a moment to kiss her son’s dark hair, “He’s okay. I couldn’t bring myself to hand him over at daycare,” she says, her smile sad as she rests her cheek on top of the baby’s head, “Rose ran into her classroom like she always does. Happy to be there and excited to spend the day with her friends. But Zac…he…” 

“Held onto you and cried like he always does,” he finishes for her, and she nods again, swallowing thickly, tears pressing at the back of her eyes now he was here, now she no longer had to hold herself up all alone.

“I couldn’t let go of him,” she says, tightening her hold on Issac as if someone would take him, phantoms of her past who had once taken her baby from her breathing down her neck, the scent of the lady from the adoption agency’s perfume something she’d never been able to forget, “I just couldn’t.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he assures her, still standing a few paces away from the couch, unsure how to approach this, how to look after her on the day the daughter she’d been forced to give up three decades ago had reappeared. “What can I do?” 

She looks up at him, her chin trembling as she asks for the support she had lived without for most of her life, “A hug would be a good place to start.” 

She doesn’t need to ask him twice. He’s on the couch with his arms around her in seconds, gathering her and Issac carefully against him. She’s crying the moment she’s safe in his embrace, her neck twisting at a slightly awkward angle so she doesn’t disturb Issac as she presses her face into Aaron’s neck. Desperate to fill her lungs with the scent of him, to replace the sickly sweet perfume she can smell even though she knows it’s not real with his woodsy cologne. 

“I’ve got you, Em,” he says, his hand hooked around the back of her head as he holds her in place, scratching at her scalp with his blunt nails, “I’m right here.” 

She cries for herself. For the 45 year old she was now who had spent decades wondering what her child looked like, mourning every birthday and graduation and Christmas she’d missed. For the 15-year-old who was forced into a situation she didn’t want twice - first keeping the pregnancy, and then having no choice but to give her baby up after she’d had 9 months to fall in love with her, every kick and elbow to the ribs a moment no one could take from her. 

She cries for Sophia. Rebecca. And she hopes she’s had a good life, that any conversations they have leave her assured the right decision had been made for her little girl even if it hadn’t been the right decision for her. 

Eventually, she calms down, her tears coming to a stop, Aaron’s embrace and his gently, soothing scratching of her scalp still going until she pulls back to look at him, her eyes still shining. Bright red and swollen with the make-up she’d put on that morning smudged around them. 

“I didn’t recognise her,” she says, her words painful and stuck in her chest as she hiccups around them. 

He tucks her hair behind her ear and wipes her tears from her cheeks, “What do you mean, baby?” 

She sniffs and shakes her head at herself, “When I answered the door, I didn’t recognise her at first. I asked who she was…my own kid. I didn’t recognise my own kid.”

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Hadn’t been able to get past the fact she hadn’t known who Rebecca was at first. It hurt. Made her doubt herself and her skills as a mother, every fantasy she had ever allowed herself that they’d know each other immediately torn to pieces in a moment. 

“Emily,” he says, wiping another tear from her cheek, “The last time you saw her she was minutes old. She’s, what, 30 now?” 

“30 years, 4 months and 3 weeks old,” Emily confirms, the date her daughter had been born one of the only bits of information she’d ever had about her so she’d held onto it tightly. 

“Exactly,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, “It’s not surprising it took you a minute,” he assures her, “And it certainly doesn’t make you a bad mother.” 

She chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in her throat, “Sometimes I swear you actually can read my mind.” 

He smiles, “No, I just happen to know my wife really well,” he says, kissing her forehead again before he pulls back to look at her, “What’s her name?” 

It reminds her of the very first conversation they’d had about Sophia. When she’d been terrified of telling him her oldest secret but he’d done what he always had - loved her unconditionally. His understanding of her so deep, as natural to him as breathing, that sometimes she wondered if he knew her better than he knew herself. 

“Rebecca,” she says, smiling as she says her name outloud, an answer to a question she’d had for so long, “Her name is Rebecca,” she looks down at Issac and kisses the top of his head, her smile soft and sad, “She’s beautiful.” 

“Of course she is,” Aaron says immediately, his eyes shining when she looks up at him, “She came from you.” 

She laughs and shakes her head at him, “How do you always do that?” 

“Do what?” He asks, running his fingers through her hair to soothe her, to provide the comfort he’d always give away for free. 

“Make me laugh on the hard days.” 

He leans in to kiss her, catching the corner of her lips and then her nose, “Because I love you,” he answers, “How did you leave things with her?” 

“I gave her my card. I told her to call me, she’s already sent me a text so I have her number,” she laughs disbelievingly, wondering how her world had changed so much in the space of a couple of hours, “I have Sophia’s number, Aaron,” she shakes her head at herself, “Rebecca,” she corrects, “That’s going to take some getting used to.” 

“It’s okay if she’s still Sophia in here,” he says, his finger gentle as he presses against her chest, hovering over the patch of drool from Issac’s open mouth just above her heart, “She has been for a long time.” 

She nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, “When I…when I meet up with her, can you come with me?” She asks, “I know it might be complicated because of work if you get a case, and I understand if you can’t-”

“Sweetheart,” he says, cutting her off, smiling softly at her, “There is nothing that would stop me being there for you, okay? You and the kids are the most important thing to me. No matter what.” 

She rests her head on his shoulder and sinks into his side, “I can’t believe this is happening,” she murmurs, “It feels like a dream.” 

He wraps his arm around her shoulders to keep her in place against him and kisses her temple, “It’s happening, Em,” he says, tears making his vision blurry because of how happy he is for her, “It’s really happening.” ___

She was exhausted, but happy. 

Labour had been worse than she’d remembered. The pain something that time and Mother Nature had erased from her memory. 

Her labour with Rose was the opposite of her labour with Sophia. Last time, she’d been alone the entire time, no one with her but medical staff who drifted in and out of the room for hours. Aaron had stayed by her side for every single second of her labour with Rose, providing both the physical and emotional support she needed, anticipating her needs before she even knew what they were. She’d encouraged him to go home with Jack, her smile soft as she told him that she and Rose would be okay, that he was exhausted and needed to sleep in their bed and not the tiny bed the nurses had rolled in for him. 

He’d left reluctantly, kissing both her and Rose’s foreheads before he went home, a promise that he’d be back in the morning pressed against her skin. 

“Okay, sweet girl,” she says, wincing as she pushes herself off the hospital bed and walks slowly the very short distance to the bassinet, “Let’s see if we can get this feeding thing down…” She fades off when she sees the bassinet is empty, the blanket Rose had been swaddled in left behind. She sucks in a breath, looking around the room in a panic, “Rose?” It’s ridiculous and she knows it, knows that her 4-hour-old couldn’t respond, but she says it anyway, the discomfort she’d been in before gone in an instant as she tears around the room, looking for her little girl, “Rose?”

She stops in place when she smells something familiar, a sickly sweet perfume that has always turned her stomach. A smell that meant loss and pain and she gasps, her hand over her mouth as she cries out again.

“Rose.” 

___

She gasps as she wakes up, Aaron’s arm slipping from her waist as she sits up, her hand pressed against her chest as she tries to even out her breathing, desperate to shake off the remnants of an old nightmare she hadn’t had in a while but that had haunted her most nights when Rose and Issac were both newborns. 

She’s on her feet before she can think about it, grabbing Aaron’s robe from the back of the door on her way past and slipping it on, the smell of him still clinging to the soft flannel material. She sneaks down the hallway towards Rose’s bedroom, careful to make sure she’s quiet as she walks past the nursery so she doesn’t wake up Issac. She’s gentle as she pushes open Rose’s door, which had already been slightly ajar anyway in case she wanted to seek out her parents in the night, and Emily blows out a slow breath when she sees her little girl fast asleep in her bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her favourite toy - a stuffed orca whale Jessica had bought her from the aquarium - her sweet face lit up by the nightlight in the corner of the room. 

Emily closes her eyes and tries to even out her breathing, her hand against her chest as she does so. She hears the door to the master bedroom open and she turns to look, her lips pressed together in a tight smile when she looks at her husband, “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he says, walking over to her, his arms immediately wrapping around her from behind, tugging her close, his lips pressed against her covered shoulder, “Did you have the nightmare?” 

She hums and nods, turning her head to kiss his cheek, “I did.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

“I should have expected it,” she says, looking back at Rose, checking on her one more time before she lets the door close again, stopping it before it clicks into place, “I don’t know why I didn’t,” she links her arm through his as they walk back to their bedroom, “I am happy she reached out,” she says, “I really am, but…” 

“Em,” he says, stopping her, his hands at her elbows, “I know you are. I know you’re happy, but you’re allowed to have mixed feelings about it. It’s a lot to deal with.” 

She nods and chuckles dryly, “It is,” she shakes her head, “What if she doesn’t like me?” She asks, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the thought that felt childish, like she was still the teenager who had been in this situation in the first place. 

“It’s impossible not to like you,” he replies, his hands slipping to her hips, “Everyone loves you the moment they meet you.” 

She raises her eyebrow at him, “You didn’t.” 

He shakes his head at her, “Sweetheart-”

“You can deny it all you want, baby,” she says, patting his cheek before she shrugs off his robe and climbs into bed, “But we both know you didn’t like me.” 

“I was just taken aback by your beauty,” he says, smiling when she rolls her eyes at him as he joins her in bed, pulling her against his side, “I was projecting because I felt guilty about finding a woman who wasn’t my wife attractive.” 

She hums, resting her head on his shoulder and hooking her leg over his hips, “I’ll believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.” 

He smiles and kisses the top of her head, “Everything will okay, Em.” 

She nods, wanting more than anything to believe him, that this would somehow turn out to be everything she’d never allowed herself to believe it could be, “Yeah,” she says, snuggling in closer, “Everything will be okay.” 

[iomoru]

Writing request, neuvillette x reader studying for a big exam (in university, not an underage reader)

Quiet Moments

A/n: I'm really thankful you corrected me earlier, I also kinda read your blog and found out that you have autism and I deeply apologize for my misunderstanding (◞‸◟ㆀ)

Genre: Modern! Au, College! Au, Fluff, Gn! Reader, Neuvillette x Reader, Second Person, Proofread

Summary: While studying for an upcoming board exam in a quiet library, you and Neuvillette share snacks and light banter. As you support each other through the material, a genuine connection blossoms between you. With each moment spent together, you realize that the bond you've formed is just as important as the knowledge you’re gaining.

The library was unusually quiet, the only sounds being the soft rustling of pages turning and the occasional scribble of pens on paper. You sat at a cozy wooden table, surrounded by towering stacks of textbooks, the faint scent of old pages filling the air. It was the perfect atmosphere for studying, and you were grateful for it, especially with the looming board exam just a week away.

Across the table sat Neuvillette, your study partner and a fellow university student. His presence was both calming and inspiring, his focused demeanor always motivating you to push through the most challenging subjects. Today, he was engrossed in a thick textbook, his brow furrowed in concentration, a pencil tapping rhythmically against the side of his book.

You watched him for a moment, admiring the way he bit his lip in thought. The way his glasses slid slightly down his nose made him look even more endearing. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread in your chest.

"Hey, Neuvillette," you called softly, leaning forward on your elbows. "Do you think we’ll actually survive this exam?"

He looked up, a playful glint in his eyes. "Survive? I’d say we’ll thrive if we keep up this momentum." His voice was smooth, almost melodic, and it sent a flutter through you.

"Is that so?" You grinned, trying to hide your excitement. "You’re the one who’s been dragging me through the chapters, I’m pretty sure I’m just along for the ride."

Neuvillette chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your heart race. "You underestimate your capabilities. You’re doing great, and you’re much smarter than you give yourself credit for."

His praise made you blush, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Thanks, but I think I’d be even better if we took a break. How about a quick snack? We’ve been at this for hours."

"Snacks do sound quite delightful," he replied, closing his textbook with a soft thud. "Let’s take a break then."

You both made your way to the library café, the soft chatter of students providing a comforting backdrop as you selected your snacks. You grabbed a chocolate croissant, while Neuvillette opted for a classic blueberry muffin. As you settled back at your table, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of contentment.

"Do you think we’ll be okay?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence between you as you took a bite of your croissant.

"Absolutely," he said, his expression turning serious. "We’ve been studying hard, and I believe in us." He reached across the table, his hand hovering over yours for a brief moment before he pulled back. "Plus, we make a great team."

Your heart fluttered again at his words, and you felt a wave of warmth wash over you. "We really do, don’t we?"

The conversation flowed easily after that, with light banter and laughter filling the space around you. You shared stories of your favorite classes and discussed your study strategies, enjoying the effortless connection that seemed to blossom with every passing moment.

Eventually, you fell into a comfortable silence, munching on your snacks as you looked over your notes. Neuvillette leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face as he observed you.

"What is it?" you asked, looking up at him curiously.

"Just appreciating the moment," he replied softly. "It’s nice to share this experience with someone who makes it enjoyable."

You felt your cheeks flush at his sincerity, your heart skipping a beat. "I feel the same way. Studying with you makes it a lot less stressful."

He tilted his head slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I’m glad to be your stress-reliever. Should I be concerned about how much stress I might be causing you next week during the exam?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Only if you keep being so charming! I can’t focus when you look at me like that."

His expression shifted slightly, the teasing smile replaced by something more sincere. "I only look at you like that because I admire you, [Name]. You’re incredibly talented and hardworking, and I want to support you in any way I can."

You felt your heart soar at his words, and the air seemed to shift between you, creating a bubble of warmth and understanding. "Thank you, Neuvillette. That means a lot to me."

With the break coming to a close, you returned to your notes, but now with a renewed sense of motivation. The study session resumed, but this time, you found yourself glancing up at Neuvillette more often, your mind racing with thoughts not solely about the exam but about the connection you were fostering.

As the afternoon sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating the library in a warm glow, you couldn’t help but feel that no matter what happened in the upcoming exam, you had already found something even more valuable—a bond with Neuvillette that felt like a beautiful beginning of something new.

A/n: neuvillette is so babygirl 🙏

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

[2econd2ight2aver]

Are Gojo and Geto gay?

Well it's complicated. Let's set some things straight, neither of them have been confirmed nor denied anything, and a romantic relationship is not expicitely stated, as their relationship is different according to each person interpretation of their interactions.

That said, it's completely fine if you watched the show and thought of them as completely straight and platonic besties. But we can theorize and speculate for fun!

Spoilers for Jujutsu Kaisen

Firstly, I'd like to mention the fact that they both died in the same day. December 24th. That in it of its self isn't romantic, it's just showing us their connection. But in Japanese culture, Christmas eve is considered to be one if the most romantic days of the year. It's kinda like a Japanese Valentines day, where people celebrate love by eating KFC together.

No, I'm not kidding. KFC is seen as a Christmas tradition in Japan, and also a love symbol. And where did our little guys have their little break up infront of? A KFC.

I can't find the real picture so this all you get.

It surely wasn't just a design coincidence, since it was both in the manga and the anime. Gege must've put that intentionally, and I must admit it's funny as fuck.

Also, that scene in Jujutsu Kaisen where GoJo gives Yuuta (fuck that bitch cunt whore I hope he dies thatt little emo fucker killed my fuckung husband because he promises to fuck his monster girlfriend later, fuck him and 60 family generations) his lost ID that Geto found. And Yuuta (the sheer audacity of this man to exist makes me want to forcefeed him fentanyl and chop his balls off) thanks him, to where Gojo responds "I didn't find it, my best friend did. No, my only friend."

I found that weird because why did he call Geto his only friend when Shoko also was his friend? Maybe they had a deeper connection neither of them wanted to admit?

My bitch ass in that scene:

When talking about Gojo and Geto relationship you have to mention that even if Gege wanted to make them gay he couldn't since Japan, ironically is a homophobic country. Many people get canceled for making characters gay and many shows don't get aired in Japan because of the homosexual characters. And imagine what would happen if Gojo, arguably the most recognizable anime and manga character in all modern media was made out to be gay. The reaction that would have.

Gojo also stated in his death that the only regret he had is that Geto wasn't there to give him a pat in the back. (I'm not crying, you are)

The opening of the hidden inventory arc which is Geto and gojo when they were younger has a certain song which if you read the lyrics can actually tell you a lot about their relationship.

The song is Where our blue is:

If you read into the lyrics you'll relative it's mad from the perspective of Satoru talking about Suguru. I will now put some translated lyrics:

There's nothing to block the front of my eyes.

Your silence... it becomes...inaudible

Even if these days fade away

Even if I've come to know your scent,

different from mine,

In the depths of eternity, left behind.

It's like a quiet love in the summer,

Like colours running down my cheeks.

The words that curse you are stuck in the back of my thoat,

Will we meet again?

A voice that cannot be heard.

We were supposed to share everything

But since that day, little by little

The curse of me being different than you grows

The sorrow behind your smile,

Regretting from what I had overlooked.

To you, who blooms and scatters

Like transient flowers,

Goodbye.

Okay, I don't know about you but I personally don't refer to my platonic bestie as a "quiet love in the summer" or "transient flowers".

Also, I wonder that if the lyrics that said :"The words that curse you are in the back of my throat. Will we meet again? A voice that cannot be heard" Refers to when Getos death, Gojo said something we as the audience cannot hear, a voice that cannot be heard and Geto responds to that "Now in my death the least that you could do was swear me with some curses" the words that curse you are on the back of my throat.

Now, I could talk about the airport scene but I would start hysterically crying so not today. But they did meet again. In death. Someone kill me I cannot do this today

So, in conclusion, It depends on your interpretation, but you if want the answer to the question I'll respond that Gege wanted them to be gay but since he can't do that due to the Japanese culture, he just heavily hinted at that, but we lack media literacy.

[random-blurbs]

I Can’t Fall In Love

Summary : Screwed over time and time again you swore your heart away from the idea of love. Not realizing how truly weak it is for the genius right in front of you.

"Pen I can't do this anymore! I'm done..." Practically wailing it out you gripped the fluffy little figurine begging for some type of release. "I love you my love but please spare my friend that poor torture." Snatching it from your hands you let you a torturous sigh. Done with simply everything.

"This isn't fair I did so much for him." Penelope motioned to her computer which you waved off. Knowing she's always willing to hack his stuff and leave petty messages behind. You're trying to be above that. Trying really hard at that.

"What did he do this time. I swear all the men you date always are so shady." Taking a deep breath in you know what Pen might do if she finds out. But to be fair she'll always find out some way or another. "He cheated on me...with his sister who I at least thought was his sister. But y'know wasn't." The yell that Penelope let out was loud as she shared your anger now. "He did what!" Nodding painfully as you recount finding them in your house, in the room you pay for, and in the bed, you paid for. It hurts. A lot. "Are you ok though my sweets? I know you're probably angry, but you don't even seem to acknowledge the fact that you can be sad." Was it the profiler in her that her team without realizing instilled into her. Or were you that obvious. It can be both. "I don't know Pen... it's just - I'm tired of being sad men after men." The ache in your heart is there, but that's a can of worms you don't want to open at your workplace. "But I'm going to make this promise to myself to not even dare to ever fall in love!" You said confidently as Penelope couldn't believe a single word you said. She loves you and you know that. But she can also see the avoidant nature you tend to have. Reminding her of a special little someone.

"What if I set you up with someone I know! He's a total catch in the terms of nerdy but still a catch!" Shaking your head you made a loud incorrect buzzer noise. "Nope! Not falling in love! Thank you though for looking out for me. Maybe we can talk about it -" Interrupting your sentence you both heard someone knocking on the door and a head of brown curls peeked his head in. "Um Garcia? Hotch is looking for you." He acknowledged your presence with an awkward smile as he looked at Penelope expectantly. "This is the person I was telling you about. This is our resident boy genius, Spencer Reid! He loves to read books, and I know you do to - you used to play chess in elementary he still plays! And he has an IQ of -!" Putting your hand up to stop Penelope from embarrassing the two of you guys. You waved at Spencer with an awkward smile of your own. Is it obvious Penelope was setting you guys up. Hopefully not.

Considering he's fucking cute. "Y/N. I'm Penelope's friend down at the reception desk." Totally needed to add that part so he can totally not see me there and say hi himself.

"Ah. I'm also Penelope's friend obviously we work in the same team I mean I feel like that's kind of obvious I'm sorry you probably know that. She probably told you if anything not that the-."

"Ok! Um someone is totally not rambling, let's catch up next time ok! You have to tell me what that pathetic little -" Rambling about what she might do to your ex you just let out a short chuckle at her words. Meeting his eyes you gave him a small smile back. "Ok bye you guys! It was nice meeting you Reid." Waving bye at him, he had barely put up his hand when you already walked out.

You can accept a man is cute. He's definitely not your type but he totally can be...

Shaking your head you rushed to your desk hoping your coworker isn't too mad that you left him for a while. Pushing all thoughts of the awkward smiling guy in a locked box.

-

It was weird it's been 3 months since meeting the resident genius of the FBI. And you can't look at him in his stupid eyes. His stupid cute face. When you do run into him it’s very stiff conversation and you hate how it makes your day. And vice versa. You give him energy he thought he couldn’t get. Showing your painfully slow progress sometimes you’re greeted with a cup of coffee. A order he learned through trial and error. But when he saw the smile that was etched into your face as you got your favorite order. He will grow those coffee beans by his own hand if it means seeing you continuously smile like that. He didn’t expect anything in return and you smile every time you think about it. For once nobody expected anything from you.

But when you come you’re reminded of those memories. Memories you wish to burn.

So you've been stuck. To the point where Penelope is checking in on you every day. Encouraging you to go out. Is it worth it?

Staring at the popcorn ceiling it felt weird being all dressed up but feeling nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no more anger. You're just tired. The excessive of beeping on your phone never stops. Maybe that's why your phone is practically dead all the time. Opening it it's the same messages you always see.

Please I'm so sorry I didn't mean it It was one time Just answer your fucking phone y/n stop being stupid just answer your fuc-

Shaking your head you got up to get into your uber that finally arrived. Tired. Blocking this random number again, he never stops. And you don't think he ever will. You haven't told Penelope the excessive messages you know she'll probably cross lines that you really don't want her to do. Trying to gather what social battery you have left to meet her friends. Or well her team.

Entering the surprisingly loud bar, you checked your phone trying to follow her directions. "Y/N!" A muffled voice from afar and you see the excitable blonde. "Come here!" You take in the group beside her. 2 older men who seem to be talking to each other not favoring the club setting that this bar took up. 2 other girls were next to her which you only remember the name of Emily. Not knowing which one is which. And finally, the man you've been avoiding. He's talking to another man who seems to be teasing him. But his brown eyes were meeting yours. Nervous flickering as he listened to his friend but looking at you. And only you. "Hey Pen!" Giving her a hug she does the introductions. It's hard to listen.

Just following Pen's footsteps you listen in to the story they exchange and generally talking about their life. Derek had left to go dance with Penelope, JJ and Emily had also gone to dance with one another. Who you learned was Rossi ended up leaving a little earlier. Seems like Hotch did the same considering you haven't seen him in a while. It's easy to do the math. Taking a sneaky peek next to you, there he was. His leg was bouncing nervously fueling your nerves just the same. The shots at your table are going to waste as you finally grabbed another one. "Y-You might want to slow down." His nervous voice made you pause. Looking over at him confused he cleared his throat. "You already took 3 shots within the hour and a half of being here. Not that I'm telling you what to do exactly. But it's just women tend to get drunk faster and obviously I would have to take into account your height and weight - I-I just want you to be careful." He finished with a stiff nod. Was it three shots already? You feel your phone buzzing into your pocket tiring you again, can't even enjoy a cute guy telling you to be careful. Tilting your head back you finished the shot.

"I'm sorry I'll cut myself off now." Not wanting him to think you're a drunk you took a sip out of your water right after. "It's not that it's just I want you to be careful, that's all." Nodding you guys fell into an awkward silence if you can even call it silence. It's a crime that this bar is basically a club now. "Have you played chess?" Surprising he's still talking to you, kind of scared that he finds you bad company. You nod your head, "Yeah back in elementary in some stupid little team." You chuckled a little at the memory remembering playing against your classmates but totally cheating so we both can get the vouchers. "Not anymore though?" Confirming his question with just a nod it seemed like he was stuck in his thoughts. "Do you play in like tournaments and stuff?" He immediately shook his head. "I only play for fun it's better that way."

"Would you show me how to play again if I ask?" You can see you caught him off guard with the question. Liquid courage as you want to call it. "Not a date obviously but to get to know each other better." He deflated at that. But you weren't able to see that as the phone distracted you when you pulled it out. Maybe it's better this way, he shouldn't test his luck. Maybe just being around you is enough. Considering he noticed the numerous of times you would go the opposite direction if you saw him. Maybe this is enough?

He didn't mean to peek it seems like your limbs didn't want to work with you that well anymore. Letting him take an accidental peek at your phone. Seeing the mass text messages sent to you reading what he can. He was the worst person to see it considering he read it all in practically seconds. But he knows now he doesn't want you to be surrounded with that. He knows you should have more. "We can set up whatever time that's works best for you."

-

Shit shit shit shit shit! Can you really call it a date? I mean you have to at this point. Here you are clothes sprawled all over your room as you tried so many different things. Some were too date-like, some too casual like. Going to watch a Greek play that Reid promised to translate it has to be a date?

Hearing a knock at your door it was pathetic really how you sprinted to it. Opening the door with a grin it quickly diminished seeing who was there. "Why are you so dressed up?" Not wanting to answer him you immediately tried to shut the door before he shoved his foot at the doorstep. Making his way in your eyes carefully watched him. Scared of anything setting him. "Mark what are you doing here?" "I keep on texting you and you refuse to answer." Scoffing you shake your head staring at him with disgust. "I can't believe you. Just get the fuck out. I've already been dealing with your messages for 6 months now! I've shown you kindness by not reporting you!" It was easy to see that he practically ignored your words as you fiddled with the doorknob begging him to leave. Spencer was going to be here at any point. And that weird feeling of embarrassment or even shame was filling you. Ashamed that you still don't have your life together considering your ex is practically being a stalker and you still haven't reported him.

"Y/N I miss you. Please just one more shot swear you won't regret it! C'mon will you really find someone like me?" In awe at his ego, you let out a laugh of disbelief. How the hell did you end up with someone like him. Glad you got out of the shitshow of a relationship you were in.

"Are you fucking laughing at me?" His booming voice is something you don't miss. And it always terrified you. "Obviously because genuinely who the fuck do you think you are."

"You stupid bitch I sw-" Taking huge strides to you, the fear made you want to run. But he was immediately at your side as you tried stumbling away. Feeling his hand wrap around your arm as you winced feeling him tighten it.

"Y/N?" A softer voice was heard just right outside the door. It was still open and you immediately knew it was Spencer. Your savior. Glancing up at your ex you see the anger swirling in his eyes, giving you a accusatory glare.

"Who the fuck are you?" Within a moment Spencer rushed into the apartment almost hitting you and your ex in the process. He was surprised to hear a male voice come from your apartment especially one sounding so hostile. The position you guys were in was everything but normal. You didn't even realize but Spencer can see it. The tears in your eye were welling up and the desperation laced with it, Spencer just can't unsee. "You need to get out." With a firm voice Spencer stayed unmoving as he stared at your ex. Who seemed to be beyond pissed. "Excuse me?" With a swift motion Spencer took out his FBI badge showing it to your ex. "I don't want to repeat myself. I can have you arrested just as quickly so do yourself a favor and leave. " He never really likes using his badge in scenarios out of field. But he knows your ex wouldn't listen otherwise.

Dropping your hand aggressively, Spencer was quickly at your side cradling your arm. The exact opposite of what your ex had done. Giving you one last look he slammed the door shut echoing throughout the apartment.

"Are you ok?" He didn't waste a second as he took extra care of your arm trying to see the extent of it. And it's that damn question, looking down as you tried hiding behind your hair. A very weak attempt. The tear fell unapologetically. All those feelings came out as you ripped your arm away from Spencer. Letting yourself cry into your hands. He didn't know what to do. He was scared that he was going to say the wrong thing. He knows of your situation but he didn't know the extent of it. And he wishes he can take it all away for you. "Do you want a hug?" With tears still streaming down your face, you glanced up at him in confusion. "Reid, you don't even like handshakes... not that I care but I feel like a hug is very out of left field." Agreeing with you immediately he tried not pushing the boundary. "Yeah, obviously germs can be shared especially since you're crying. But you're sad and I want to make you feel better. Even if it means a hug." Tears continue to fall at his sweet words knowing that this is probably something he psyched himself into doing. "If you want, I'll only hug you for a minute?" He motioned you to get closer and it was the most awkward hug you've ever had. But it was the only hug that has made you feel seen, comforted. It's not his favorite thing in his world, but as he caressed your hair letting you cry into his vest that took him too much time to pick out worried, he won't impress you. He didn't mind that the tears were being etched into it as you found comfort in his arms. Thats all he wanted. To be your rock. He might not know everything about you but he's willing to wait around to find out. You make it worth it. Your eyes, your smile, your sarcasm, everything. The fact that you were willing to watch a play you would have no idea what is being said, but willing to indulge into his wants. Thats enough for him.

As the minute went by it became clear that you took more comfort in his arms than he suspected. And he didn't mind as he heard your cries start to quiet down and just the small jumps of your shoulder signifying your calming down. "I'm sorry Spencer... I know you were really excited for the play. But I don't think we can go out anymore...obviously." Pointing at yourself and your wrecked appearance. "It doesn't matter."

"You say they come only every 5 years to perform just go and enjoy it."

"I'm ok we can catch it in the next 5 years we have all the time in the world." He said happily as he looked around your apartment. Entranced by the decorations as everything screamed you. "Is there a movie you want to watch? I can go get us some snacks or maybe order some takeout. You shouldn't waste your outfit." He didn't notice but you were trying your hardest not to cry at his kindness. You can't love him you just can't. You already seen all the men in the world. All they do is hurt you. And your fear of Spencer being one of them is killing you. You can't love him.

"Do you want fast-food or sushi?" It won't hurt to at least have a friend. - "Spence stop!" Giggling you were at the other end of the couch trying not to get caught in his arms. He had his arms out at the other side going left or right trying to catch you. "Say you're sorry then!" Uncontrollably laughing you shake your head between breaths.

"I can't! I won't mean it." Shrieking as he went over the couch to grab you, you run into your kitchen trying to expand the distance between the two of you. It was futile.

Yelling with laughs in between he wrapped his arms around you before swinging you around. "Spence! Please! I'm sorry don't drop me!" You know if he somehow did let you slip, he would immediately use his body as a cushion to soften the blow. That was the kind of man he was. Softly letting you down your laughs mixed with one anothers in a melody only you two can understand and enjoy.

You both were falling for each other. Hard.

It’s the type of feeling where you guys tittered the edge of something more. But you always pulled yourself back. It was the only way where you can breathe in peace. Knowing Spencer won’t have that edge over you, you won’t be vulnerable to him. “Are you going to cook for us again?”

“Obviously - do you not like my cooking or something?” Before he can respond your phone started to buzz. Excessively. “Can you get that for me? It might be Pen telling me about how Kevin is annoying her.” Getting started on dinner you settled with a pasta dish not exactly being a chef.

It was silent for too long as you looked up from the pot of water as his eyebrows were furrowed. Almost as if he was angry. “Spence you good?”

“It’s Mark. I’m going to let Hotch know he broke his restraining order he might have someone that can actually make sure he gets punished.” Mood somewhat dampening you thanked him quietly as you continued dinner. “Don’t overthink it please, You don’t need to worry.” You feel him behind you making you turn around to face him. He brought his hands up caressing your cheek with a content smile. “I swear to you I will make him stop. No matter what I do.”

I like you.

So much.

Those thoughts swirl his head as he stared at your face as your eyes were closed happily.

He wants to give you everything and more. The thought of letting you is too much for him.

-

“And they were roommates…” Penelope said ominously as you pushed her playfully. She giggled as she poked at your sides excitedly. She looked around the room with a bright smile on her face as she took everything in. “I love how you decorated the place obviously this was all you?” Nodding you’re happy that you got creative freedom in decorating - it feels more like home. Home 2.0.

“I brought you guys snacks.” Turning around you see Spencer with a big grin and an equally big bag of treats. “Spencer Reid I swear you are the love of my life.” Grabbing the hefty bag you passed over her snacks. Not realizing the look that Penelope threw at Spencer. Him quickly shushing her as you passed Spencer his snacks. “I need to go already my sweets. Date night I need to be ready!” Saying our byes you pulled Spencer over to the couch getting comfortable.

“You like it?” Motioning to the walls/the general room. “Of course I do. You just have the special touch like this one artist..” He proceeded to compare you to some artist you’ve never heard of but you just loved to hear him talk. “Do you want to lay down?”

It’s routine, asking is just a curtesy. Your head hit his lap comfortably as he positioned the pillows how you liked it.

“Are we going to continue that conversation we were having before she came?” You said looking at him from his lap. He loves how you look from there. Just happy, innocent. He hates to know that your ex took that from you for so long.

Getting more comfortable he cleared his throat knowing he can’t forget the conversation you were just having. “I would never hurt you Y/N.” Already living with each other for a year you guys are finally having that talk. Caressing your cheek like how he always will he admired the face he will be waking up next to. “I know simply saying it won’t take away your fears, but I want to show you. And I will. Because I adore you Y/N. You help me look forward to tomorrow. You give me a drive for us to finish our cases faster so I can get home, to you. And only you.” Smiling softly at him you played with his fingers. Dancing with one another’s hands you admired him. You never thought you could like someone so much. It drives you insane that he’s doing this to you. But you can’t help but be glad that it’s him and no one else.

“Do you swear Spence?”

“Swear on everything.” Kissing your hand softly he helped you sit up as you leaned. He helped you more times you can count. He waited. And waited. Without expecting anything.

You didn’t want to fall in love. Who would? But as you stare at the love-sick fool in front of you. With the dorkiest smile adorning his lips you can’t help but lean in letting your lips press against his. An act of love finalizing what you guys are. Lovers. And you wouldn’t want anything more.

[formulapookie]

Beznaia 4???? pretty plsss

(Voglio vedere la reaction di bez alle paranoie di pecco pls)

Bez always knew him and pecco shared a bond or something similar.

They were always extremely close, closer than the others, somehow always there when the other needed them, and with time Bez began understanding when Pecco was in need for a hug, for some space, for a a shoulder to cry on or simply needed Bez to be there, close to him, just a reassurance he could always rely on him.

Now they’re far from being messy teens covered in the mud from the side of the track at the Ranch, far from their first shared secrets, far from drunken make out sessions they never spoke about, but they’re closer than ever, Bez can feel their bond strengthened during the last year, he can almost feel what Pecco thinks.

The problem is one day he really begins to understand what Pecco thinks, almost like he can read his mind, it happens randomly, while they’re having lunch together in Pecco's motorhome, Bez trying to lighten the mood after pecco crashed, the other seemingly lost in his head.

It feels like a sharp pain, for a second, in his head, then Bez starts seeing, feeling, hearing even all of Pecco’s current thoughts.

He almost chokes on his food, it’s all so confused, loud in Pecco’s brain, far different from what Bez thought his friend’s mind to be.

When Pecco notices Bez coughing all his thoughts turn to just one word. “Marco” in big bold letters, yellow like highlighters, as if he just took over his brain completely.

“Marco you ok? You want me to grab some water?”

Pecco’s voice sound flebile, like he’s forcing out every word.

His thoughts are confused, half of them is just Bez’s name, the other half are calling his egoistic, thinking of himself while Bez has a need.

“Yeah yeah I’m alright, just choked on the Piadina don’t worry” “You sure? I can go-“ “Pecco, I’m ok, really”

You’re bothering him stop talking shut up

The thought comes through in a shaky font, almost trembling, and it has Bez's heart crack a little. Why would Pecco think he's bothering him? Pecco could never bother Bez, at most it could be the other way around.

Slowly but resolutely Pecco's thoughts go back to being an intricate mass of black squiggles and red words marked in a spray-can like font.

Bez cannot figure out all of them, but the ones he sees are horrible.

Idiot you crashed again, how can you think you can win a championship acting like this? Don't cry over your own mistake you're pathetic, you're looking miserable and weak in front of Marco. If you win this championship it'll be thanks to luck and your friends who will try anything to crash Martin out, not thanks to your talent, you obviously have none.

"Pecco?" "Mh?"

His name appears like a lightning in the older's mind, a flash, seemingly waking him up by the river of black matter drowning him

"You are a great rider, don't let this get to your head, I'm sure you'll gain back the points, I want you to know you are not weak, no one thinks you are, and that you can still win this, because you deserve it, and I will never let your head or anyone else let you think the opposite"

Why is he so nice? Why does he still support me? He should give up on me. He looks so pretty with the sunlight on his face. He worries too much about me I'm bothering him.

Bez blushes a bit when he reads Pecco thinks he's pretty, but ultimately puts it on the side and walks over to Pecco, who's still deep in his thoughts and doesn't realize until Bez hugs him, tight, not saying a word but surrounding him like he always does when he hugs people.

He doesn't let go, Pecco's brain is screaming stay stay stay and he won't do anything else. The letters and words turn softer, kinder even, Bez's name written all over his friend's brain, shutting down many of the self eating thoughts running around.

"Bez I -" "You don't want me to let go so I'm gonna stay here until you're ok and I'm sure I can let go" "But your debrief and the media, youohave to go" "Screw them, I'm staying with you, it's clear you need a hug, or twenty maybe, and before you say it no you're not being bothersome or a weight or anything else your head is saying, you're just in need of a hug and to know you deserve your title"

PEcco stiffens a bit, it's almost like Bez can read his mind, see the contort words forming in his brain, see how relaxed his head gets once he's close.

I want to kiss him

Bez blushes again, they're alone, Pecco clossed the door to his motorhome once he got in, he may - he may kiss him. It's not like he's never dreamt of doing it before.

"Pecco"

He turns his head towards the younger and immediately blushes, his brain going crazy with thr word pretty running around like it's been possessed.

"Please stop me if I read this wrong"

Before Pecco can ask what he means by "this" Bez is kissing him, chapped and bitten lips pressing lightly against his equally tortured ones, and it’s perfect.

That’s what Pecco’s mind says, in tiny pretty green letters, it’s an alternation of Marco and perfect taking over his brain, making Bez smile softly as he slowly tries to climb on the other’s lap.

Once he manages to he breaks away from the kiss, moving both his hands to cup Pecco’s stupidly cute face, smiling again as he tucks a curl behind his ear.

“How- you know I want why”

“You’re pretty easy to read Pecchino, and you know we always understood each other better than anyone no?”

Pecco flushes red again, looking away, he wants him to kiss him again, and Bez, as if he could read his mind once again, does it, a bit more daring now, fingers in his hair, pushing his tongue past his teeth, while Pecco’s hands go to hold on his hips.

Bez doesn’t know why or how he got this capacity of reading Pecco’s mind, but he’s really fucking glad he did, because the bad thoughts now are really far from where they were before, and because he can clearly picture what Pecco wants to do with him, and to say he likes the idea is an understatement.

Put that guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt

[amoscontorta]

i have thoughts about your most recent fic and tumblr’s comment character limit has brought me to your ask box again 🙈

omgggg it’s so good to know sylus’s POV during that wine night!! and i don’t know why and how, but sylus’s thoughts about mc here, esp how he feels about her selfless tendencies (to her detriment), makes me feel vulnerable and seen. when i read reader-insert fics, i tend to imagine a separate character for mc even though it’s technically supposed to be me in my head. perhaps the character i made up resembles me (but better lmao), but different enough that she’s like an individual on her own. but when i read this fic, it’s like sylus was talking about me, as in the real me, which made me emotional. it could be that the way mc handles herself poorly in here resonates with me due to some irl stuff, but honestly it’s primarily how good you write about a character’s emotions and thoughts. it’s like the words reached across my screen and tugged at my heart. you’re such a great writer when it comes to expressing a character’s innermost thoughts. it’s like i’ve been placed inside a character’s mind to bare witness their raw self.

again, i love how your sylus x mc dynamics, at least for this series, revolve around an mc oblivious to how much sylus cares about her. it seems she doesn’t even believe she’s deserving of such affection, nor is she fitting to be the object of such primal desires. in a way, she’s kind of self-sabotaging in the sense that she thinks she doesn’t deserve kindness, help, and affection. she’s genuinely fine with taking the brunt of the pain and suffering – and not even in the hero, martyr kind of way. it seems it’s how she’s always been, such behavioral tendencies of hers seem to be as normal as the sky is blue, which is sad and concerning because she deserves so much. i’m honestly excited to see sylus try to knock down her hardened walls and have her realize how deserving she is of so many things. i hope she realizes she can relax, rest, take it easy, and feel safe. especially with him.

i actually laughed out loud about how unhinged sylus can be about his sexual desires for her. like the man is blue-balled to heck, but he isn’t the kind to succumb to his base urges. he really respects and loves mc. i think i would even say he reveres her, given the fan theories around their past. it’s like his urges are just something that come with his intense adoration and care for mc, which is so so admirable and attractive.

maybe i’m just a tad sensitive today, but i completely zeroed in on the emotional aspects of this fic – quite a difference as to how i salivated over your previous fic in your ask box LMAO. coincidence is such a funny thing because i feel like i really needed to read this fic today. i feel much better and more ready to face the day. this has been such a good read, and i humbly offer my apologies for yapping at your ask box yet again 🧎‍♀️🫣

First off, you never have to apologize for sending me your thoughts. I'm so happy every time I receive an ask, it's always an unexpected surprise. And your asks are always really thoughtful and fun to read! I wasn't just patronizing you when I said last time that it was really fun to receive such a spicy ask about the NSFW aspects of Sylus's character and dynamic with mc in these stories. A huge part of his appeal is his physicality and how he shows his affection through actions. Hot, hot, actions.

To be honest, this message from you is really reassuring, because I've noticed that a lot of the fanfic that gets a lot of traction in (any) fandom is of the NSFW variety (which, duh, I totally understand and appreciate and consume happily), and I worry that because I'm not currently focusing purely on that aspect of Sylus that people will be less interested in reading what I'm sharing, especially the installments that are so mc POV heavy. So to hear that you also like being in this mc's head, and can relate to this mc, that how I have Sylus respond to this mc's issues and hangups and trauma brings you comfort, is amazing for me as a wannabe writer. Although I also want to give you a hug (with your consent of course) if you can really relate to this mc because no one should ever have to feel what you so accurately point out about what this mc feels: that whatever pain you're experiencing is normal, and expected, and you can hardly imagine that someone would be so dedicated to helping relieve it for and with you. Because everyone deserves to feel cherished and demand more than the bare minimum from the world and the people in their life. I'm hoping that I can keep writing this story as an exploration of Sylus teaching mc that, and that you continue to derive comfort from it. Because in the end, fanfic can serve many purposes. And just like it can be a vehicle for exploring incredibly dark and disturbing and cathartic themes using our favorite characters, I think it can also be the ultimate comfort food, and sometimes you should just be able to feel fucking good reading it. I'm so happy to hear that this part did that for you. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts.

[moonspirit]

I just read somewhere that Annie would never have become a mother by her own choice, because it’s super ooc and misunderstanding of character.

First of all, of course, these are fictional characters, a fictional story, and everyone has the right to their own interpretation. But if we talk about the "right" and "wrong" understanding of smth...Well, let’s perceive the absolute failure of aruani (Annie especially) in parenting as a realistic option (where both go crazy, or Annie hates idea of being mother from the start)...when it would be fair to say that a sincere desire to start a family and parenthood without any horror is ALSO realistic.

It seems to me completely normal not to want children, maybe even feel a little rejection towards them. It’s also completely normal to have such a desire. And it’s normal that opinions can change over time! On my opinion, Annie as a character is quite capable of such changes. This is life, growing up, finding your own desires and goals. Your values ​​may change, you may become more forgiving or even more defensive. Family has different meanings for different people. However, most of them still dive into it head-on. Why can't this happen to these characters? Annie will still have her own understanding of family, love, and motherhood without the cloying sweetness, without the feigned happiness, just the desire to devote a part of herself and her feelings to something new, born out of love for another person.

Also, I've heard that some people may still be irritated by most other people's children, but they are genuinely happy to be parents to their own :))

Sorry for dumping this ton of text on you😭 I'm just afraid of getting into direct "confrontations", but I wanted to share my point with someone. No negativity, i just uuuh disagree that it's somehow catastrophically at odds with Annie's character It will be interesting to read what others think about this

Hello anon. Nothing to apologize for, thank you for coming here to share your thoughts!

I too have seen similar takes, but you know, it's like you say; this is all within the realm of a fictional world with fictional characters and so the possibilities of headcanons going any which way is incredibly vast. Some of us like the pregnancy headcanons, some of us don't, and that's a normal healthy fandom mix haha xD We should filter the stuff we don't want to see and move on, it only becomes problematic when the bashing starts.

Anyway.

I think one reason why some people have a loud problem with this hc is because the picture of the "image" of Annie aligning with what is conventionally seen as a "feminine-desire" to want to get pregnant and have children may somehow be seen as "reducing" her character to just someone who, despite possessing great strength and fighting skills, becomes pregnant, a supposed "weakness". Also consider how many times in the past this whole trope has been used in media to achieve a certain narrative, at least in regards to what women are expected to do with their bodies and how they should live. It's all valid ofc, and the people who reject the very idea of any female fictional character getting pregnant and enjoying it are well within their right to hate it, given the history of the notions and portrayal of pregnancy. This is all probably very inelegant wording and phrasing on my part tho, perhaps someone else can explain it better :<

Coming to Annie specifically, I can only speak for myself when I say that, like you, I see Annie growing to embrace such a possibility with a positive outlook. I get quite a few pregnancy asks these days, and at least in some of them I've talked about how Annie isn't going to be gung-ho about it from the beginning; in fact it's going to be an event in her life that starts with a great deal of emotional uncertainty, anxiety and fear. Do I think Annie's built for having children? Well, as she is in canon - absolutely not. But post-canon, given she has time to learn how to live and experience every emotion that comes, freely and openly... yes. Yes I do think that then, she might look at the idea of starting a family in good spirit.

All this not to say that I would appreciate a scenario where she has kids and then stays at home in typical (and toxic) tradwife fashion, even given the time period post-canon AoT is set in; nope, never, I would hate that. That's not the reason I like the pregnancy headcanon for Annie, I like it because it opens up a whole new world of emotional and situational challenges, something I personally would like Annie to go through. I also believe the whole process of conceiving a child, carrying for nine months and then giving birth is honestly a miracle (and listen, irl I'm someone who shudders at the idea of pregnancy or children xD so I'm not actively advocating for it, just to be clear). And why shouldn't Aruani experience it? For all the deaths and losses in their lives, having a child would be wonderful and cathartic and monumental in changing them as people imo; it would also compound on the very themes present in AoT - that of life, of the value of life and of a person and the beauty of the world.

Just as much as there's nothing wrong with not wanting children, there is also nothing wrong in wanting them. These preferences don't make someone prone to falling into an unhealthy categorization on their own.

So... okay, I think none of what I said is very comprehensible but xD TLDR: I agree with you anon, I agree.

[chaotic-orphan]

So I've been reading Intoxicating Fear for a while now and (Oskit shippers don't come after me) I don't see Kit and Ambrose being together. I get Ambrose but can be somewhat gentle with Kit, but I just don't think I've really seen it till now. I don't think their vibes or morals line up. I could see Jude and Ambrose together, as like a power couple of sorts, but I think don't Kit and Ambrose would be well together. (I'm sorry if this is repetitive and no one asked for my opinion on the matter. I love your work so much,

HAH HAAAAAAGGHH!!! YES!!!! WOOOOO!!!! THANK YOU ANON!!!!!! *sending kisses and bouquets of roses and popping champagne* I ABSOLUTELY ASKED FOR YOUR OPINION ON THE MATTER!!!! HAHAAAHHH! I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE!!! Now, Oskit shippers also don’t come for me, but I agree!!! Wholly and completely.

I agree that Ambrose can be gentle, and that their morals or vibes join up at all! My reasoning against them as a couple is simply because Kit would never, ever forgive Ambrose for what he did to him, what he took from him. Kit didn’t have a good life growing up, and then he found Mentor and his calling in the Hero academy — so when Mentor took him in and gave him a home and a life and love, Kit slowly, very slowly, let his guard down and started to believe the stories and movies about life being good, and then— Omen attacks and Kit is left alone again after taking the risk of hoping for a better life for himself.

It also doesn’t sit well with me because who has the power in their relationship? Ambrose, always, always Ambrose. So even if Ambrose made advances would Kit be too afraid to say no? And that makes it too like situations that happen in real life for me

Jude and Ambrose however? They are on the same kind of power balance (both in power and status and how they hold themselves) which would be a-okay to write, but because Kit is Ambrose’s second victim *ever* [and also just his victim] it is far too personal for Kit to ever get passed that and love Ambrose —— unless, Ambrose compelled him, and then it kind of goes into the Jessica Jones realm

Having said that, Oskit shippers, I get it, I love a good unbalanced power dynamic myself where love blooms — hell power imbalances in general (esp in whump, WOOF) — and I also love that you see something in the story that I never intended, and felt strongly enough about it to bring it to my attention!!! It has been a very fun and fucking hilarious experience, and I really like the coffee shop AU idea so it probably will happen, just not in canon 😉

But ANON, may the gods smile on you today for sharing your thoughts and opinions on the matter, I thought I was fighting against the army of Oskit shippers by myself, but now we can go back to back and fend them off with spears XD

[emry-stars-art]

Okay so the hurt/comfort is like exactly my favourite things all in one post but the image got me thinking, because of the scars on Abram's back looking like lashing scars and I imagine that nevermore used that technique again when Abram is forced back there, so I wonder if Abram has issues around riding horses due to the sound of riding crops and if a lot of the language of riding sits in that tool/animal dynamic that it makes travel difficult.

Just some thoughts the post made me think, feel free to ignore :)

Oh my goddddd that works so perfectly 😭

Yes they are lashing scars!! I think it was an “urge him to continue” thing on top of the punishments so Abram is just. Covered in them and yes I’m technically the one responsible here and yes it still hurts both things can be true lmao. YEAH hearing a whip or crop would Not be good for his health I think you’re so right… I don’t have a read in my head on how the language would work or play into it but that is absolutely a possibility, there’s got to be like at least one thing that really gets to him and it’s terrible for travel. But it’s another one of those necessary evils so when they really have to, Day and/or Andrew would just have to let Abram dissociate for a while and no one feels good about it but how else are they gonna get around

Thank you so much for your thoughts, together we can make this the angstiest it can possibly be 💪🥲 glad you’re enjoying it!