#that my father hasn’t spoken to me in

[cottagegorevampy]

my daylist just takes my daddy issues every morning and really runs with it huh

[tokyoghls]

like a prayer — c. mayhew ･˳ . ⋆

✧ ࣪ ─ ᥫ᭡ cw. blowjob, oral fixation, cum eating/feeding, religious/blasphemy themes, fem!reader. innocent/clueless!reader. mdni.

☆ an ☆ hellooo, hope you like this one, I tried so hard to portray charlie as best as i could since I’ve just read fanfics and haven’t actually watched the series, BUT as soon as it’s available on Disney+ I’ll watch it 🙂‍↕️

**also, keep in mind that this is just a fanfic, I don’t mean any disrespect towards religion or anything.

There wasn’t a way to explain the feeling, for it made his heart quicken and resolve to thin— sinful thoughts to dance around his mind like tiny devils with horns and tails, whispering wrongdoings to his ear.

He never considered himself to be weak and uncharacteristically doubtful. He knew right from wrong, yet he couldn’t help but steal a glance your way during mass— white lace veil hiding your face from his eyes, waiting for the minute you’d uncover and showed your tight knit brows and full lips, gaze set on the chapel’s ceiling as if looking directly at god’s eyes and wishing you’d glance his way instead, but you never do.

And he always finds himself thanking God you didn’t, as he wouldn’t find it in him to hold back if you had look his way and realized his sinful intentions, the way his thoughts traveled to your Sunday’s attire and pretty hands touching every surface in his office.

That’s why he’s been intentionally avoiding you— walking out of his office five minutes before you come to clean it, and if by any chance you came in earlier, he wouldn’t engage in conversation, making something up and mumbling a quick goodbye so he could avoid looking at your buttocks, displayed beneath that pretty white dress you choose to always wear on Sundays, or the way you chewed on your pencil in thought.

He’d find himself secluded in his room trying to find a way to get you out of his mind, and he found one, but eventually it failed.

The first time he’d done something like that, he thought all it took to forget about you was to rub one off and get on with it, but it was useless— he knew this the moment he realized, that, after every Sunday mass where he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, he locked himself inside his room and jerked off to the thought of you: kneeling on the pew, hands on a prayer and brows furrowing while your lips formed shapes and let out soft exhales with every word spoken.

Just like now, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“Father Charlie, did I do something wrong?”.

Your voice pulled him out of his trance, eyes blinking twice and mind focusing in the present. He’s daydreaming. Again.

“Mmh?”.

He hasn’t been listening at all, too busy looking at your clavicle where a cross rested to notice the concerned tinge in your voice.

“Are you okay, Father?”.

He nodded, hands intertwining behind his back and anxious fingers scratching at each other, “Yes, don’t worry, my mind drifted elsewhere for a minute- what were you saying just now?”.

“Alright, umm- I asked if I had done anything to upset you?”.

“Of course not, why would you think that?”, he scoffed, trying to come up with something to change the subject. He didn’t want to say he thinks about you in a sinful way, he’s the father of this chapel after all— it wasn’t remotely okay to think about one of his parishioners that way.

Your gaze nervously shifted to the ceiling, fingers fumbling with each other in front of you, “Well, you’ve been ignoring me lately I tho-”.

“Is not what you think, I’ve just been busy with… something”.

Well, he couldn’t say he’s been busy jerking off to the thought of you sprawled on his desk could he? It was the smartest response he could come up with but also the dumbest.

“Oh well, then uhm… my mom’s waiting for me so I’ll go now”.

Charlie couldn’t do more than watch as your figure disappeared and get lost in thought once again.

Since that interaction, he hasn’t seen you around much— you didn’t attend church two consecutive Sundays, but eventually you returned, looking as beautiful as ever. He’s watching you again, but just to a certain point where your parents won’t notice the lingering glances and tiny smiles he’d send your way.

He has just finished the mass, everyone scattered around, greeting friends and family, him too- he was a loved priest. And of course, your family had to greet him.

“Father Charlie, we’re so pleased to see you again”, your mother spoke fondly, gaze shifting to you, standing behind your father as if you were a scared child. “C’mon honey, Father Charlie is waiting for you to say hello- oh sorry, she’s not in the mood now, she fell sick and she’s not feeling well…”.

Charlie tried to ignore the fact you were partly avoiding him, gaze set on him but also full of doubt. He could just smile thinking that you probably thought he was mad at you. “Don’t worry, I was quite surprised by your absence, but I’m glad you’ve returned”, he nodded, adding teasingly. “You’re my most devoted congregants, and not seeing you here for so long had me thinking you’ve found another church”.

“Oh no! Don’t say things like that!”, your mother giggled and shook her head, “We would never, we’re very attached to this church, my family and I used to come here every Sunday when I was young- I have many great memories here…”.

Charlie wasn’t paying attention to your mom and her incessant rambling anymore, he was paying attention to you. Maybe a little too much that he didn’t hear half of what your mother said.

“… and now we’re looking for a suitable husband for our dear daughter, of course we’d want him to be one of our dear brothers of this church, they all are decent men”

That caught his attention and a mocking snort left his lips. Your mom’s confused gaze made him remember his current position, and awkward cough leaving his lips, “Don’t mind me, continue…”.

You, marrying one of these guys? One of these prude and revolting guys being able to take your hand in marriage…? He couldn’t imagine of one of them warming your bed every night, was it jealousy? That, one of these men, would have you first?

“actually- we wanted to reach out to you, father, we believe you can be of great help for her to learn the ways of a happy marriage, based on respect and love. So, father, what do you think?”.

He couldn’t allow that, not even in a million years.

“Sorry, what I think about what?”. Charlie replied apologetically, looking partly ashamed for not paying attention to your dear mom. Though he wasn’t sure what she was really asking for, he missed half of the speech because of thinking about your possible suitors.

“About teaching our daughter the ways to a happy marriage, you know, principles, respect, values… we’d be very happy if you could help her learn- me and her father are far from being a perfect marriage, and we tried to teach her to some extent, but we’d like it if she learns from God’s hands from now on…”.

Your mom really shouldn’t have said that.

“Fa-father, are you sure this is the right lesson?”. you asked breathless, lips puffy and covered in a thin layer of spit, glistening under the warm lights in his office.

You were quite confused since this wasn’t the usual lessons Father Charlie imparted.

He glanced down at you, hand touching your cheek affectionately, the corner of his mouth twitching. He loved your innocence. “Of course, you need to learn to give proper head to your soon to be husband- now keep going, yeah? Your mother was quite specific when she said she wanted you to learn”.

With a nod of your head, you returned to your task. Tongue peeking out to give a lick to his reddened tip, a bead of salty precum attaching to your warm muscle. You were so close to stuff him all inside your mouth, he’s been working your throat muscles to accommodate him completely and you were quite greedy now, you think you can take him all the way in without your throat burning from the tight stretch.

From your position on the floor, you could look up at any moment and see his conflicted features, he was holding back so you could learn properly— or so he told you.

He was being patient and generous with you, he didn’t want his student chocking on his dick on her first try.

“Careful with those teeth, don’t want my dick bruised”. you hummed and he groaned, loving the way it felt when you did that. A desperate cry left your lips when you couldn’t stuff his dick completely inside, it was so thick and long that it almost embarrassed you to think you could take it without a problem. He noticed that and caressed your hair reassuringly, holding your nape and pushing you down carefully. “Slow, take your time yeah?”.

Breathing through your nose, you held back your tears and let him take the lead. You tried so hard not to gag, thinking about other things like the rough fabric of the tapestry beneath your knees, just to distract your mind from the pressure his dick was inducing your throat in.

But it was futile.

He tried to pull you all the way down but when he heard your muffled gag, he stopped, leaving you to catch your breath, not minding the way your nails dug into his hips trying to push away from him. He held you in place and consoled you.

“It’s alright, don’t worry, it’ll pass… I thought you were ready to take this lesson, tch… I think we should stop now”. The voice that was once filled with lust, now was filled with mockery.

You made a sound denying his request, taking a deep inhale through your nose and engulfing his shaft inside your mouth again, almost going all the way down— it was still a hard task but you found a way to accommodate more of him inside.

“God help me…”. He murmured, eyes shooting up to the ceiling, chest heaving up and down, balls tight and jaw locked. If he kept clenching his teeth like that, they’d surely fall out.

Charlie couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, the way your mouth was full of his dick and mouth corners were glistening with a mixture of spit and cum, traveling all the way to your chin and jaw, made his mind spiral with lust and exasperated groans to leave his lips— he didn’t want to cum so soon.

You were doing so good for him, so good… Even if he wanted to blame himself for falling into temptation, he couldn’t think about that now— about the hopefulness on your mother’s face when he accepted this task. He wanted to make it right. So he was going to give his all, even if it meant tarnishing your innocence with his selfish and lust filled soul.

You started sucking his dick as if you were drinking through a straw, a tiny gasp leaving your mouth the moment his hips jerked, filling your mouth with his dick entirely, no restrictions, without consideration... Your eyes opened wide, nails digging again in his thighs, tapping incessantly on them to make him stop. You couldn’t breath, but you could hear his own moan ring through the room.

Your protests fell into deaf ears, Charlie’s hips kept fucking your mouth as if he was fucking your pussy— with a hunger equivalent to that of the abstinent man he was.

Even if he wanted to stop, he couldn’t. He felt so good he didn’t find it in himself to cease the attack on your mouth, he wanted you to learn, so stopping now would be wasting all the hard work he’d been doing.

Tears escaped the corners of your tight closed eyes, your clit throbbed with every push of his hips and moans he left out, you were so enjoying it even if it hurt a bit, even if it was hard to breath you didn’t want him to stop, not when he tasted this good.

“I’m gonna cum now, princess— won’t do that while I’m inside your mouth, but I want you to keep it open, tongue out”, he instructed, pulling his reddened dick out of your mouth with a pop, a thread of saliva and cum keeping it connected to your lips.

Your mouth opened and your tongue peeked out, showing the thin layer of cum that accumulated on your pink muscle. You watched as his hand grabbed his dick, jerking it up and down with desperation.

He lasted a few seconds before he came, white spurts of cum falling all over your chin and inside your mouth, “Swallow”, he ordered before you did exactly that. Charlie smiled, hand lifting up to wipe the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb, pushing it inside your mouth with more of his cum.

“That’s it… don’t waste any of it”.

[sevsgiirl]

— piss her off ‘til she hates me, pt. 1

pt. 2, pt. 3

mechanic!sevika x reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: when the vacant house next to sevika’s finally got new tenants she didn’t think much of it. as long as her new neighbors didn’t cause any trouble, all was well. that is until she found out the neighbor had a young daughter.

word count: 9k words.

tags: age difference, alternate universe, mechanic!sevika, brat!reader, enemies to lovers, oral sex, dom!sevika, sub!reader, pet names, scissoring, fingering, hate sex, vaginal fingering.

note: for clarification, reader is 20 years old while sevika is her canon age in this (38-40)

you can check out the fic playlist here.

sevika wasn’t the buddy-buddy type when it came to her neighbors.

as someone who mostly kept to herself, she preferred to be left to her own devices, granted she wasn’t necessarily unapproachable. if you’d knock on her door to borrow some tools, she’d likely lend you hers. have some problems with your plumbing? on a good day, she’d offer to fix it herself.

she’d even attend the annual neighborhood barbecue sometimes, but she wasn’t the type to knock on doors and welcome the new people who had just moved in with freshly baked cookies. that’s something she left vander to do.

so when the vacant house adjacent to hers finally got some new occupants after the previous tenant moved out 3 months ago (a friendly old woman named babette who she would never admit to missing, she and her homemade lasagna she’d offer sevika for dinner) she didn’t think much of it.

but she was curious, so she peeked through her blinds to get a good look at the new tenants, trying to assess what she had to deal with.

when she looked, she was simply greeted by a man who looked to be in his 50s hauling out boxes - slouched posture, flannel button-up, and leather boots. he had the tiredness in his eyes that indicated he was just an everyday samaritan. she was happy about that because she liked her peace.

but before she was about to close her blinds again, a new figure caught her eye. this one younger, miles younger, who sported beaten up doc martens, ripped black shorts that ridden up too high around the rear area that sevika was quick to avert her gaze when she stared too long, and a loose fitted top that was sliced around one shoulder, leaving it exposed.

with painted black nails and eyelids adorned with dark eye shadow, sevika watched as you got out of the front seat of the moving truck and inspected the house in front of you with an intense gaze. before a small smirk made its way to your face, the kind she knew only meant trouble.

“looks great, dad!”

sevika couldn’t believe this.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

it’s not that sevika wasn’t fond of people younger than her.

she was just too old to handle any of their shit. not that being forty-one was geriatric by any means, but she liked her peace, and she couldn’t necessarily have that if she had someone twice younger than her living just down the block. the possibility of house parties being thrown already sending shivers down her spine.

she already had vander’s daughters out of her hair, and even then she heard from him they’re coming back home for their semester break this week so that’s another problem to deal with. you couldn’t be too far from their age range either, probably closer to vander’s eldest, violet. which relieved her in a way.

she hasn’t even spoken to you yet but she dreads the day she’ll ever need to. but it seems as though your father heard her prayers because it didn’t take long after the moving truck drove off when a sudden knock came from her front door, making her raise her eyebrow.

she opened it and just her luck she was greeted by your father, a soft smile on his face as he gave her a gentle wave “hi there, me and my daughter just moved in and I wanted to formally introduce myself.”

sevika gave him a curt nod “I noticed. welcome to the neighborhood.”

again, she wasn’t the type to knock on people’s doors and give them a formal introduction to the whole damn block. the only way she ever got to know people was when word got around about her being the town’s mechanic. she was mostly acquainted with the fathers and uncles, meanwhile the women her age she preferred to sleep with. occasional flings here and there, nothing serious.

the only people she’d consider her friends were vander and silco, and perhaps some of her co-workers back at the mechanic’s shop but they lived elsewhere.

it was hard for her to truly get along with someone, albeit she isn’t opposed to making friends, it’s just something that takes time. she’s a tough cookie.

your father, on the other hand, seemed civil enough. sevika didn’t even notice the container he carried with him until he lifted it “well, my daughter baked some brownies and I thought maybe I’d give you some. wouldn’t hurt to befriend a few folks on the first day, and well, you do live next door.”

she eyed the container while she debated whether to return the gesture or not, and as she thought long and hard about it, she didn’t want to appear like an asshole.

“care for a cup of coffee, then?”

and that’s how she found herself sitting across from your father at her kitchen table, with him sipping his coffee while she chugged her third can of beer of the day.

despite herself, your father was pretty pleasant. thirty minutes of mundane chatting and she’s already gotten to know quite a bit about him - widowed and left to take care of his only daughter, your mother dying while you were only eleven years old. breast cancer. she offered a bit of sympathy which he appreciated.

“never got remarried?” she couldn’t help but ask.

your father laughed softly, shaking his head “no, can’t. when she died a part of me died with her, and I don’t think anybody can truly fill that void. plus I don’t think my daughter would be on board. not that she wouldn’t let me, she never cared but I know she still thinks about her mom a lot.”

sevika let out a hum “I get it. my mom died when I was young too. it never got easier.”

“it doesn’t.” he replied “she’s twenty now. a sophomore in college but sometimes I do feel like she’s clinging onto that part of herself when her mom was still alive. she became a bit rebellious after that. threw herself to drinking at sixteen, I tried to stop her which worked when she finally became eighteen, but her habits still kick in.”

sevika would be lying if she said she didn’t feel bad for the old man. she didn’t have any kids and quite frankly, has no intention of having any in the near future, but she can only imagine how difficult it’d be to see your child spiral like that and have it be out of your control.

“she’s doing a lot better now?” she asked.

your father nodded, although it seemed a bit uncertain “I think so. she’s on her mid-semester break and will be back by the end of the month.”

sevika sighed internally at that, at least she won’t have to worry about you potentially becoming a problem for too long.

her and your dad conversed a bit more after that - about how he decided to move here because he a got new job in town, and how your college was located two hours away, making him think that your visits would be limited given how you don’t like traveling for long hours (again, another win for her) he also asked her about her prosthetic arm ‘bad car crash. got stuck and had to get it amputated’ she explained and he gave a sympathetic look in return.

soon, she led him up to her front door. it was nearing the evening anyway, but she surprisingly appreciated the company.

“sorry if I took up much of your time, sevika.” your father apologized and she smiled. a genuine one.

“it’s no bother. if you ever need help don’t be afraid to ask.” sevika said and she meant it.

your father offered a grateful nod, walking down her driveway and next door to his house. when sevika looked, there you were waiting for him.

you decided to change into something more comfortable since you arrived. a tight-fitted black tank top with thin straps and grey cotton shorts that exposed your legs to the cold air. you didn’t seem to be wearing a bra either and given the weather, she could notice your nipples poking through the fabric even from where she stood.

sevika shook her head. goddammit . she just made friends with your old man and here she was ogling at his daughter. she wasn’t even supposed to like you.

as your father walked up to your front door he sent her one last wave goodbye, which made you finally look at her.

for that brief moment, your eyes locked. she couldn’t decipher that look on your face when you studied her, arms crossed as you cocked your head to side while your father spoke “she’s our next door neighbor, sweetheart. sevika, meet my daughter!” she only smiled awkwardly while you continued staring at her.

suddenly, that same smirk made its way to your face again, opening your mouth to respond “hi sevika,” you said, your voice sultry and sickeningly sweet. sevika hated that it did something to her.

you didn’t give her time to acknowledge your greeting before you turned on your heel and went back inside, and she didn’t even realize her chest tightened the entire time you two made eye contact until you were finally out of sight, making her breathe normally again.

[ilyrafe]

𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: ex!rafe cameron x ex!f!reader

warnings: angst, pregnancy scare

word count: 1.6k

“i need to talk to you, it’s urgent. can i come over?”

the text catches rafe by surprise as he hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks. since the breakup, to be specific.

despite not being your boyfriend anymore, rafe still cares for you a great deal, and you rarely text him stuff like this, so it must be serious.

“of course.”

he puts his phone down and begins to wonder what must have happened for you to break your own idea of going no contact.

this has been killing him, not being able to talk to you. he misses you more than he anticipated and it sucks. it’s horrible not having you around, and the saddest bit is that he has no one else to blame but himself.

him and his ways.

half an hour later, he hears a knock on the door and before he can stand up from the chair, you come in. you seem anxious. terrified, even.

“hey.”

“hey, what’s so urgent?”

“i’m late.” you say, but rafe frowns, not quite understanding what you mean. “i’m late, rafe.”

“late?”

“my period, rafe. i’m late.”

oh.

oh, no.

“h-how late are you? i thought you took the pill!”

“i did, but i am a week late. so, i wanna know what we’re gonna do about it.”

rafe needs to breathe, it seems that all the air has left the room. he takes a step back and rubs his face with both hands, trying to be rational.

you’re probably pregnant with his child. this is not how he imagined this was going to happen. it turns out, rafe is quite traditional.

“what do you want to do?”

you seem a bit surprised with his question.

“i… i don’t know, rafe. we’re too young.”

“i’m good with whatever you decide. if you want to keep it, i won’t, uh, i won’t be absent. i’ll provide for you both, i’ll do everything i have to. and if you don’t want to keep it, i’ll pay for it.”

this isn’t going how you were expecting, if you’re being honest. you expected a fight, you expected rafe to claim it wasn’t his child, but… he’s being mature about it, which is new.

truthfully, you don’t know what you want. sure, you’d like children, but not now. not when you’re nineteen and don’t have a clue about what you’re doing in life. not when you don’t have a partner, a job, a house. not when the father of your child is rafe cameron, a drug addict with anger issues.

“i’d like to buy some tests first before i decide what i want to do.”

he nods and takes his car keys, leading you out of the office and taking you to his car.

it doesn’t take long for him to drive you to the nearest drugstore. when he parks the car, you don’t move an inch.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

“i can’t believe this is happening to me.” you say, not being able to hold the tears any longer. this is a nightmare. “what am i gonna tell my parents?”

“you’ll tell them the truth. you’re pregnant and you won’t be doing this alone, i’m here.”

you look at rafe quite skeptically and try your best to believe him, but he’s broken your trust so many times before, it’s difficult to see any honesty in his words.

“not telling them anything and getting an abortion is also an option, you know? we don’t have to tell anybody. whatever it is that you decide, i’m cool with it.”

for your own sake, you choose to believe him and wipe away your tears before you exit his car and go to the drugstore.

you try not to look so suspicious, but you’re looking around, to make sure no one you know is there, and thankfully you’re safe. you buy three different tests and quickly come back to rafe’s car.

the drive back home is excruciating. you can already picture your future as a single mother. you fear what your parents will say if you are indeed pregnant, which you probably are. you’re never late. when you were two days late, you thought it was odd, but then the days kept passing by and nothing happened.

then you did the math.

rafe, on the other hand, is actually happy that you might be pregnant with his child. he always knew he wanted to be a father. this is probably not the best time because you’re not a couple, you’re not really adults, and you don’t really have a stable life, but hey, this is what happens when you have unprotected sex. sure, you took the pill, but no contraceptive is one hundred percent effective.

this kid may be rafe’s only chance to have you somehow linked to him forever and that isn’t a bad thing necessarily… right?

once you’re back to tanney hill, you and rafe nearly run to his bedroom and he makes sure to lock the door so no one can catch them. you open them all and read all the instructions to do it right. you enter his bathroom and once you’re done, rafe has expectant eyes.

“so?”

“we have to wait five minutes.”

“oh, let me set a timer.”

he pulls up his phone and sets a five minute timer while you sit on his bed and sigh as you look up, trying to remain calm, but you can’t.

“i think we should talk about our… possibilities.”

“what possibilities?”

“if you are pregnant and want to keep it, you won’t be doing this alone, okay? i promise. i know this isn’t ideal, but… we’ll get through it. money isn’t a problem.”

“rafe, this isn’t the point. i don’t want to have a baby at nineteen with someone who isn’t my husband. like, i respect the ones who do it, but i don’t want this to be my life.”

rafe chuckles. you’re such a goodie-goodie, he wonders how the hell he managed to get you to date him.

“c’mon, you’ll be a great mom.” he says, truthfully. “you’re great with kids and you’re so caring, so understanding.”

you look at him and chuckle.

“that’s not only what it takes to be a mother.”

“but that’s also important.”

you lie down on his bed and take a deep breath. if rafe wasn’t so unstable, you’d consider having his baby, but… he’s not. he’s being good now, but you can’t predict how he’s going to be tomorrow morning and you can’t raise a child in this environment. you know better than that.

“if you’re keeping the baby, i’m getting clean.” he says. “i’ll quit everything.”

“rafe…”

“i’m serious. i don’t want my kid to be afraid of me, to be in danger because of me.”

the last part breaks your heart a little, as it was one of the reasons why you decided to break things off with him.

“that’s… that’s good to know.”

“i know we don’t need to be married to have a kid, but it’d be nice to, i don’t know, try again.”

“you want to get back together because i’m pregnant?” you snort.

“i want to get back together because i miss you and i love you, and since you might be pregnant, i think it’d be better for us to try again, so our baby can have a full family. you know, mom and dad in the same space.”

our baby. hearing rafe say such things make you even more confused and aggravated, only because you know, deep down, rafe isn’t the right guy for you, as much as you love each other. you know you’re too good for him because even barry told you so.

“he’s a lost cause, y/n. don’t be wastin’ your time with him, he’ll get you in trouble and you don’t deserve that.”

“stop saying things like that, rafe. please, this isn’t the time.” you plead, trying not to cry.

god knows how difficult it was to end things with him, because you love him oh so much. as cliché as it sounds, he’s really not like the other guys. he’s sweet, caring, funny and smart, but he also keeps setting himself up for failure and you’ve realized you can’t fix him and that realization alone broke you in tiny little pieces.

it’s like they say, loving someone is also learning to let them go and this is what you’ve been trying to do. it kills you that you told him to never talk to you again, because you miss his voice. you miss his jokes. you miss hearing his voice saying your name or whatever silly nickname he comes up with.

his phone rings, startling you both. once again, you don’t move, so rafe takes you by the hand and enter his bathroom with you. on the counter, you take the tests and see the results.

negative

negative

negative

the relief you feel is indescribable. you can finally breathe.

“what does it say?” he asks, a bit anxious.

“they’re all negative.” you respond, showing him the tests.

“oh,”

“oh, my god.” you sigh, smiling for the first time in a week. you turn to rafe and give him a hug. “thank you, rafe.”

rafe hugs you back, basking in the feeling of having you back in his arms again. for a few seconds, he allows himself to forget you both are broken up and just had a pregnancy scare. for a few seconds, you’re his again and nothing else matters.

“you okay?”

“now i am.” you chuckle, wiping away new tears.

“d’you want me to drive you home?”

“no, no, it’s okay. i’ve bothered you too much today.” you say, jokingly.

whenever you said that, he always said you never bother me, but he figures now it would be inappropriate.

“call me if you need anything, okay?”

“okay. thank you.”

you give him one last smile before you get your things and leave tanney hill, feeling light as a feather, not at all suspecting that rafe feels like absolute shit.

when you pictured your life as a single mother, rafe saw himself with a family. his own family. the people he would do anything and everything for, the people he would love endlessly.

the only hope he had of having you back in his life, the only thing that would make him turn his life around, the only person who would make him want to be a better person.

it never existed.

tell me what you think! i love feedback <3

[mystic-writings]

ink on skin | daryl dixon

PAIRING — daryl dixon x fem!soulmate!reader

REQUEST — anon — hello! could you do an angsty story with daryl dixon? fem reader please <3 

SUMMARY — daryl gave up on the concept of soulmates long ago, even with the words marked on his wrist. and then he found you.

WARNINGS — canon-typical scenarios, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, soulmate au

WORD COUNT — 3,573

NOTES — this was supposed to be part of a really long collection of prompt drabbles from years ago but i found it in my docs and turned it into something a lot longer <3 it’s not the best (i couldn't for the life of me work out a good ending), but i think this might be one of my faves i’ve written bc of how poetic the first few paragraphs are 

masterlist | navigation | requests are open!

Daryl gave up on the concept of soulmates long before the world ended. He gave up on it when he was just a boy, when his mother died and his father stopped showing love. When he was told by his peers, his brother, his father, that no one would ever want him to stay with them, because he just wouldn’t be wanted by anyone. 

He grew to loathe the words on his wrist from a very young age. He did everything he could to cover them — makeup he stole from his aunt, long-sleeved shirts, bracelets, you name it. He’d even gotten used to not glancing at the ink scribed on his left wrist, making sure that no matter what, his eyes never fell on them. 

But even when he hated the words that sat there, waiting to be spoken by someone who cared, someone who wanted him, he couldn’t deny the countless nights he spent awake, tracing each letter and imagining what his soulmate’s voice sounded like. How would they say those three little words? What would they look like? When would he meet them? 

Daryl missed the feeling of being wanted. He only ever felt it when he was with his mother, when he was a young boy who didn’t know anything but that the sky was blue and soulmates were real and his father was mean. He hasn’t felt wanted — truly wanted — for a long, long time, not even when he found the group. 

Over time, with the loathing came the forgetting of the words marked on his wrist. By the time the world ended, Daryl had almost completely abandoned the reality of having a soulmate, and he rarely ever thought about it. In fact, he felt some relief in the fact that the world had ended. The chances of him finding ‘the one’ had lowered significantly now that most of the population was undead, and he had no reason to worry about being better for someone just to make it seem like he was worth loving anymore. 

For almost three years, he lived with the relief of likely not having a soulmate anymore. 

Today was an ordinary day, especially for the Alexandrians. At least, it seemed like an ordinary day. The sun was shining, people were milling around, crops were growing. But underneath the surface was something that no one wanted to address. Fear. 

Negan was beginning his wrath on the community that could barely keep itself alive. He demanded supplies, and he demanded a lot of them. So, half of Daryl’s people had gone out on runs to look for stuff. Food, clothes, medicine, whatever they could bring back. Daryl was among that group, taking a car as opposed to his motorbike and going to a high school with Carol.

At first, he volunteered to go alone, but she reasoned with him. It was too big of an area for him to cover on his own, she said. He could get hurt, or worse. And it was Carol, how could he deny her? She was his best friend, after all. So, Daryl drove in silence, Carol in the passenger seat, staring curiously at him. 

The feeling of her eyes on his annoyed him to no end, and eventually, the archer caved. 

“There somethin’ on my face or wha’?”

“Nothing,” Carol chirped. “Just… thinking.” 

“‘Bout wha’?” Daryl asked, sparing a glance at the woman. 

Carol shrugged, eyeing her friend. “About those words, on your arm.” 

Daryl tensed, shifting his posture to hopefully hide them from Carol’s view. “And?”

“Well, they’re not gone, for one.” She stated, a lilt in her voice. “And they’re… interesting first words for a soulmate, don’t you think?”

“How am I supposed ta know? I ain’t never seen anyone else’s tattoos. And it ain’t like I got a good chance of meetin’ ‘em, with all this shit goin’ on.” Daryl grumbled, watching Carol shrug and avert her gaze, looking ahead at the road. 

“Just saying… I wouldn’t give up hope, Daryl.” 

How would Carol know whether or not he should give up hope? Sure, she’d been the person closest to him aside from Rick, but even she knew nothing about his soulmate. Hell, he was still trying to figure out how she knew exactly what words marked his wrist. Still, he shook the thoughts from his head and continued the drive in silence, as though nothing had been spoken between the pair. 

Somehow, the high school Daryl and Carol had arrived at seemed to be completely abandoned. 

There were no walkers roaming around outside the grounds, most of the windows were intact, and the parking lot was practically void of cars. It was a small town, but from what Daryl could remember of the high schools they’d driven past or looted during their time at the prison, he figured most high schools in small towns — like this one, in particular — would’ve been turned into aid camps for refugees. 

Even with no signs of life, Carol and Daryl kept their weapons up as they entered through the main doors. 

Flashlight beams swept over every inch of the school, and it became clear as to why there were no walkers. Rotting bodies littered the linoleum floors, dried blood splattered over tile and wall and metal lockers. A stench that the pair had, unfortunately, gotten used to, permeated the air, filling their guts with a permanent feeling of nausea. 

The first place they’d found was the nurse’s office, and while there wasn’t much in the way of medicines, there were supplies that Alexandria was lacking. Gauze, tension wraps, bandaids, generic over the counter medicines like ibuprofen and Gravol. Whatever was left, Carol loaded into the backpack she’d brought, filling it to the brim with what they found. 

“Cafeteria should be this way,” she nodded down the hall, flashlight sweeping across the path before they exited. 

Passing by empty classroom after empty classroom, Daryl said, “Migh’ need some of this stuff for later, when the kids get older, ya know? Be good for ‘em to learn.” 

“Yeah, it would be,” Carol nodded, eyes landing on a set of double doors to her right. “Maybe we’ll come back for all that stuff later.” 

Daryl grunted in affirmation, about to push the cafeteria door open with his shoulder. He paused as a loud thump echoed down the hall. His eyes flashed, followed by the beam of his flashlight, landing on a singular closed door, a plastic chair propped under the handle. 

“Leave it,” Carol advised. “It’s just a walker.” 

Daryl nodded, but his eyes lingered on the door for a moment. Deciding to leave it be, he pushed the cafeteria door open, finding it empty yet again. The pair crossed the large area to the hot table, where they could already see some canned goods lying about on the tables. 

“If there were people here,” Carol began, “why wouldn’t they have taken the food with them when they left?”

“Why’s that matter?” Daryl asked, propping his crossbow against the wall and pulling out his knife. He knelt by the door to the kitchen, putting his flashlight down and wedging the blade between the frame. “‘S more for us, ‘s all that matters. Don’ gotta question everythin’,” 

Carol said nothing, keeping her flashlight trained on the door for Daryl to use as extra light. 

After prying open the door, the pair used a cart to transport the mounds of large, sealed canned goods. With Carol pulling and Daryl pushing, they’d made quick work of the first two trips they needed to make, loading their trunk as best as they were able. 

On their way out of the third and final trip, Carol held the cafeteria door open as Daryl pushed the half-full cart, stopping abruptly as the door started to swing shut behind him. 

“What? What is it?”

“I hear somethin’,” Daryl muttered, straining his ears to listen for the noise again. He listened for what felt like decades, and just when he thought he was going crazy, he heard it again. “There,”

“What? I didn’t hear anything,” Carol said. 

“Nah, I heard it. Comin’ from this way,” he gestured down the part of the hall they hadn’t bothered exploring. Slowly, focused entirely on identifying the noise, Daryl crept down the hall, a confused Carol following him. 

Just as he’d been passing the room with the chair blocking the door, Daryl heard two sounds: a dull thunk, and a hiccuping cry. He stopped, turning to the door that had drawn his attention before. 

“Daryl, it’s just a walker,” Carol insisted. “Let’s go, we got what we need.” 

The archer didn’t listen, footfalls nearly silent against the linoleum as he approached the door, knife raised. In quick motions, Daryl pulled the chair from the door, sending it down the hall with a resounding screech, grabbing at the handle and pulling it open. The hinges squeaked as he peered within the dark, small room — a supply closet, he’d discerned from the cleaning products lining the shelves. All sense of danger left him when he wasn’t met with a walker, but instead a girl, her body half-laying, half-sitting, propped against the wall. 

Daryl’s eyes widened, taking in her form. She was covered head to toe in dirt and grime, save for the clear tear tracks down her cheeks and neck. Her hair was matted, and the side of her calf, just above the ankle, was wrapped in dirtied bandages. Her only protection was a small knife, covered in dried blood, the handle of which rested in her limp hand. 

“Holy shit,” Daryl blurted, catching the attention of Carol, but barely gaining acknowledgement from the girl before him. 

Carol, peeking over Daryl’s shoulder, moved first. She darted around the archer’s broad frame, kneeling down at the girl’s calf. Peeling the bandage from her skin, Carol sighed in relief, finding a deep gash where she feared there might have been a bite mark. “She’s hurt,” Carol remarked, moving closer to search for a pulse. “And barely alive.” 

“Go bring the cart out, I’ll carry her out,” Daryl’s eyes never left the girl’s form as Carol left. Carefully, he scooped the girl into his arms, relief flooding him when a weak, protesting groan fell from her chapped lips.

There was no telling how long she’d been stuck in that closet, without food or water, simply left to die. And based on the chair propped against the door… it had been intentional. 

Daryl carried her to the car with ease, having Carol assist him as he laid you across the back seat, taking the time to make sure she would be secure as they drove. After confirming that everything was packed into the trunk, Daryl peeled out of the school parking lot, the drive back to Alexandria being much shorter than the one to the school. 

The sun was setting when the car passed the gates, and from there, things passed in a flurry of motion. Daryl carried the girl to the infirmary himself, watching Tara and Denise move about hastily to heal this mystery woman. 

“What happened to her?” Denise asked, cutting the bandage from her ankle. 

“Dunno,” Daryl huffed. “Found her like tha’. Musta been trapped for a while. Few days without water, at least.”

Denise only nodded, working to clean the wound and stitch it. She barely had the focus to think about the wound itself, how deep it was and the likelihood of infection setting in. Tara worked at cleaning the girl’s skin, inserting an IV into her hand like she’d been taught. 

The sun had set by the time they were done, the girl changed into new clothes and her skin cleaned of grime. Tara had been sitting by her side when Daryl came back to the infirmary, after going to the Grimes home to eat something and give as much information as he could to Rick and Michonne. 

“How’s she doin’?”

“As good as she can,” Tara smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think she’ll be waking up anytime soon, she’s like— super dehydrated. It’s been an hour and I’ve had to change the bag thingy twice already.”

Daryl grunted in acknowledgement, pulling up a chair on the other side of the girl’s bedside. He didn’t know much about her — or anything, really, not even her name — but even with her chapped lips and sickly look, he thought she was beautiful. And he also knew that whoever had left her in that closet had done so on purpose. He figured it might have been because of her injury, but it was cruel no matter which way he tried to paint it. 

He just hoped she’d be okay when she woke up. 

It took the mystery girl three days to wake up. Managing her health at a time where there weren’t any real supplies to use had been difficult, and it took all of Denise’s focus to make sure she had enough fluids. 

Waking up in an unfamiliar, oddly clean, room, on a bed, with no stench of rotting bodies wafting through the air was confusing, terrifying, and oddly comforting. 

Your body woke with a jolt, eyes snapping open like you’d woken from a nightmare of sorts. There was movement to your right, and you jumped back from it, frantic eyes finding a blonde girl attempting to calm you without touching you as best as she was able. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re safe.” She’d said, stressing the last word. “One of our guys found you in a supply closet and brought you here. He— He said you were half dead.” 

Pure fear and confusion kept your mouth shut. The girl kept talking, asking questions, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to any of it. The pain in your leg hadn’t been of any help, pulsing and throbbing with every slight movement. 

By the time she’d realized you weren’t going to respond, she sighed and moved over to the kitchen to your right. When she came back, she placed some food and a tall glass of water on the bedside table, backing away slowly as she spoke. “I’m Denise. The man who found you, Daryl, is on his way to see you. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable talking to him?”

The idea of speaking to anyone, even the man you vaguely remember before passing out due to dehydration, made your stomach roll. Still, you picked up the plate, gratefully digging into the food you were given. Drinking the water, you relished the feeling of it sliding down your throat. Water was something you hadn’t had in what felt like years, and you’d be damned if you didn’t cherish what you’d been given. 

As you finished up, the door creaked open, and your body stiffened. You watched a burly, reserved man step inside, his movements hesitant. You watched Denise approach, whispering something to him — likely about you. Presuming this was Daryl, you willed yourself to relax, even as you pulled your knees tight to your chest, arms locked around them. 

You watched him approach the bedside, standing awkwardly beside you as you looked into his eyes. Strikingly blue, surprisingly soft. 

“Hey. Ya alright?” He asked. His voice was rough, southern accent awfully thick. But his words sounded soft, somehow. Small. Like he was trying not to frighten you. 

All you could manage was a nod. He huffed, nodding back, clearly somewhat relieved that you were at least communicating somehow. You kept your eyes on him, tracing every inch of his face and his clothes. It was clear to you, though you were unsure of how, that he must’ve been built for this world. Daryl seemed out of place in this clean, crisp, white room, and when you pictured him in the woods, he seemed to blend right in. 

After a moment, he turned and went back to talk to Denise. They spoke in hushed whispers, and you thought back to the exchange you’d just had. Your mind had been reeling, so caught up in the entire situation, that the words Daryl had spoken didn’t register. And neither did the tingling across the inside of your wrist. 

Pulling down the sleeve of your shirt, your fingers grazed at the skin where the words you’d been waiting your whole life for the right person to say used to be. With wide eyes, you found the words gone, replaced by a slight scar of where they had once been inscribed. It was surreal, and definitely not the time. 

“Hey,” Daryl called out as he came to stand beside you again, voice still soft despite its natural roughness. “Doc said ya can leave if ya want. I know ya don’t know me, but if ya want… ya can stay with me. I got a cot ya can sleep on, if yer okay with tha’,” 

You mustered up a small smile, nodding at the man before you — your soulmate. You’d been wishing to find him your entire life, but with the world ending, you put that aspiration aside. You certainly hadn’t expected to find him when you were at the brink of death, trapped by the selfish people you’d once considered family. 

Carefully, you slipped out from the blankets, stumbling as you put weight on your injured leg. Luckily, Daryl caught you, wrapping an arm around your waist as the other guided your arm to rest around his neck. Wordlessly, you watched his cheeks flush red as he shifted his weight before you began walking. 

It was painful, getting to the house he lived in. Not because of your leg, but because of the proximity. Along with the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to speak a single word, not even to him. 

As you settled into the large basement room he’d taken, he told you more about the community, about his people. The ones who lived here — Rick, Michonne, Carl, and Judith — were family to him. The others were the same, but they all lived in different homes. He laid out the cot as you sat on the bed, watching intently as his voice reverberated around the room, rattling your heart in your chest. 

“I know ya don’t talk much,” he huffed, rooting through a bag of his and pulling something out. “But ya can write, right?”

You nodded, watching a smile play on his lips as he handed you a notepad and pen. 

“Can ya tell me yer name, at least? So we can call ya somethin’ that ain’t jus’ ‘girl’?”

Smiling, you wrote out your name and handed the paper back to him. Your smile widened when you heard him say your name, meeting his eyes as he looked back up at you. 

“Ya can talk, right?” You nodded. 

Daryl nodded, leaving the pen and paper with you, just in case. “‘M gonna go find Rick, tell him yer stayin’ with me fer now. Alright?”

The thought of Daryl leaving you, of being alone, in an unfamiliar place, with no light aside from the window at the very top of the wall, shocked the fear back into you. As he turned, heading for the door that led to the stairs, your breath caught in your throat. As quickly as you were able, you reached out, grabbing the man’s wrist and pulling him back to face you. 

“Please, don’t leave.” You whispered, voice gravelly and strained. It surprised even you, eyes widening as you met Daryl’s gaze. But his carried a certain fear as his eyes tore from your own, locking onto the wrist you’d caught. 

Following his line of sight, your heart stuttered, watching the ink on his arm begin to fade into his skin, into the same imprinted scar of words that you had. 

“Yer…” he breathed, eyes filling with tears.

“Yeah,” you whispered, eyes watering, watching him as his eyes remained on his wrist. “Your soulmate.” 

Daryl pulled his wrist from your delicate hold, his mind on overdrive. He’d thought it ironic, that the apocalypse had only pushed him closer to his soulmate instead of further apart. And now, the words he’d been desperate to cover throughout his life were finally gone, and the woman that the universe decided was meant for him was sitting on his bed, saved from the cusp of death because of him. All because he couldn’t take his mind off the closet with the chair blocking the door. 

His hand came to his wrist, rubbing at the skin that was no longer tainted with words he thought would never be spoken. And despite all of the fear Daryl carried with him over the years, the gratefulness he had for the apocalypse and the relief that he’d never have to let down his soulmate when they saw that he wasn’t good enough for them, he felt none of it when he looked at you. 

All he could feel was happy. Relief, not that the world had ended, but that you were safe and healthy. 

And, all of a sudden, meeting your eyes, Daryl was okay with the idea of having a soulmate. All the words that had been spat his way growing up, all the times he was desperate to pretend like he didn’t have a soulmate didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was you. 

It would take time for Daryl to feel like he deserved you, he knew that. But you were here, and you were alive. That was enough for now.

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[scribblesofagoonerr]

𝑀𝑜𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓎 Our Girl: Growing Up | 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝐼𝓈 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒲𝑒'𝓁𝓁 𝒮𝑒𝑒

summary: leah's not ready to give up fighting for her girl.

our girl: growing up masterlist

Leah stormed into the social services building. Her heart pounded in her chest, fueled by a mix of fear and fury. She barely registered the startled looks from the staff as she marched to the front desk, her focus razor-sharp.

“I need to speak to the social worker in charge of my kid’s case. Right now!” Her voice cracked slightly, the strain of suppressed emotion evident.

She felt reassured, that you were safe and maybe, just maybe, things had changed.

Until the phone call with Mark had shattered that illusion.

The second he’d hung up on her without a word, without even letting her say goodbye, her gut had twisted in a way that she couldn’t ignore.

“Leah, wait–” Jordan jogged after her, placing a hand on Leah’s shoulder. She didn’t want to see Leah make a scene, but there was no stopping her once she’d set her mind to something, “This isn’t going to solve anything. Think about Monkey. I know you’re angry, but let’s not make this worse.”

Leah yanked her arm free, her fiery gaze locking with Jordan’s, “I am thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about her, Jord! She’s stuck with him in that house, and I can’t just sit back and let them lie to us,” Her voice wavered, but she pushed forward before her emotions could overtake her.

The receptionist opened her mouth to speak, but Leah cut her off, “I’m not leaving until I see her caseworker. Get them. Now.”

Jordan sighed but followed Leah into the small office as they were buzzed through. As they entered, your social worker, who had just finished taking notes about the latest visit, looked up in surprise.

“Leah. Jordan. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Your social worker asked, confused.

“No,” Leah snapped, losing her patience, “Nothing is okay. I want to know why you let my little girl live with that… with that monster! You had one job —to protect her— and you failed!”

“Leah–” Your social worker began to speak.

“The case needs to be reviewed, again!” Leah demanded, slamming her hands down on the desk, “Monkey is… Monkey is not okay, and I am not leaving here until you admit it!”

Your social worker blinked, recovering quickly, “Leah, I understand that you’re upset, but I’ve already been and spoken to Monkey, and she’s fine. She’s happy with her dad and she’s settled.”

“Happy? Settled?” Leah’s voice rose with each word, her anger spilling out, “That’s complete bullshit. Mark is a liar, and he’s got you fooled like everyone else. He’s good at pretending. How can you be so oblivious to not see through it?”

“Leah,” Jordan interjected softly, trying to calm her down.

“No, Jord, I’m not staying quiet about this. How can you look at me and tell me Monkey is happy when I know she isn’t?” Leah turned back to your social worker, tears shining in her eyes, “He’s pretending to be something he’s not. He hasn’t changed, and you’re putting her at risk by him by acting like he has.”

Your social worker sighed, her patience thinning, “Leah, I know you’re upset–”

“Upset? That doesn’t even begin to explain how I feel!” Leah’s voice cracked, raw with emotion, “Why are you not seeing what I am? It’s obvious Monkey isn’t happy. He’s lying. This whole thing is a lie!”

Your social worker’s professional calm was beginning to crack, “Leah, I know this is difficult for you, but Mark has made significant progress. I’ve seen it first-hand. He’s a good father to her. She’s comfortable with him, and that’s what matters–”

“Don’t tell me how I should feel!” Leah shot back, “You don’t know how I feel. If you believe she’s fine then you are just lying to yourself,” Leah shot back, “He’s not a good father. Not at al. When will you see that?”

“Leah…” Jordan tried again, her voice pleading.

“No, Jordan!” Leah’s voice rose, her desperation evident, turning back to look at your social worker, “How about you take into consideration the feelings of the scared nine-year-old you tore out of a home where she was happy and laughing until you stuck her back with her father – her father who is an abusive alcoholic might I remind you!”

“Mark isn’t the same man he was before,” Your social worker tried to defend.

Leah scoffed in disagreement, shaking her head, “Yeah right, a leopard never changes their spots– Look, I promised Jean I’d protect her. I promised. And now look where we are,” Her hands trembled as she exhaled a deep sigh, “This isn’t about me. This is about a scared, vulnerable little girl who deserves better.”

Your social worker took a deep breath, trying to regain control of the conversation, “Leah, I do understand your frustration, but you’re not her biological parent. Mark is. He has legal rights.”

“Biology means nothing!” Leah shouted, her voice shaking, “Do you even hear yourself?”

Jordan stepped forward suddenly, “Let me take her,” She said, her voice calm but resolute, “I’m older. I have a stable career. Surely there’s a way for us to take care of her.”

Your social worker hesitated, shaking her head, “I’m sorry but it’s not that simple. She’s already placed with her dad. Uprooting her again would only cause more harm,” She told them, “You two are both still young. It’s a big responsibility to raise a child, nonetheless, your own football career’s going on. She’s happy with her dad. Leave her be. You will still be able to visit and see her. Mark has made it clear he’s not going to stop that.”

“I phoned her the other night, he made some excuse that she’d gone to bed already. It wasn’t even 8 pm, I know her usual bedtime. He just lied as a way to stop me talking to her!”

“Maybe she was just over-tired? I’m sure Mark meant well,” Your social worker made up an excuse for him.

“Why… Why are you so blind to see what is going on?” Leah’s voice raised even more, the crack of emotion shining through, “There’s something not right, and I am not going to give up fighting for that little girl! Jean made it clear that she never… she never wanted her to go back to him. And you… you guys with your fancy desks and clipboards just willingly looked past the years of trauma that little girl has suffered and placed him back with him… back with a monster!” 

Jordan furrowed her brow, resting her hand on Leah’s arm, “Le, shouting isn’t gonna help.”

“No!” Leah snapped, harshly yanking her arm away, “I hope you realise that you have done more damage than you know– You’ve undone years of work that Jean did to get that little girl to be happy and carefree again after suffering at the hands of him!”

“Leah, I understand how much you care about her,” Your social worker said, her tone measured but firm, “But Mark is her biological father. He’s taken tremendous steps to improve, and we have to prioritise keeping families together. You’re not her legal guardian, so we’re not considering you for custody.”

Leah froze, disbelief etched across her face. Her voice trembled, low and simmering with frustration, ���Are you joking? You can’t… You can’t actually be serious. A few steps in the right direction won’t erase what’s done. They don’t undo the years of damage he caused! You’re wrong– he hasn’t changed, and you’re gambling with her life to prove otherwise.”

Your social worker began to speak but Leah was quick to continue her words.

Leah’s voice rose, the anguish breaking through, “I may not be her biological family, but I love that little girl. I’d do anything for her. And when something terrible happens, when she gets hurt because you chose to believe him, that’s on you. Every single bit of it.”

Without waiting for a response, Leah spun on her heel and stormed out of the office, her shoulders shaking with the effort of holding herself together. Jordan hesitated, offering the social worker a brief, apologetic glance before hurrying after her.

“Leah, wait!” Jordan called as they reached the car, her voice gentle but firm.

Leah stood rigid by the passenger door, her head bowed, “They’re not listening, Jord,” Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotion, “They don’t care. She’s just another case number to them. Another tick on their checklist.”

Jordan sighed, unlocking the car, “I know it feels tough right now. But we’ll figure this out, Le. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“Tough?” Leah’s laugh was bitter, hollow, the sound cutting through the stillness of the car park, “Tough doesn’t even begin to explain how this feels, Jordan. They’re refusing to see the truth – refusing to see him for what he is. She’s probably scared out of her mind right now, and they don’t even notice. How can they be so blind? So incompetent?”

Jordan opened the driver’s door but didn’t sit down. She leaned on the roof of the car, watching Leah carefully, “Leah, you’ve got to calm down. You’re exhausted. You’ve been running yourself into the ground over this, and I get it – You’re doing it because you love her. But you can’t let your anger cloud everything.”

Leah whipped her head toward Jordan, her eyes blazing, “Don’t tell me to calm down, Jordan! I’m not calming down – not about this. Not when she’s at risk. Not when they’re gambling with her life. Do you even understand what it feels like to be dismissed like this? Like I’m just some crazy woman who doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”

Jordan flinched but held her ground, “Of course, I understand, Leah. I’m not saying you’re wrong to feel this way. I’m just saying you can’t let it consume you. You need to take a step back and think clearly.”

“Step back?” Leah’s voice rose, incredulous, “Step back from what? From fighting for her? From trying to protect her because no one else will? That’s not an option, Jordan. Not for me.”

Jordan exhaled sharply, finally sliding into the driver’s seat, “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want to protect her too? But going into every conversation swinging like this – Le, it’s not helping. They see you as too emotional, too unstable–”

“Unstable?” Leah’s head snapped toward her, “You think I’m unstable because I care? Because I’m not willing to sit back and watch them hand her over to him? Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Jordan gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep her voice level, “Leah, that’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. But if you keep letting your emotions drive every interaction, they’re going to use it against you. You need a plan – facts, evidence – not just passion.”

Leah let out a harsh breath, staring at the window as tears pricked her eyes, “You don’t get it,” She whispered, her voice trembling, “You don’t understand what it’s like to feel this helpless. To know in your gut that you’re right, but no one cares enough to listen. That little girl deserves better than this, better than him. And I don’t know what to do anymore because they’ve already decided I’m not enough.”

Jordan’s heart softened at the raw pain in Leah’s voice. She reached over, placing a hand on Leah’s arm, “Le, I know this is breaking you. I know how much you love her – anyone with eyes can see that. But we can’t give up, okay? We’ll find a way to show them. You’re not in this alone.”

Leah didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the passing streetlights as Jordan started the car.

The drive home was fraught with silence, punctuated by bursts of tension-filled arguments that circled back to the same unresolved pain. Leah couldn’t shake the crushing weight of helplessness, the sting of being dismissed when everything in her screamed that something was wrong.

In her ideal world, your social worker would have seen through Mark’s facade, would have taken her concerns seriously, and would have trusted her with custody. But reality wasn’t on her side, and the fight felt lonelier with every step, leaving Leah to battle the system for you, her little girl, who meant everything to her.

Days soon turned into weeks before Leah was able to speak to you, and even then, when you were able to speak to her the phone calls were short. Leah could sense the happiness in your voice fading, it wasn’t like you at all.

Leah sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a glass of orange juice as she sat opposite her younger brother, Jacob, who shovelled cereal into his mouth with the enthusiasm only a 12-year-old could manage. She stared out of the window, her knee bouncing anxiously beneath the table. 

Amanda moved around the kitchen, tidying up and stealing glances at her daughter.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Amanda said casually, breaking the silence.

Leah shrugged, her lips pressing into a thin line, “Just thinking.”

“It’s weird when you’re not talking. You’re like… broken or something,” Jacob piped up with a mouthful of cereal, earning a sharp look from Amanda.

“Jacob,” Amanda warned, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Leah shot her brother a mock-annoyed look, “Hilarious, as always.”

Amanda leaned against the counter, crossing her arms, “Ignore him, Bubba. He’s just being cheeky. What’s on your mind?”

Leah hesitated, her fingers tightening around the glass, “Monkey has her first FA Cup game today. I’ve been debating whether to go.”

“You mean debating how much trouble you might stir up by going?” Amanda’s expression softened.

Leah let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping, “I just… I want to see her play, Mum. It’s such a big deal for her, and I know how hard she’s worked to get here. But I know Mark’s going to be there, and the last thing I want is to make things harder for her.”

“You’re not wrong to worry about that, Le,” Amanda said softly, “But this isn’t about Mark. It’s about Monkey. She’d be happy to see you there, even if she doesn’t say it outright.”

“What if I make things worse?” Leah frowned, her voice dropping, “I haven’t spoken to her properly since before that call when… when he hung up on me.”

“Bubba, you going there and showing up will mean more to Monkey than you realise,” Amanda stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Leah’s shoulder, “It shows her that you’re still there, still in her corner, and you still care about her. Mark can’t stop us from supporting her. This game is huge for her, and having you in the stands could mean the world to her.”

“It feels like she’s slipping through my fingers, Mum,” Leah admitted, her voice wavering, “She barely talks to me anymore, and I don’t know how to hold on to her.”

“You’re doing the best you can, Bubba,” Amanda reassured her, “Monkey’s going through something – whether it’s her age or something deeper – but the one thing she needs to know is that you’re there. And you’ve always been there for her.”

“She’s right, sis,” Jacob chimed in before attempting to slurp the milk out of the bowl, “You’ve never felt fear stop you before. Don’t start now, Le.”

Leah glanced at her little brother, surprised by sincerity, “Thanks, J.”

“And if Mark has a problem with you being there,” Amanda added firmly, “That’s his issue, not yours. You’re not going to let him dictate your bond with Monkey, are you?”

Leah shook her head, her resolve hardening, “No, you’re right. I’m not going to let him do that.”

“Good,” Amanda said with a small smile, “We’ll go. Sit in the stands, cheer her on, and let her see you’re there. Even if she doesn’t come running over, she’ll know. That’s what matters.”

“Okay,” Leah took a deep breath, her decision made, “Alright, we’ll go. If I don’t, I’ll regret it. She deserves to know she has someone there for her.”

Amanda squeezed her arm reassuringly, “Just be patient with her, Bubba. If she’s pulling away, there’s probably a reason for it, and it’s not about you.”

“I’ll be patient,” Leah’s voice softened, “I just want her to know she’s not alone. That I’m still here, and I still care about her.”

“Kick the ball,” Your dad stood on the sidelines, his arms crossed while his voice boomed over the noise of the game, “Take it from her! Don’t just stand there–don’t let her get past you!”

Leah and Amanda had just arrived, and immediately they noticed Mark standing near the pitch, barking commands at you from the sideline. His presence felt like a weight, heavy and overwhelming.

“He’s going to distract her,” Leah murmured, her voice tight as she watched your dad’s sharp tone cut through the air, “I can’t stand that man. I’m shocked the coach hasn’t said anything yet.”

“Try to ignore him, Bubba,” Amanda advised, her voice calm, though her gaze was hard as she followed Leah’s focus on your dad.

“That’s not easy to do when he’s shouting like that,” Leah muttered under her breath, her stomach churning as her eyes never left you, “To anyone watching, it might seem like he’s just a passionate dad. But to me… it’s like he’s suffocating her.”

“I get it,” Amanda agreed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “He seems… intense,” Her tone was low, like she was weighing his words carefully.

Leah scoffed, shaking her head, “That’s one word for it,” She said, her focus unwavering as she watched you sprint across the pitch, determination written across your every move. Despite the pressure your dad was putting on you, there was still a fire in you. Leah admired that, but she couldn’t help but it was clear how much pressure you were under.

A loud crunch broke through her thoughts as an opposing plyer slid in, taking you down with a hard tackle. You hit the ground, clutching your ankle, and the game momentarily paused as the referee blew the whistle.

“Monkey…” Leah’s voice caught, her breath hitched as she watched you crumple to the ground.

“Oh, get up!” Your dad’s voice cut through the concerned murmurs of the crowd, his tone cold, “You’re fine! Shake it off and get back up!”

“The more that man speaks, the more I can’t stand him,” Leah’s jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists. She wanted nothing more than to march down there and tell him to back off, “Does he realise he’s the only parent shouting? God, he’s awful.”

Amanda placed a steadying hand on her arm, “Bubba, stay calm,” She said softly, her voice an anchor in the storm of Leah’s emotions.

You hesitated on the ground, tears threatening to spill as you glanced toward the stands. For just a moment, your gaze locked with Leah’s, and a flicker of something passed through you - joy, relief, maybe even a glimpse of hope.

But then your father’s sharp gaze cut through the moment, and you quickly masked your emotions, returning to the game.

The referee signalled for play to continue, and you pushed yourself to your feet, shaking off the pain in your ankle. With a renewed focus, you rejoined the game, your movements fluid as you evaded the opposition, your determination a visible focus on the pitch.

And then, it happened.

A clean strike. The ball flew past the goalkeeper and into the net. The crowd erupted in cheers, and your dad’s voice was the loudest, his pride evident as he shouted your name.

“Yes! That’s my kid!” His voice boomed, as he clapped and pumped his fist in the air.

Leah couldn’t help but smile, her chest swelling with pride for you despite the tension still lingering in the air, “Go on, Monkey!” She called, her voice filled with warmth, “That’s my girl. That’s my Monkey.”

But your dad’s elation didn’t last. His eyes, once gleaming with joy, darkened as they landed on Leah and Amanda. His celebratory expression felted into a scowl, lips tight with displeasure.

Amanda noticed first, her gaze sharp as she leaned toward Leah, “Let him scowl all he wants, Bubba,” She said calmly, “We’re here for Monkey, not him.”

Leah exhaled a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, “I know,” She said, her voice steadying, “He can’t stop me from being here from her.”

“Exactly,” Amanda said, nodding in agreement. She joined the others in cheering and clapping, mouthing words of encouragement in hopes that you would see them.

You did see them, and though you longed to run to them after the game, you knew you couldn’t – Not with your dad watching your every move. Instead, you straightened your shoulders, gave a small nod to yourself, and jogged back into position, focusing solely on the game. As the game continued, Leah struggled with the impulse to run down to the pitch, to wrap you in comfort and safety, and Amanda noticed that.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Bubba?” Amanda asked gently, her voice soft with understanding.

Leah sighed, her shoulders slumping in frustration, “I just… I want to run down there, scoop her up, and tell her how proud I am of her. But there’s no chance of that with him watching her like a hawk.”

“There’ll be a time for it, I’m sure of it,” Amanda gave a small, reassuring smile, her tone calm but firm.

Leah watched you intently, unable to look away, her heart swelling with admiration as you blocked out the noise and kept pushing forward through the rest of the game.

“I still don’t understand that phone call,” Leah admitted, her thoughts shifting back to the time when your dad had hung up on her, and the way she had seen you retreat into yourself since then. 

It hurt to see you so withdrawn, but Leah knew that wasn’t you—that wasn’t the cheeky, spirited person she had always known. It was the version of you that had learned to protect yourself, to keep people at a distance.

But today, despite everything, Leah saw a glimpse of the girl she knew—strong, determined, and willing to rise above.

As the final whistle blew, securing the victory for your team, the crowd erupted into cheers. Leah’s heart swelled with pride, her smile beaming from ear to ear.

“I knew she had it in her, my little superstar,” Leah said, her voice filled with pure joy. Not even the presence of your dad could dull her excitement, “I’m so proud of her, Mum.”

Amanda’s gaze softened as she watched you, her own smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “She certainly has that magic touch with the ball,” She agreed, her voice full of admiration.

As the teams began to gather at the sidelines, Leah’s eyes locked on your dad as he strode toward you, his hand landing firmly on your shoulder. She noticed the way your body stiffened at his touch, his subtle tension that spoke volumes. No harsh words were exchanged, but the interaction sent a familiar gut-wrenching unease through Leah’s chest.

“She’s scared of him,” Leah murmured, her voice tight with restrained emotion.

Amanda followed Leah’s gaze, her expression hardening, “I see it,” She said softly, her tone steady but laced with quiet disapproval.

Leah’s jaw clenched as she watched the interaction, her fists tightening at her sides. She wanted nothing more than to march over and pull you away from him, to shield you from the weight of his presence. But she knew she couldn’t – not yet, not like this.

“She shouldn’t have to feel like this,” Leah whispered, her voice trembling with frustration, “Not around him. Not around anyone.”

“I know, Bubba,” Amanda placed a calming hand on Leah’s arm, her steady presence grounding her, “But we have to tread carefully. For her sake.”

Leah exhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay seated even as every fibre of her wanted to intervene. Her gaze never left you, watching as you nodded stiffly at your dad’s words, your face a mask of indifference that only Leah could see through.

“She’s stronger than he realises,” Amanda said quietly, her eyes also fixed on you, “And so are you, Le. Remember that.”

Leah nodded, her determination hardening, “I’ll get her out of this, Mum. Whatever it takes. I’m not giving up on her.”

Leah stood near the edge of the pitch, her arms crossed tigthly over her chest as she watched the exchange between your dad and you. Even from a distance, she could see the tension radiating off both of you. Your shoulders were hunched, your slightly bowed, and your dad’s sharp gestures only seemed to drive you further into yourself.

“Why is she here?” Your dad’s voice cut through the post-match buzz like a knife, his words directed at you with unmistakable anger.

“I… I don’t know,” You stammered, your voice barely audible.

“Clearly, you do,” His tone was venomous, and Leah felt her stomach churn, “I don’t like her being here. She shouldn’t be here!”

“I swear, Dad, I didn’t tell her,” You protested, your voice shaky as you glanced around nervously. Leah’s chest tightened at the sight – she could see the fear in your eyes, the way you were trying to placate him.

After what felt like an eternity, your dad gave a derisive snort and shook his head, dismissing your words with a wave of his hand, “Sloppiness,” He muttered under his breath, loud enough for Leah to hear, “Sloppiness isn’t rewarded.”

“But I scored,” You said quietly, your voice tinged with both defiance and a desperate need for validation.

“Congratulations,  you did,” Your dad replied coldly, his lip curling in disdain, “But that little commotion when you fell? That was embarrassing. It shouldn’t have happened. You’re lucky it didn’t cost you the game.”

Leah’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Your dad leaned in closer to you, his voice low and cutting, “You could have lost, and you know what that makes you? A loser. Losers have to work harder. Maybe the walk home will help you realise that.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “But it’s miles back…”

“Tick-tock, kiddo,” Your dad said cutting you off as he turned to leave, “If you want to move up from the academy, you need to stay focused. No distractions. Better not dawdle.”

He stormed off without another word, leaving you standing there alone, clutching your bag. Leah’s heart ached as she watched you stare after him, your expression a mixture of hurt and confusion.

This was it. She couldn’t just stand by anymore.

“Come on, Bubba,” Amanda urged gently, noticing Leah’s clenched fists, “This is your chance. Go to her.”

Leah nodded, her feet moving before Amanda could finish her sentence. Her heart pounded as she approached you, determined to ensure you weren’t left alone.

“Monkey!” She called gently, her voice laced with concern as she watched you standing frozen, clutching your bag tightly, “Monkey?” Leah repeated softly.

You noticed her then, your body tensing as your eyes darted around nervously, searching for something – or someone.

“Le?” You murmured, hesitating. Your arms tightened protectively around your bag, and you took a cautious step back, “You’re… You’re here. You came.”

Leah exchanged a quick glance with Amanda, who hung back, offering you a reassuring smile.

“Of course I did,” Leah said, stopping a few steps away. Her voice was steady and warm, an anchor against the storm she sensed swirling inside you, “Nothing could stop me from seeing you play.”

“Really?” Your voice was tentative, your doubt evident in the flicker of your gaze. But when you glanced past Leah and saw that Mark was nowhere in sight, your shoulders sagged slightly, “Dad’s gone. You really thought I played well?”

“Are you kidding?” Leah’s smile widened, her pride shining through, “You were incredible out there! That goal? Absolute magic, my girl.”

Without warning, you closed the distance between you, flinging your arms around Leah’s neck in a fierce hug. The force of it caught her off guard, but she instinctively wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight.

“Hey, hey,” Leah murmured, her voice soft and soothing as she felt the slight tremble in your frame, “It’s okay, my girl. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“You actually came,” You buried your face in her shoulder, clinging to her as if she might disappear. The vulnerability in your embrace made Leah’s chest tighten, her concern deepening with every passing second.

After a long moment, you pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. Leah noticed the redness in your eyes and the fragile expression you were trying so hard to mask.

“Where’s your dad gone?” Leah asked gently.

You hesitated, glancing away, “He… He had to go to work,” You said quickly, avoiding her eyes.

Leah frowned. The excuse was flimsy, and she knew it, but she decided not to push – not yet, “Right,” She said, her tone firm but kind, “Well, I’m not letting you walk home on your own, not at your age.”

“N… No, I’m fine,” You protested weakly, but Leah shook her head, her expression leaving no room for argument.

“Nope, not happening,” She said, her voice firm but not harsh. When you flinched at the change in tone, Leah immediately softened, “I don’t want you walking home, my girl. I know your dad left, but it’s not safe, is it?”

Your resistance wavered, and with a sigh, you allowed Leah to guide you toward Amanda’s car.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Amanda greeted you warmly as you climbed into the backseat, “You played a great game today. Is your ankle feeling okay?”

“Oh, yeah. It feels fine,” You mumbled, your voice quiet, “It hardly hurts at all.”

As the car began to move, Leah noticed your restlessness. You fidgeted with your bag, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery. When the car neared your street, you finally spoke.

“Can you… Can you drop me off around the corner?” You asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leah frowned, her brows knitting together, “You sure? We can drop you outside, Monkey. It’s not a problem.”

“N… No, it’s fine,” You said quickly, a touch of panic in your tone, “Please? I’ll be fine from there, I promise.”

Leah didn’t like it. She didn’t like the excuses, the tension, or the way you seemed so determined to keep them at a distance.

But the pleading look in your eyes made her relent, though not without reluctance.

“Alright,” Leah agreed, her tone tight, “But only because you asked.”

Amanda pulled over at the corner of your street. Leah turned to you, her eyes searching yours, “Remember, if you need anything–anything at all– you call me, okay? Anytime, day or night.”

You nodded, clutching your bag tightly, “Thank you… For everything.”

Leah watched you slip out of the car and disappear down the street. That uneasy feeling in hr chest lingered, refusing to fade. She slumped back in her seat with a heavy sigh, her mind racing.

“She’s hiding something,” Leah muttered, her gaze fixed on the direction you’d gone.

Amanda hummed in agreement, her hands tightening on the wheel, “I know,” She began, “But you did what you could today, Bubba. She knows you’re here for her now.”

“Yeah,” Leah nodded, but the worry gwaned at her. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way you’d clung to her, as if letting go meant losing her forever, “I’m not giving up. Not without a fight.”

© scribblesofagoonerr

[satorella]

“𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

Note: Continued on Ao3 here

You were at the gala of clan’s, an event where all the clan’s gather, trying to avoid a guy from another clan that obsesses over you any time he sees you.

You cornered yourself, like a dumbass, and grabbed the arm of the closest person to you.

“There you are!~” The annoying guy finds you just in time. “Oh? You two know each other?”

“Of course! This is my…” You looked up at the person you grabbed, “…boyfriend.” At least this guy was handsome, but his facial expression was unreadable... and maybe not the friendliest.

The annoying guy looks between you two, “𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧, is your boyfriend?” He doesn’t look convinced.

Shit… the guy you grabbed is… Naoya fucking Zenin?! You’ve never seen him before, let alone met a Zenin in general, but everyone’s heard the rumors about his clan. How they treat their women as breeding machines and servants. The traditional misogynist clan. Yikes. So yeah… of course he doesn’t look convinced. Who in their right mind would willingly date Naoya Zenin?!

Too late to turn back now.

“Uh, yeah. Of course.” You looked up at Naoya to see he’s still staring down at you with the same unreadable expression.

God he’s gonna murder you.

“Is there a problem with me being her boyfriend?” Naoya finally spoke up.

Your eyes slightly widened in surprise but then quickly composed yourself and continued to play along, wrapping your arm around his. Is this pushing it?

“My apologies, Mr. Zenin! I wasn’t aware that lady L/n was already spoken for. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. Please excuse me.” The annoying guy bows respectfully and leaves quickly.

Once he was gone, you let go of Naoya’s arm, “I’m so sorry!” You panicked. “If there’s anything I can do to repay you-”

“Marry me.”

“…eh?” Did you just hear him right? “Pardon?” You blinked up at him. “I said, marry me. You said anything, right?” His tone was stoic. “Y-Yeah, but I-I meant repay you with something similar! Not marriage?!” The pitch of your voice was borderline screeching, while trying not to attract attention to you guys at the same time. Naoya smirked at your reaction, “You should’ve weighed your words carefully. Doesn’t your clan go on and on about keeping one’s word? Isn’t that part of the L/n clan’s moral values? Tsk. It’d be a shame if you were to be the one to tarnish your family’s name over something so simple.” You grit your teeth, “So you already know who I am?” “Of course. You’re the Angel of Jujutsu Society. Everybody knows who you are.”

It was true. Unbeknownst to you, all the clans wanted you for their sons and bombarded your father with countless arranged marriage proposals and/or the chance to meet you to possibly befriend you. You were the rare wielder of “Jacob’s Ladder”, or rather, the Angel technique. One of the most powerful techniques in Jujutsu society, capable of nullifying any and all techniques and curses caught in its light. The Angel was a notable sorcerer during the Heian Era, the golden age of Jujutsu, and served as part of the L/n clan's elite force, though they were eventually defeated by Sukuna. Another Angel hasn’t been born since then…

Until finally, you.

“Why marriage, of all favors?” You crossed your arms over your chest. He looked into your eyes for a moment, as if trying to see into your soul. You averted your gaze, sheepishly. “You’re strong. My clan likes strong. They’ve also had an eye for your clan’s technique for generations. But, like Satoru Gojo, an Angel technique wielder hasn’t been born in a long, long time… now here you are… falling right into my lap. And a woman, at that. Meaning which ever clan you marry into will get to have a hold on that power.” His eyes lit up. You could only tremble at his words. “If I agree to marry you… there’s no going back. What’ll be in it for me in the long run?” You dared to ask. “For you? You’ll have a handsome, rich husband, for starters. You’ll be off the market. No one will bother you anymore or follow you around like a lost puppy. You’ll have your own chambers in my wing at the estate, your own personal maids, and a driver specifically assigned to you. We’ll only see each other during meal times, to keep up appearances, and eventually… to make an heir. Maybe even a few.” He smirked, shamelessly checking you out. Cocky bastard.

Overall, can’t believe you’re thinking this, but the arrangement didn’t sound too bad.

“This is a matter for our clansmen to discuss.” You shook your head, “I don’t mind an arranged marriage, but I’m not gonna blindly say yes to someone I just met. I’m not naive like Anna.” “Who?” “From Frozen?… No?… Nevermind.” You waved your hand dismissively. “Whatever. I’ll have my people call yours to set up a meeting.”

Just as you thought the conversation was over, he leans down next to your ear, “If you’re hoping I’ll forget, you’re sorely mistaken.” He whispers. His breath fanning against the exposed skin of your neck and collarbone, making a shiver run down your spine.

“I always get what I want.”

…What the hell did you just get yourself into?

© 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

Join my tag list!📋

(New 𝑷𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝑳𝒐𝒄𝒌 discord server👯‍♀️)

[papriikau]

I miss us sometimes

JAMES WILSON x FEM!READER

SUMMARY You and James Wilson hadn't spoken since your divorce. You still care for him after all this time, but choose to avoid him to avoid getting hurt. But when a family emergency forces you to reconnect with your ex-husband, you struggle with your feelings for each other.

WARNINGS sex mentioned, nothing too bad.

NOTES I started this and half way realized I didn't know where I wanted to go with it so the last half is kinda rushed, but its still cute.

It had been 5 years since you had spoken to James Wilson. Once the divorce had been finalized, that was the end of it. For James, he had already gone through two divorces before you, but it had only been your first. You truly were enamored by him; he was 6 years older and he seemed like he had it all together when the two of you met, but that facade slowly faded away after only 3 years of marriage.

You avoided the hospital he worked at whenever a hospital visit was required, that was until last night. You received a phone call that your mom had a stroke and was taken to Princeton-Plainsboro hospital. Obviously your need to avoid James was a lot less important than your mom, so you drove over to the hospital.

“Dad what's happening?” you ask your father and the doctor he was talking with informs you that she's in the ER and all you can do is wait. And that’s what you do, you wait around until you hear a familiar voice call out your name.

“Good evening House,” you say tiredly.

“Here for a conjugal visit? I can call Wilson down,” 

“Please don’t, I'd rather not know I’m here,”

“Too late. Wilson! I didn’t know you ordered a stripper,” House yells out as your ex-husband walks into the room. You curl up in the chair you’re in, hiding your face in your hands. He walks over and House promptly takes his leave.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he says awkwardly, as if he isn’t sure what to say to his ex-wife he hasn’t seen in 5 years. You sit up and take a big breath in. You're not in the best state at the moment, bags under your eyes, messy bed head and pajama pants and a sweater.

“My mom had a stroke, what about you, what are you doing here?” You ask.

“Oh, how's she uh- how's she doing?” James asks, ignoring the stupid question you asked.

“I don’t know, I just got here and no ones told me anything yet,” 

“Give me a moment,” he walks off, and you watch as he talks to some of the other doctors for a couple of minutes before returning to you.

“Did they say anything?”

“She's stable, they have been moving her to her own room soon, but they'd like to keep her overnight to monitor her,” he informs. You're glad he is keeping this interaction fairly professional, you don’t know how you’d act if he started trying to talk about your personal life. The two of you stay silent for a while. You intend to keep it that way, but knowing James, he's bound to start a conversation about something.

“Do you still work at the University?” he asks.

“Yeah, I was promoted to department head four years ago,” you play with your nails awkwardly.

“I have to get back to work but maybe we could catch up over lunch some time?” he offers. You look up and he has a kind but nervous smile on his face, looking down at you.

“I don’t know if this is the best time to be asking me out to lunch,” you say slowly. He winces and runs a hand down his face.

“Right, I'll see you around then,” he says, an embarrassed haze over his expression. You nod, letting him get back to whatever he was doing. Not long after your mom was moved into her own room where you could be with her. Considering it had been the middle of the night when you received the call, you were tired and ended up falling asleep. 

It wasn’t until afternoon that you saw James again. You had called in and canceled your classes for the day so you could be next to your mom. Your dad had gone home to grab a few things and your mom was asleep in the hospital bed, when you hear small knocks on the door. You turn and see James in the doorway. You wipe the sleep from your eyes and stand up.

“How's she doing?” he asks.

“Doctors said she’s gonna be fine, she should be discharged tomorrow morning,” you nod, keeping your eyes on the floor, not wanting to look at him.

“That's good, how are you doing?”

“I think I’m doing alright, just worried about mom,” James got close to your parents when you were together. They had grown fond of him and when you cut contact, they were devastated but decided to do so as well to support you.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Not since last night,”

“Why don't I buy you lunch,” he offers.

"You don’t have to do that, I’ll probably get something when dad gets back, I don't want to leave mom, so,” you ramble a little bit. You blink a ew times, trying to clear your head. Talking to him again brings you back to being 24, flirting with the cute doctor at the Oncology seminar. 

“We can just go to the cafeteria and bring it back here, how about that?” He offers a kind smile. God he still had it. 

You think for a moment before hesitantly nodding, “okay.”

He takes you out to the cafeteria, suddenly self-conscious of your state, “House is working on a case right now so he won't be bothering us,” James calms your nerves a little.

“Thank god, don't get me wrong he's great, but not really,” you let out a quiet laugh.

“Tell me about it,” he rolls his eyes playfully. You walk through the cafeteria and grab some food, your appetite hasn’t quite come back yet so you only grab enough to hold you over. James, being the gentleman he is, pays for your lunch and walks you back to your moms room. She’s still sleeping, but your dad is back so you go sit next to him. James gives him a polite nod and exchanges brief pleasantries before leaving, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly before stepping out. 

James checks in again before he leaves his shift, and the next morning, your mom is discharged. Your dad helps her into the car, telling him to take her home and that you’d be over soon after. They drive away and then you go back inside of the hospital, working up some nerves, deciding at the door that maybe you don't actually want to do it, but you push through the nerves and turn back around.

Three knocks on the office door and James peeks his head out, opening it all the way when he sees it’s you. “Hey, how's your mom?”

“She just got discharged, dads are taking her home now,” You nod nervously.

“That's good, is there anything I can do?” he asks, curious as to why you're knocking on his office, very clearly searching him out.

“Are you free Saturday? Around noon?” you say, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater. “You asked me to lunch and I thought I’d take you up on that offer,” He stares for a moment, not sure what to do, but nods his head unconsciously.

“Yes, absolutely,” he clears his throat and invites you into his office. “Where uh- where do you want to go?” he asks.

“How about that lunch place we always went to, the one down the street from our old house?” you suggested, not sure if you should have suggested such a staple in your relationship.

“Okay, Saturday at noon, I'll meet you there,” he agrees and you offer him a smile before leaving the hospital.

—

James taps his foot nervously, looking at his watch. You're running 20 minutes late, and James was about to leave when the bell on the door jingles and he looks up to see you.

“I’m so sorry, I had to come into work today to mark papers,” you apologize, internally cringing at your own lateness.

“You're okay,” he says, remembering the days he came home late or missed date night because of work, he is fine excusing 20 minutes. For two hours the both of you hang out in the restaurant, just talking and catching up on the last 5 years.

For the longest time when you thought of James you thought about the reasons he pissed you off, or what got on your nerves, the reasons you got divorced, but talking to him after all this time makes you remember a lot of the reasons that you married him in the first place. It feels natural talking to him, it feels good talking to him and you hate it.

You hate that you feel good around him.

The lunch date ends and you both go your separate ways, promising to do it again sometimes. You exchange numbers and the next week try to make plans, but busy schedules get in the way and the two of you aren't able to pick a day and then it dies out quickly, and you go back to not speaking.

—

You're sitting on your couch, watching a movie when the phone rings, it's late at night so you're not sure who could be calling.

“Hello?” you say into the phone.

“Hey, can I ask a really big favor?” James says from the other end. You look at the clock to see it’s 11pm.

“What is it?”

“I don’t have my car right now, or my wallet and I missed the bus and I don’t know who else to call so-” you cut him off.

“You're at the hospital?” 

“Yes,”

“Can you wait 40 minutes?” you sigh.

“If your busy then I can ask someone for money for a cab,”

“Okay, I’ll leave now,” you hang up the phone before he can argue and get in the car, throwing on a jacket and some shoes before leaving. It starts to rain and when you pull up in front of the hospital, you flash your headlights and James runs out, covering his head with his jacket.

“I didn’t know you lived so far away, I could have-” you cut him off again.

“It’s no problem,” you yawn, not looking forward to the drive home. He thanks you and directs you to his apartment, which is 20 minutes in the opposite direction.

“Thank you,” he says and offers you a warm smile.

“No problem,” you wipe your eyes and yawn. “Maybe call me earlier than 11 next time,” you laugh tiredly.

“I’ll make sure to,” he gets out of the car, thanking you again and heading inside. You sit in the car, trying to wake yourself up before driving an hour home. You turn the car back on and as you put the car in drive, James knocks on the window, his jacket over his head, you put down the window a little, not wanting to get your car seat too wet.

“What’d you forget?” you start looking around the passenger's seat.

“I forgot you,” he laughs.

“What?” you narrow your eyes.

“You shouldn’t drive while you're that tired, stay the night,” he offers and a red haze covers your cheeks.

“I don’t know if that's the best idea,”

“Sleep on my couch, please,” You think for a minute before shutting the car off again, quickly getting out and running with him to the front door. You walk over to his apartment and he opens the door, letting you in. He shakes off his jacket and hangs it up. You stand there awkwardly, your eyes watching him roll up the sleeves of his shirt, unable to take your eyes off him.

God this was a mistake.

I'll grab you some blankets, get comfortable and make yourself at home.” That simple, and commonly used phrasing comes off very different to you, and he felt it too. He swiftly exited into his bedroom while you sat on the couch, your hands in your lap, looking around at the books littered around, coffee stains on the table, and of course a few pieces you remember as being in your shared home. You remember picking out the couch cushions with him the night he proposed.

“Here,” he says, another memory in his arms. He handed you the blanket and you couldn’t help but just look up at him. “Everything alright?” he tilts his head.

“I think so, thanks for letting me stay,” you recover quickly.

“Your welcome,” he says and sits in the arm chair, leaning back in it. “Sorry if this is weird,” he says after a moment of silence.

“It is a little,” you say, looking down at the blanket.

“Well it's not like we're strangers,” 

“We kind of are,”

“We know each other,” he says.

“We used to know each other,” you correct. He runs a hand down his face, letting it fall into his lap.

“It has been a while hasn’t it,” he sighs, looking over at you, wanting you to look up at him too. You could have him if you wanted. He invited you back into his place, he had to know there was even the smallest possibility that could happen, but you knew it would be too hard to leave if you did sleep with him. You have to remind yourself how shitty he had been close to the end of your marriage; he was negligent and never home, and when you were in a state of vulnerability and needed someone, he wasn’t there to help you.

But God the sex was good.

“I’ll let you rest,” he nods and heads to his own room. You let your head fall into your hands. How could you be so stupid, you didn’t fight for him back then, and you're still too much of a coward to do it now.

Eventually, sleep overtook you and you woke up to James sitting in his kitchen, sipping a coffee. “Morning,” you rub your head tiredly, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

“Sleep well?” he asks

“Good enough,” you get up and stretch, “mind if I have some?” You point to the coffee pot.

“I can’t drink a pot on my own,” he laughs and you laugh with him, search through a few cabinets until you find a mug pouring yourself some.

“Not sure how I’m going to explain to my boyfriend I spent the night at my ex-husband's place,”

“You have a boyfriend?” he says, the slightest bit of outrage in his voice,

“No,” you smile coyly into your mug. He rolls his eyes.

“Any luck in that department?”

“Not really, I’ve been focused on work,” you shrug. He says the same thing.” You were my first like, real relationship,” he can't say the same.

The two of you sit in silence for a little while before you break it once again.

“Being divorced sucks,” you admit, sipping on your coffee.

“Tell me about it,” he sighs. The both of you finish drinking your coffee in silence. It's not that you don't know what to say, you just have nothing else to say.

“I should be heading out, I got some things to do today,” you put the mug in his sink. 

“Thanks again for last night, if I had known you lived so far away I would have found another way,” 

“I’m glad you called me,” 

“Really?” he tilts his head.

“I miss us sometimes,” you look up at him, a bit of a shocked, awkward expression on his face.

“Only sometimes?” He takes a minute to respond.

“Only sometimes,” you repeat, silence filling the air once again. “Maybe we could get dinner tomorrow?”

“Uh- yea, I'd love that,” he stutters, his cheeks dusted with a bit of pink. You love when he gets flustered.

You smile, heading for the front door, “I’ll pick you up at 7.” “It's a date,” he takes a step forward, deciding to not get any closer.

“It’s a date,” you repeat before slipping out and into your car. It takes you a moment to recover; the butterflies in your stomach impeding your ability to think straight. Eventually you make the drive home, thinking about your date with your ex-husband.

—

“So who’s the unlucky girl,” House bursts into Wilsons office.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Wilson deflects.

“So there is a girl?” House concludes.

“There’s no girl,”

“Then who was this from?” House shows him a little sticky note you wrote him. Wilson furrows his brow.

“You ate my lunch?” he accuses.

“Who is it,”

“No one! I’m not seeing anyone!”

“Liar!” House accuses. That's when there's a knock on Wilson's office. House, being the one standing, opens to the door, only to find you standing there with two coffee cups.

“Am I interrupting something?” You ask and watch as House looks between you and Wilson.

“You’re dating your ex-wife?!” House says overly loudly. You wince, walk into the office and shut the door.

“Good to see you too Greg,” you say, forcing yourself to be polite before making your way over to James and sit on his desk, ignoring House.“ Thought you could use some coffee,”

“You didn’t happen to bring lunch did you?” James rolls his eyes.

“No, we could go out real quick, on me,” you offer.

“Anything to get out of here.” he stands up and gives you a kiss before leading you out of his office, his hand on your back.

“Am I invited?” House calls out after, to which you both just roll your eyes.

“Where do you want to go?” you ask, leaving the hospital.

“How about our usual lunch spot?” James suggests.

“Aren’t you tired of that spot?”

“Not one bit,” he looks over at you with loving eyes and grabs your free hand with his. You both lean in for a quick kiss, then go to lunch.

[guiltyasdave]

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

[sweetimpurity]

Beach day fluff! Had to get this out of my drafts! Too bad summer is ending ;(

I love imagining Miguel coming out of the water glistening and perfect, drinking beer in the pool and playing with Gabi in the water at the beach. But after thinking about it, I think that Miguel would actually be a huge ‘poolside princess’

It would apply to both being at the pool with him and going to the beach. Even if you’re going with Gabi and the group, Peter and Mj with their kids and Jess with her family too. Maybe even Gwen and Miles join as well, the whole gang could be there. And he’s watching them all splash and play in the water and in the sand, all from the comfort of under the umbrella.

It took you literal days to convince him to come to the beach with everyone. It was a planned day and originally you were just going to take Gabriella and meet up with everybody else.

He gave you a list of reasons why he didn’t want to go but you asked him again and again and it finally came out. He didn’t want to feel left out.

“So come with us, we want you to come” You insist. An easy answer to the problem. “No, it’s better for me to just stay here. I’m a buzzkill at the beach, believe me.” He insists. You don’t believe him. And you keep trying to accommodate him and make him feel comfortable. He’s your husband, of course you want him to be included and feel comfortable at the same time.

It’s the heat. Miguel gets so hot and then he gets irritable and angry and frustrated. So he’s given up on trying to have fun at the beach. You’re determined to change that. You bought a new umbrella and new beach chairs this year. You brought cold water and cut up fruit in the cooler.

Gabriella couldn’t be more excited that her father is joining everyone. She bounds with excitement as you’re all getting ready. You’re helping her into her lilac bathing suit and trying to put some sunscreen on her little face to protect her baby skin. Miguel helps you pack everything into the car and grab Gabi’s swimming stuff from the garage.

And when you make it there, meeting Peter B and Mj, Jess and her husband and all the little ones running around, you set up shop and open the umbrella, insisting to your slightly grumpy hubby that everything will be fine and he’ll be comfortable. He keeps his darkest sunglasses on because thats the other thing. The sun is so harsh on his eyes. That’s why he keeps the lights mostly off in his office. His eyes are so sensitive to light and the sun reflecting off the water is like knives to his corneas.

And it’s also been so long since he’s been to the beach that he hasn’t really gone swimming in a while. Probably convinced himself that the water will be too cold and overstimulate him too.

“There’s a breeze, baby…” You smile, trying to make it seem fun and like he won’t have a horrible time. It’s not that he wants to be a grump, it’s just that he knows he’s not fun at the beach and he doesn’t want to ruin the day for everyone else. “You just sit and relax, okay? If you’re hot let me know…” you hold his face, pecking his smiling lips before turning to meet Gabi by the water and he gently slaps your bum on the way over. He couldn’t resist. You’re wearing that bathing suit he really loves.

Giggling and glancing back at him as you’re walking away and catching that smile on his face. Oh yeah. You’re determined to make him have fun today.

You, Peter B, Gabi and Mayday all make a huge sandcastle with a moat and are decorating the walls with seashells that the kids found. Miguel watches, smiling and feeling the slight breeze on his skin from the safety of the shade. It’s still hot but he’s not burning up and your kindness and care makes him feel a million times better anyway. He's really grateful for your patience.

“Papa! Come in the water please please porfi!” Gabi squeals, running over to him with her floaties on her arms, grabbing his large hand and trying to pull him up. He coos to her in soft spoken Spanish and you shake your head grinning, walking up to the both of them under the umbrella. “Gabi girl… let Papa stay cool okay?” You try to urge your daughter, but seeing Miguel get up surprises you.

“Yeah, I’ll come in.” He says it like it’s nothing. “You will??!” You and Gabi both squeal in unison. It’s like a miracle, neither of you can believe. “Come on come on!” Gabi practically screams, pulling his hand and he emerges from under the shade and into the sun. You smile watching the sun wash over his back. His skin glowing and broad muscular back on full display. That’s the other thing you’ve been missing out on. How dare he deprive you of his perfection?

You run up beside them, grabbing your husband’s other hand, the three of you walking to the water and Gabi runs in first. She’s already been a little fish all day so the water feels warm to her. “Come on babe…” You encourage and he winces slightly at the freezing water lapping over his legs. His senses going off like alarms. His sensitivity to temperature and changes in the environment are just so strong and unpredictable. It amazes you that such a big indestructible man can be so sensitive but that's what you love about him. “Just give me a minute…” He nods, still holding your hand and standing knee deep, adjusting and watching Gabi frolic around in the shallows. You wait with him patiently, giving him all the time in the world to be comfortable. Leaning into him and wrapping your arm around his waist, your hand on the hot skin of his back, head on his shoulder. He rests his head on yours, both watching your daughter having the time of her life. His big hand running up your side and to the back of your neck, just glad that he's here and included in today's fun.

"Okay I'm ready." He suddenly says, stepping forward and marching past Gabriella who's trying to grab onto his legs, giggling all the way. "You can take it slow!" You call to him. Is he crazy? He's just gonna go in just like that?

"Daddy I'm swimming too!" Little Gabi tries to follow him as the water gets deeper and then in the blink of an eye, Miguel's completely submerged with a big splash. You eyes widen with a gasp and Gabi squeals with excitement. Peter B and Jess hollering from the beach, watching the scene unfolding.

You don't see him, not under the crashing waves and the splash that erupted when he crashed into the water, not until Gabi's squealing and her father lifts her up from under the water, her little arms wrapping around him as he emerges from the blue glistening ripples. "I got you!" He growls and she giggles and squeals, her little voice spouting a million words at once, she's just so excited.

"My god..." You sigh, smiling and shaking your head. How did you get so lucky? You walk deeper into the water, kneeling down in the shallows where Gabi stands on Miguel's lap. Splashing each other gently in the water and having fun. "Ma!" Gabi whines, reaching out to you and trying to wrap her arms around the both of you at once. The freezing water from her skin making your back break out in goosebumps.

"Gabi! May found hermit crabs!" Peter calls from the shore. A group of them crowded around Mayday chattering excitedly about her finds. "Oooh!" Gabriella squeals, running off and out of the water to see.

"Whiplash..." Miguel sighs, shaking his head and smiling at Gabi's excitement and moving closer to you in the water. Sitting on the sand as the water laps around your waist and arms, the waves crashing on you two. "Yeah, right?" You laugh softly, watching Gabi run off to the rest of the group on the beach and making sure she's safely on the sand.

"You're right, this was fun. You having fun?" He asks, lifting a hand to your shoulder, the freezing cold water giving you shivers at it meets your hot sun kissed skin. "I'm having a lot of fun..." You smile, looking in his eyes. "More fun now that you're having fun too"

He smiles warmly, rubbing your back gently with his hand. The water lapping around you both in the shallows. Gabi is still on the beach with everyone, squealing and giggling about hermit crabs in May's blue bucket. Her little voice seems to carry across the whole beach.

You lean on Miguel, your head on his chest, your backs to the horizon and watching your little girl bounding across the sand.

[starkwlkr]

royal news | charles leclerc

princess of monaco series

Liked by royalleclerc, f1ellllyy and 1,397 others

y/nroyalnews Y/N arriving back to Monaco this week for a charity event. It hasn’t been confirmed if her boyfriend, Charles Leclerc, will attend as well.

gaslypierreeee i want to be her when i grow up

sainzznias the most unproblematic person

f1updatesnow i think the only ‘problematic’ thing she ever did was publicly break up with her bf at the time because he cheated on her with her cousin 😭 and then she did her own version of a revenge dress like diana it was iconic

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Liked by charles_leclerc, sainzlover and 10,537 others

y/nscloset throwback to this iconic moment with princess y/n after she broke up with her boyfriend of three years. she wore this to a royal event in 2017.

forevery/n LOL CHARLES LIKED

f1lilylec I’ve never been interested in monarchy until i saw that Charles started dating a princess

View all 3,638 comments

Charles looked at the tweet on Lando’s phone. Y/n hadn’t told him anything about her father stepping down from his royal duties. He wasn’t mad, he was nervous, scared, confused. Was he going to have to break up with her? A formula 1 driver couldn’t be part of the royal family. Or could he?

“Hey, prince charles!” Daniel greeted his monegasque friend.

Charles handed Lando his phone back. “Everyone knew about this, but me?”

Daniel took a seat next to Charles. “Don’t worry, my parents don’t know. So, when’s your coronation?”

Charles chuckled. “Probably never. I haven’t spoken to Y/n. Her family might want us to break up because someone like me isn’t fit for someone like her.”

“There’s always a first for everything. You can be the first formula 1 driver turned prince. Just don’t send scary men after me if I accidentally push you off the track. I’m too young and pretty to die.” Lando joked.

“Mate, none of that will happen because I’m not going to marry y/n.”

Daniel choked on his own spit while Lando gasped.

“Are you crazy?”

“What did you say?”

Charles sighed. “I can’t marry her. She needs someone that isn’t traveling like crazy, someone that can be there for her when she needs it the most. We barely see each other anyways. I love her, but we aren’t meant to be together I suppose.”

“You two will find a way to work out.”

[werepuppy-steve]

if i ain't got you

steddie | wc: 1,425 | cw: none | songfic | ao3

have some hurt/comfort, cj style. happy thanksgiving even though it's already 1am my time <3

The kitchen is so thick with tension you could cut right through it like butter. Eddie’s washing the dishes and Steve’s putting away the leftovers from dinner. They haven’t spoken a word to each other the entire night, not since that afternoon when they were screaming at each other.

Other people would say that they don’t remember what or who started the argument in the first place, but Steve knows exactly what happened. All because he let his dumb mouth get ahead of his brain. And it’s not like he hasn’t tried to apologize—he tried the second the words left his mouth and then five more times after that but Eddie wasn’t having any of it.

Which is fine, he’s allowed to stew in his hurt feelings for as long as he likes, but Steve is worried that this might be the first time they go to bed with one of them still mad, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that.

He shuts the fridge and turns around to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, letting out a quiet sigh. Eddie’s back is turned to him so he can only see the movement of his shoulders as he scrubs the dishes harder than he ought to.

He’s still pissed, then.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh. He’s the one that started this whole mess so he’s got to be the one to fix it. He needs to come up with something to get Eddie to at least look at him.

He stands there for a few more minutes as he thinks but then the light bulb in his brain flicks on and he leaves the kitchen.

Eddie’s probably washed this bowl three times already but he doesn’t care. He’s still worked up from his and Steve’s fight earlier, he could drop the bowl and it could shatter in the soapy water and he wouldn’t even blink an eye.

How dare he, Eddie thinks bitterly, rinsing the soap off and placing the bowl in the dish drainer a little harshly. How dare he think he has the right to even insinuate.

All he wanted was to spend the extra little bit he’d had left over from his paycheck on some new mini’s he’d seen down at the bookstore and a couple of books that had been on his list for ages. He made sure to put back enough to cover his half of their rent and bills. He was careful.

But Steve still had to go and open his stupid rich boy mouth.

Eddie feels the familiar prickle of white hot anger on the back of his neck and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. It’s not his fault that he grew up poor. Wayne did what he could to support the both of them on his single paycheck every month, but that money only went so far. There wasn’t enough to spare to open an account with the bank, so they just went without.

Unlike the Harrington’s, who apparently had accounts open across multiple cities and even a couple overseas.

Steve’s father had drilled the importance of wealth management into him from an early age and made him use his first allowance to open a savings account at the age of ten. His boyfriend had a goddamn retirement account by the time he was eighteen.

So when Steve goes and assumes that Eddie doesn’t know how to handle money just because he wants to splurge for once and buy something he enjoys, Eddie thinks that his anger is a little more than justified.

Eddie’s eyes sting with oncoming tears and he blinks them away with a shake of his head. He doesn’t need to cry right now.

As he reaches for another dirty plate, music suddenly fills the kitchen from the Bluetooth speakers on the counter, soft piano trilling and the melodic humming with an R&B beat.

He freezes when arms slowly circle his waist from behind and Steve rests his chin on his shoulder.

Some people live for the fortune

Some people live just for the fame

“Dance with me,” Steve murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie suppresses a shiver and the instinct to lean back into him. “I don’t-”

“Eddie.”

Another kiss, this time under his ear. Fingers gently trace along his arm.

Some people think

That the physical things

Define what’s within

Eddie’s walls crumble like sawdust when Steve laces his fingers between his own soapy ones. He lets Steve pull him away from the sink and they slowly sway in the middle of their kitchen. He can see straight into the living room, where they’ve already set their Christmas tree up in the corner by the window, fully decorated even though it’s still November. They’ve got a hodgepodge of decorations and knick knacks already set on various shelves and tables with Christmas lights strung in almost every doorway.

As they dance in a slow spin, their cheeks pressed together, Eddie thinks back to how much fun they had setting all of it up. How Steve held the mistletoe above his head every chance he got just to be able to kiss him. All of his remaining anger slowly melts away and he’s left with the overwhelming feeling of how much he loves this man.

Some people want diamond rings

Some just want everything

But everything means nothing

If I ain't got you, yeah

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and he sounds like he means it. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, when I said you should be more responsible. You were right. It’s your money and you’re the only one who gets a say in how you spend it.”

Eddie sighs and tightens his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, too. I got defensive, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. I should’ve listened to you when you tried apologizing the first time.”

Some people search for a fountain

Promises forever young

Some people need three dozen roses

And that's the only way to prove you love them

Eddie pulls back a little and looks at Steve for the first time in what feels like ages and is flooded with emotions that make his chest tighten when he sees the soft smile on his boyfriend’s face and the love in his eyes.

Eddie cups his cheek and leans in to press a soft kiss to his equally soft lips before resting his head on Steve’s shoulder with a soft sigh.

Some people want it all

But I don't want nothing at all

If it ain't you, baby

If I ain't got you, baby

“Are we really slow dancing to Alicia Keys?” he asks after a moment. Steve shakes with silent laughter and Eddie gently smacks him in the shoulder. “It’s a serious question, Stevie. I need to know if it’s a contender for our wedding playlist.”

It’s Steve’s turn to freeze now and Eddie can’t hold back his giddy smile when he pushes him back by the shoulders and gives him a wide-eyed look.

“Wedding playlist?”

“Well, I was planning to wait until Christmas to pop the question, but. Yeah. I even got a ring.”

Steve gapes at him like a fish before yanking him in for a kiss by the front of his shirt. It’s more teeth than lips because they can’t stop laughing long enough, but they eventually get a hold of themselves when Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s neck again and presses close, thier lips slotting together seamlessly.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” Eddie asks between kisses.

Steve nips at his bottom lip. “Only if you learn to stop kicking your socks off in your sleep and leaving them under the covers at the end of the bed.”

“They twist around my toes, Stevie,” Eddie pouts, trailing kisses along Steve’s jaw. “Makes ‘em feel like pigs in a blanket.”

Steve tilts his head back to give him more room, the music completely forgotten. “Then don’t wear them to bed at all.”

“But then my feet will get cold. Do you want me to put my icicles on your legs, Steven? Would that make you feel better?”

Steve throws his head back for a completely different reason and groans. “You’re going to be even more difficult once we’re married, aren’t you?”

Eddie grins against Steve’s throat. “Absolutely, oh husband of mine.”

Some people want diamond rings

Some just want everything

But everything means nothing

If I ain't got you, you, you

permanent taglist:

@yournowheregirl @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy

@tboybuck @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual

@theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie

@corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero @simplebtromance

@tangerinesteve @stevesjockstrap @steddie-island @spectrum-spectre @pearynice

@worstsequence @devondespresso

[tonysbed]

Secrets I keep | Part 18

Max Fewtrell x Norris!reader

Lando Norris x sister!reader

summary: You and Max have been dancing around your feelings for years but jealousy gets the best of us all..

series masterlist | previous | next

-

yn and maxfewtrell

liked by lando, riabish, oscarpiastri and 739.610 others

yn and maxfewtrell one year of us (officially 😬) ❤️❤️

keeganpalmer Officially? I’m pms 😂😭

oscarpiastri yeah, unofficially i’d say 10 years

yn oscar 😭😭

landonorris ❤️❤️

user If you would’ve told me this 2 years ago, I would’ve laughed in your face

user so happy that they feel more comfortable now

user If they’re posting..does this mean we finally get streamer!max back? 👀🫠

yn 👀

user AHHHH

riabish my favs 🌹

yn babeeee

user they’re endgame I fear

-

Max had faced high-pressure situations before—big contracts, last-minute decisions, even a few near-miss disasters—but sitting at this dinner table? Easily one of the most nerve-wracking moments of his life.

The restaurant is quiet, the kind of place where the lighting is soft, the wine is expensive, and the staff moves with an almost invisible grace. He figured it was the right setting for this conversation—serious but intimate. Something that said, I’m not just asking out of formality. I mean this.

Across from him sit the three most important people in her life.

Lando, who has been eyeing him with an unreadable expression since they sat down.

Ciska, who is stirring her wine absentmindedly, sharp gaze flicking between Max and her husband like she already knows what’s coming.

And Adam, who sits back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, the very image of a protective father.

Max clears his throat, setting his glass down carefully. “So,” he starts, trying not to sound like his heart is hammering in his chest. “I asked you all here because I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

Ciska raises an eyebrow, but her expression is mostly amused. “Go on.”

Max glances at Lando, then at Adam, and finally settles his gaze on both parents. “I love your daughter,” he says simply. No preamble, no sugarcoating. Just the truth. “And I want to marry her.”

Lando lets out a quiet groan, dragging a hand down his face. Ciska inhales slightly, her expression softening, while Adam remains unreadable.

Max continues before any of them can interrupt. “I know what she means to you. And I know what this—what us—means. I wouldn’t be sitting here if I wasn’t completely sure about this. I want to spend my life with her.” He exhales slowly. “And I’d like your blessing.”

A pause. A long, heavy pause.

Then, Adam leans forward, resting his arms on the table. His voice is even, but there’s a weight behind his words. “And you’re sure? About all of this?”

Max nods without hesitation. “Absolutely.”

Adam studies him, and Max doesn’t look away. He wants them to see it—his certainty, his love for her, all of it.

Ciska is the first to speak after that. She reaches for her glass, lips curving into something knowing. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she muses. “The way she talks about you… she’s already halfway married to you anyway.”

Max lets out a breath of relief, but Adam still hasn’t spoken again.

Then, finally, Adam sighs. “If I say no, would that stop you?”

Max hesitates but shakes his head. “No,” he admits. “But it would mean a lot to have your support.”

There’s another pause, and then Adam finally—finally—nods. “Alright.” He gives Max a pointed look. “But if you ever hurt her, we’ll have a different conversation.”

“Understood,” Max says instantly.

Ciska claps her hands together, eyes bright with excitement. “Well, now that that’s settled, tell us how you’re going to do it.”

Max grins, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Italy. A private beach. Just us, dinner, fairy lights, and a scrapbook I made of our relationship. When she reaches the last page, it’ll tell her to turn around, and that’s when I’ll be on one knee.”

Ciska puts a hand over her heart. “That’s perfect.”

Lando, who has been unusually quiet, finally sighs. “You really made a scrapbook?”

Max shoots him a look. “Yes.”

Lando stares for a moment, then nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Alright. You deserve her.”

Max chuckles, but there’s something grateful in his eyes. “I know.”

“You never did something like that for me” Lando says, crossing his arms and fake pouting. Max chuckled “Well I don’t wanna marry you!” Ciska grins amused.

“Pff. Anyway. Who is coming to the trip in italy?”

“Well..You guys, And.. Oh fuck” Max grimaced “What?” “I have to talk to Alexandra” Max lays his head on the table as Lando dies of laughter.

That is gonna be a fun conversation.

-

Max isn’t sure why he’s nervous.

He’s already survived asking her parents and Lando—surely Alexandra should be the easiest of the bunch. But as he watches her sit across from him, arms crossed, expression unreadable, he realizes that might have been wishful thinking.

It’s been three months since his last mistake—the one Alexandra still hasn’t fully forgiven him for. He doesn’t blame her. He would’ve been mistrusting too if he was in her shoes.

Which is why he needs this. Her approval, her trust.

“You’ve been staring at me for a full minute,” Alexandra says, raising an eyebrow. “Spit it out, Max.”

Max clears his throat, gripping his coffee cup a little tighter. He figured a café would be a neutral setting—somewhere casual, somewhere that didn’t make it seem like he was walking into an interrogation room. In hindsight, it didn’t matter. Alexandra is an interrogation room.

“I want to propose,” he says finally, straightforward as ever.

She doesn’t react. Just blinks once, slow and deliberate, before leaning back in her chair. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Max repeats. That’s not a yes. That’s not a no. That’s nothing.

Alexandra tilts her head, studying him. “You’re serious about this?”

“Dead serious.”

“And you’re telling me because…?”

“Because I want your blessing,” Max says. “I know you’ve had your doubts about me. And I know—” He hesitates, then sighs. “I know I messed up before. But it’s been months, and I’d like to think I’ve proven to you that I’m not going anywhere. That I love her the way she deserves to be loved.”

Alexandra exhales slowly, drumming her fingers against the table. “Tell me how you’re going to do it.”

Max hides his relief well. He knows this isn’t a yes yet, but the fact that she’s asking means she’s considering it.

“Italy,” he starts, and he watches her expression flicker with something close to approval. “Private beach. Just us, dinner, fairy lights, music in the background. I made her a scrapbook—photos, notes, everything from the start of our relationship. When she reaches the last page, it’ll tell her to turn around, and that’s when I’ll be on one knee.”

Alexandra exhales through her nose, shaking her head with something close to disbelief. “You made a scrapbook?”

Max nods. “Spent weeks on it.”

She clicks her tongue, then finally—finally—smiles. “Okay. That’s actually kind of perfect.”

“So… is that a yes?”

Alexandra sighs dramatically, but her lips are still curled upward. “Yeah, Max. You have my blessing.”

Max grins, relieved. “Thank you.”

“Just promise me one thing,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t ever give me a reason to regret this.”

Max meets her gaze, serious. “I won’t.”

She nods, sipping her coffee, eyes not leaving him. He squirms a bit under her hard glare.

“You are aware that I know how much you love her, right?” She chuckled, form relaxing. Max tilts his head “Yeah-of course!”

“And trust me, you’ll be glad it was me who opened that door, otherwise you would’ve been six feet under. Kelly doesn’t play nice about her” Max nods “Good. Have you got a ring already?”

“I got an idea but..her size is a bit of a problem” He scratched his head as Alexandra’s smile widened “Have you forgotten who’s sitting in front of you?”

-

yn added to their story

[ cap: 🇲🇨 🔜🇮🇹 | cap2: date night 🍷❤️]

-

Alexandra watches your story with a smile, as Lando comes out of his room “Is this okay?” He looks at her and Charles.

“Yeah, you actually look dezent for once” Charles chuckled “Mate, at least I won good jeans” Lando scoffed and Charles looks offended “Okay boys, enough. Yes lando, it’s okay. Charles, how about we see how Max and Kelly are?” She moves charles away as she sees Ciska approaching.

-

I don’t even know if I’m able to write 20 parts but i’m trying my best haha. And tonight is the F1 event. As far as I know them, it’s gonna be a clown show 😭🫠

[myobsessionsspace]

Felt like ranting, might delete later

Suuuuuupper long, like long AF🙈

I’m gonna be controversial, I don’t like fighting, hate/negativity etc. if you see this post has been deleted, it’s jut cos I can’t, I can’t deal.

Anyway, this is long and rambly and all over the place, so here goes

Has any member addressed shipping hate/antis and what happened after they did?

Don’t all groups male & female have shippers? So it’s something that sadly comes with the idol, bg, gg culture? Straight or not? Solo idols too have shippers for anyone they’ve blinked near.

If an idol hasn’t addressed the mass hate of a year ago, they didn’t address the mass hate of 5 years ago, why are they gonna address the mass hate of 2 days ago?

It’s interesting because I’m not active on IG or twitter anymore so if not for friends and seeing people allude to it here, I wouldn’t even know that craziness had happened on IG.

But honestly how much more different is it to a business owner cancelling a meet and greet at his new Japan location because of hate? The military being spammed and told to split companion buddies up because of a trip together to a beautiful location, letters being sent to a company saying stop allowing two members to be close to each other on stage and in official content?

Literally for nearly 10 years.

Why do people expect the youngest to be the mouthpiece against the people that claim to love him but don’t respect him at all, put him on a pedestal and want him separated from those that evidently love him.

Why do people expect the youngest who received soo much hate for being supported in his solo endeavours, achieving success in his solo endeavours all the while championing his members solo careers too and never letting up on saying they would return as 7 and that was the most important thing to him.

Yes he’s said things like ‘if you don’t like me now, with how I’m living and working now, thank you for liking me then and you’re free to go’ ‘it’s because people have constantly given me the confidence to be myself that I am who I am now and sorry not sorry if you still want the younger me’. He speaks for himself but he rarely even does then. When he has what happened? Did the hate stop? Did the stalking stop? Did the expectations stop? Everytime there’ll be people quoting, commenting, hashtagging, writing essay about ‘please listen to him’ then the next day back to all the age old stereotypes of him, using his words from when he was 16 in online arguments, stalkers back to sending things to his barracks, stalking his friends & family’s socials. It doesn’t make a difference.

If the father doesn’t speak on it, if the son doesn’t speak on it, if the company doesn’t speak on it…

Yes he’s very very infrequently spoken up in the past about HIM, and also about his PHYSICAL SAFTEY ‘please don’t stalk my apartment’ ‘please don’t stalk my gym’ ‘please don’t stalk my home’ ‘please don’t send things to my home’ ‘please don’t send things to my barracks’

But INTERNET CRAZINESS when?

And I knnnnoooowww many thought of the time he spoke up for 5 girls whose ages range from 16 years old to 20! None of them considered of legal age in SK. A country KNOWN for misogyny and anti feminism. We’re really gonna use that one empathetic, selfless, most likely spontaneous moment of ‘protection’ as a see he can talk out on things!

Maybe, just maybe his HYUNG who has access to the same things he has access to doesn’t want his maknae speaking for him, his HYUNG is also his own person, an adult, in the same industry and can also speak up if he wants to but CHOOSES what he chooses. Because you care does that mean his hyung cares? His hyung said fuck twitter and chills on weverse as and when he wants. His dad says y’all are doing too much in the comments so shuts them off. Simples. They can close that door and it literally doesn’t exist to them. You all can do the same.

“But why does he have his comments on?”

“But why did he address NJ stuff and not his on group stuff”

“Why doesn’t he just say he’s not dating this member or that member”

“Why doesn’t he just say he’s not gay/he’s not straight”

“This celeb/idol does, why doesn’t he?”

It’s his life, it’s his choice.

I have no clue why he’s spoken on certain things and not others.

We don’t know what he gives a shit about other than what he’s repeatedly told us:

Music

ARMY

BTS

Family & Friend

Like, he goes and takes a pic with a k-rapper, because it’s someone the fandom doesn’t like for various reasons, including disparaging remarks about the group, the fandom trended that he was being held hostage, photoshopped different people in place of the rapper etc. the fandom only accept from him what they want and how they want it.

We’re trying to make our kpop experience his, our online experience his, our concerns and cares about the fandom his. His fandom is experience isn’t ours, his online experience isn’t ours, his experience with his members isn’t ours.

All of this is to do with his life, his friend’s lives. Yet we’re soo expectant on what he should care about and what he shoild talk about.

Yes he cares about karaoke more than Internet bullshit, he’ll spend thousands and sing to 20 million people before he’ll address Internet bullshit. Oh well. What now? *le sigh* I did say I’d be ranting 🙈

Ngl though Minie gets the most hate from his own fandom and kpoppies, the maknae get the most expectations from his fandom, from all his different shippers. I’ve seen people say he should have refused all the support for his solo debut because of his other shipping halves, saying he feeds shippers or doesn’t talk enough about a shipping half, how dare he have a TikTok and cause hate with the videos he double taps that get stalked to draw conclusions, how dare he not close curtains, how dare he go live and cause frenzies, how dare he sing this song and not that song, how dare he hug someone, on and on and on.

Honestly if the fan experience isn’t hitting step back, or make changes but being angry at him over your fan/internet experience??? Likkkeee his job is to sing, dance and entertain and his doing that superbly🤌

It even got to a point where when I was still on twitter that I had to mute report accounts because that’s where I actually would get hourly updates on the hate. I had to mute people that would quote or ss the hate to comment on it.

The height of expectations people have on someone and how THEIR name is being used by millions online and what THEY should say or do is insane.

Being disappointed he doesn’t scold millions of people ranging from retirement age to middle school age for THEIR internet shenanigans.

All that would happen is…nothing

Nothing would change

Blog would have headlines

Other fandoms would talk

Fans, shippers, solos etc would take what they want from it and make it make sense to them how they wish.

Then after not even 24 hours, maybe 48 hours factory rest and everything would continue as before.

Something as deeply ingrained as shipping craziness, as solo craziness…at this point I don’t see it going anywhere even if one member talks on it, 7 members, the company, the government, angels or aliens.

Another thing 😬

Just because we have a need to know itch, we see what antis say, because we have a need to protect and defend, we gotta see what the antis are saying to counteract them, sometimes counter attack. In counter attacking the same tools that antis use are being utilised. In protecting the same words are being said or remixed but different members are being replaced.

If people wanna fight fire with fire instead or replacing your faves name with their faves name, speak on the account user themselves! When people say you’re ’setting up this member or that member’ is because people’s way of fighting fire with fire or clapping back is never the person that said the bullshit but the member, hate what someone online said about a member, then it’s that account user that is your target not the member, the member is thousands of miles away minding their business and getting pulled into millions of people’s group chats, threads, essay posts, clapbacks etc.

Just because we see and are constantly surrounded by the hateful shit doesn’t mean the members are and so they’re not gonna act like that’s their whole internet life.

They watch memes, funny TikToks, series, maybe google their name for the cute art and jokes army have, search their name on twitter and YouTube to re-live performances etc

But are they really following I dunno, like report accounts or something to see the shit day in and day out? Going through the quotes of hit tweets to see the bullshit there? Going through all the English back and forth between antis and seeing the edits and threads?

Yea they know shit, no doubt, but are their internet lives as immersed in the fan wars, shipper, solo etc subspaces or is their shit curated? Their timeline totally different than yours?

Why do you want them to be as stressed online as you are?

If they haven’t seen it that’s good right?

If they scroll online for hours and aren’t compelled to address the hate regardless then it just doesn’t get to them as much as it does you.

Then that’s good right? That’s what we want, right, right??

Wanting them to talk on this or talk on that is more for our comfort than theirs. Cos imagine this, imagine they say something in a dressing it that YOU don’t agree with, then what? They shouldn’t have spoken at all right?

All I know is that we expect soo much of them, we want them to say and do what we want them to say or do, from fans, solos, akgaes and even antis, we all wanna control them in one way or another and we need to reflect on that 😪

Over 20 MILLION PEOPLE watched his live, supporters, haters, media, old and new acquaintances, industry peers, family, friends of family…20 MILLION PEOPLE but yea he didn’t address solos/shipper/antis bullshit🙄

Some of the crap to come from a carefree live full of singing and catching up:

Fans taking what they want to run with it based on a translator working rapid fire in real time to translate in the middle of the night (his live was two hours from midnight to like 2am) running on multiple late nights and early mornings for work and personal life and translating for free. Being mad that she didn’t translate every word and utterance a lost all songs that came from a TWO HOUR live at midnight!

Fans taking him singing songs as validation to their y/n fantasies, their homophobia, their shipping fantasies/wars etc

Kpoppies fighting, slandering his singing abilities over him singing a song

Hate for mentioning his enlistment companion

Mentioning the person you enlisted with and spend the majority of your time with is soo evil??

The pipeline to being a solo fan/akgae of a person to becoming their anti and hating them, insulting them by way of insulting their member. Completely disregarding their vulnerability and making it about hate.

For singing members songs

I’m not messing up my algorithms to show TikTok, IG & YouTube examples 😖

[reidsdimples]

Accidental Baby Genius | Part 2

Based on the request from part 1

You tell Spencer about his child, years later.

Fluff/angst/no smut 🖤 🧸

Enjoy some AI renderings of Reid’s son 🫶🏻

3.5 Years later

“Mommy!” Your son raises his arms when you walk in the door. He hugs you tight around the neck.

“Roman,” you sigh and hold him for a minute. You push away the gnawing realization that’s been plaguing you for months.

He looks up at you with big brown eyes and sweeps his wavy brown locks from his face. You put your hand in his hair and mess it all up again and he laughs. Even his laugh- the way his face contorts- it’s so achingly familiar.

The cut of his jaw as he approaches three years old is becoming more pronounced. You can’t unsee it in him, Spencer Reid is his father. And if his looks weren’t enough of a convincer-

“Rome read me three Dr Seuss books and The Very Hungry Caterpillar today,” your sister informs you,

“Four!” He pouts.

Your two year old was reading at a fucking first grade level if not higher. You sigh, in awe of him.

A familiar heartache seizes you. Spencer has no idea that this amazing little boy is his son.

“I think it’s time,” you shake your head and inform your sister.

“I think so too,” she agrees.

Roman as back to his spot on the floor, building a Lego set of the Star Wars star destroyer which is huge and you can’t figure out how to build. But he’s over half done and you can watch him move around and articulate how to do it all day long.

You noticed about a week ago that he’s started to lick his bottom lip when he’s thinking, or bite it when he’s nervous. It’s not a trait he got from you.

In fact the only thing he seemed to get from you was his nose and ears but the jury was still out on that one. It’s like you birthed a mini Spencer Reid.

“Hey Romi,” you call him by his nickname and wave him over.

“Do you remember how you asked me about your dad?”

“Uhuhh,” he uses his palm to brush his hair back with his hands which are too big for him.

“How would you like to meet him?” He turns in your arms and lights up.

“Does he like reading?”

“He does,” you answer and fight back tears.

“What about counting, because I can count all the way to five thousand,” he starts talking faster when he’s excited.

“I think so,” you caress his small face and kiss his forehead.

—

“I didn’t know if this was still your number,” you say when Spencer answers his phone.

“I’ve had it for years, what’s up?” He seems distracted and you don’t want to do this over the phone.

“Can we talk… in person,” you ask.

“Sure?” He hasn’t spoken to you since about a month after you left the team so abruptly.

“How’s lunch tomorrow?” You ask.

“I thought you moved?” He presses.

“My sister and I moved to DC last month, I’m working at the pentagon now,” you inform him.

“Wow, okay,” you hear shuffling in the background. “Let’s do pizza, you still like Ray’s?” He asks because you two ate there all the time.

“Yeah, how about 1230?”

“Sounds good, see you then,” he hangs up.

Your sister takes your shaking hand but you calm yourself by looking at your beautiful boy.

You think Spencer will want to be a dad, you think he’s mentioned it before. Especially with how absent his father was. But you’re nervous and unsure. He would have every right to be angry with you, Roman was almost three. But it’s better late than never right?

-

“Spencer,” you beam nervously and he hugs you. He seems taller, his hair seems curlier, and he’s got some facial hair. He looks… matured. You wonder what he’s been through, what he’s seen with the BAU since you last saw him.

“Y/N, how are you?” He asks.

“Good, I’m good,” you guys sit outside and make idle chat about work.

You fall into easy conversation over pepperoni pizza and he laughs about some joke your coworker made about Aristotle.

“You said you needed to talk to me?” He crosses his legs and pushes his hair back with his palm(just like Roman does.)

“Spencer…” you shake your head and look down at your lap. Your throat tightens and it all comes down to this moment.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He leans forward and drops his pizza.

“I’m so sorry,” you don’t expect to cry but you do. He drags the metal outdoor chair closer to you and touches your shoulder:

“Sorry for what? What’s going on?” He seems worried.

“I didn’t just leave the BAU for a new position,” you sigh and wipe your eyes. You turn in your chair towards him and pull your knees to your chest.

His brows are furrowed, full and dark just like your sons.

“I got pregnant,” you huff out a shaky breath.

He slides his chair back. You can’t look at him.

“What are you saying?” His voice is low.

“This is Roman,” you slide your phone across the table towards him. Your lock screen is a picture of your son staring at the camera as though he’s far beyond his years.

Spencer inspects it, his eyes scanning the photo frantically.

“That- he…” and then a tear falls down his face. “Do you have more pictures?”

You take your phone and give him your camera roll.

He swipes for a while, he’s biting his lip, his eyes bloodshot.

“He looks just like me,” he whispers a broken whisper and sits back down.

“I know,” you can hardly speak.

“How long have you known he was mine?” He doesn’t sound angry, just… sad.

“I’ve suspected it for a while, he started talking a year ago and… he’s just so smart. Sickeningly so…”

“He could talk at 1?”

“Spencer he can read books and do math at 2 and a half. I could kid myself on his looks for the first year or so of his life but…” you grab his hand and squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why did you leave? Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” He asks and looks up at you.

“Because… you had just lost Maeve and there was a chance that the baby wouldn’t be yours and I didn’t want to make things harder on you,” you sniffle.

He rubs at his eye like he used to do when he got a headache.

“Why tell me now?” He asks.

“He asks about his daddy. And now that I know for a fact who that is… you deserve to know.”

“Daddy,” he whispers and his voice cracks as he looks at a photo of Roman as a baby baby.

“He’s even wearing…” he points at the picture.

“My sister was trying to make a point,” you smile softly.

He laughs a little at that.

“Do you want to meet him? You don’t have to. You never have to…”

“Of course I do,” he stops you.

“I don’t want anything from you. That’s not why I’m telling you this,” you assure him. “You can be as involved or not involved as you want.”

“Y/N, he’s my son. I want him to know me and I want to know him,” now he’s squeezing your hand. You nod, you’re relieved.

——

“Okay, are you ready?” You ask your son the next day.

“Yes!” He holds up his toy train that he brought his dad to the park.

You spot Spencer at a picnic table in the shade and pick up your son. The wind blows his hair around as you approach. Spencer stands, his eyes lighting up as he beholds Roman.

“Spencer Reid, this is Roman Jacob Reid,” you say proudly.

“Hi,” he smiles and waves at Roman who you stand on the table.

“I got you a train. It has my name on it, see. R-O-M-A-N,” he points at the letters. Spencer lets out an amazed huff and takes the red engine.

“It’s perfect!” He exaggerates.

“I’m changing his last name tomorrow,” you whisper to Spencer. “If that’s okay.”

“That would be amazing,” he smiles down at you.

“Okay stand back,” Roman pushes Spencer away from the table. “I’m going to show mommy that you’re strong because I’m strong and if I’m a superhero you’re a superhero!”

Spencer glances at you and has no idea what he means but then Roman jumps off of the table towards Spencer in a giant leap with a howling laugh. Spencer doesn’t miss a beat and catches him swiftly with the biggest smile of his face.

“See mommy! Strong! Now I know he’s my daddy for sure!” Roman exclaims.

“Romi be gentle with him,” you warn.

“Romi,” Spencer whispers as he tries out the nickname.

“Mommy says you’re a special agent, are you a spy? Like double oh seven?” Roman asks absentmindedly as he places the train into Spencer’s shoulder and moves it back and forth. He’s sitting on the table in front of his dad who looks like the world just fell in his lap. Your heart feels so full.

“Maybe, what do you know about 007?” He grins at his son.

“Some stuff,” he shrugs.

“I do know magic,” Spencer informs him.

“But magic isn’t real!” Roman swats his dad’s chest.

“No?” Spencer pinches Romans ear. “So you always have a quarter in there?”

“Woah!” Roman stands on the table in awe. “Do it again!”

“What about this? Is this yours?” He reaches towards his other ear and brings out a lollipop.

“It is now,” he giggles and snatches it. “Thank you,” he hugs Spencer around the neck.

Spencer looks at you and you’ve never seen him like this. He seems content, amazed, like he’s finally found a puzzle he can’t solve. You’re hugging Roman’s stuffed bear to your chest as you watch them.

“Thank you,” Spencer whispers to you and hugs Roman again. “Now let’s go get some ice cream,” Spencer says.

“Uh-oh you said the magic word,” you taunt as Roman squeals in excitement.

“I wanna be on your back,” Roman tells Spencer who obliges. He wraps his arms around Spencer’s neck, his legs around his waist while Spencer supports his legs.

He follows you to the ice cream shop across from the park. You think for the first time in a while, that everything just might be okay.

“Would it be weird for me to thank you?” You ask Spencer.

“Thank me for what?” He asks and licks his ice cream cone. Roman is in your lap, gently picking singular sprinkles off of his ice cream and eating them first. Like always.

“For him,” you hug him gently and kiss his head. Roman doesn’t react, too lost in his ice cream.

“You carried him, birthed him, and raised him on your own until now. I should be thanking you. You’re incredible,” he stares into your eyes. Your heart skips a beat and you look away.

“Let’s just say we’re both grateful for him,” you smile. “I never knew, where you stood on children. If you ever wanted them.”

“Children bring such a light into our lives, especially people like us who work in the dark all of the time. They remind us of wonder and innocence and show us compassion and patience. In their presence we are given the opportunity to rediscover the joy in simple moments, the thrill of exploration, and the power of unconditional love. I’ve always wanted children,” he explains.

You don’t know why you had any doubts about him.

“Well, they can be trying too,” you look down at your perfect child. “So I hear,” you shrug and both of you laugh.

[soulessjourney]

Vengeance Trail

Paring: Billy the kid x Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: You and Billy had known each other during your younger years. However, following an argument, you departed to forge your own path, leaving things on bad terms between the two of you. Years later, circumstances led you back, having been recruited to assist John Tunstall. As the war drew nearer, tensions resurfaced between both of you.

Warnings: Slight mature themes nothing too detailed, Billy not knowing how to make up his mind

A/N: So this was supposed to be one long drabble but I got 4k words in and wasn't even half way through so I will now be turing this into a small series.

Your life hasn’t been easy. For years, you had to fend for yourself, even as a young girl. At such a tender age, loneliness was your constant companion until you met him—Billy McCarty, as you knew him. It all began in Kansas, just days after their arrival. His mother, a kind and gentle soul, his rowdy and energetic brother—these were the first faces you encountered. But Billy stood apart, calm and soft-spoken, especially towards you. Little was known about Billy’s father except for his ailing condition upon their arrival. When he first encountered you, you weren't dressed like the other girls in town. No, clad in a simple, dirty white cotton shirt and brown-stained trousers, mud tainting your braided hair, you were as fiery then as you are now.

Billy swiftly became your closest friend after your initial meeting, and the two of you were inseparable. You stood by him during the loss of his father, just as he stood by you when your parents abandoned you for greener pastures. The McCartys became your surrogate family, and you were willing to sacrifice everything for them. After his father's passing, the McCartys decided to seek new opportunities in Santa Fe, extending an invitation for you to join them.

As your new life unfolded in Santa Fe, you chose to assist Billy's mother at the inn, doing everything in your power to ease her workload. You shielded her from advances made by older men and helped restore order after brawls erupted in the bar. But over time, Kathleen and the others grew distant. She met a man who prompted her to move in with him, taking the boys along, while you remained stuck living at the inn, toiling tirelessly to make ends meet. As you and Billy matured, a shift occurred between you two—a growing chasm that led to that pivotal, fateful night.

Standing in your room, you tucked your shirt into your trousers before slipping on the boots. "Y/N, don't do this. You're not thinking straight," Billy urged, positioned near the door to impede your departure. Rolling your eyes, you tied your hair back with a ribbon, keeping the strands from obscuring your face.

"It doesn't matter, Billy. My decision is final. I can't spend my life here in the inn or aiding you in poker, especially after what happened with Carlos," you retorted, arms crossed, referencing the tragic incident that occurred last time you attempted to help him. "This can't be my life anymore. I have no family, and constantly fending off the advances of older men isn't the future I want."

"You have a family, Y/N. We're your family," Billy insisted, attempting to reason with you, taking a step closer.

"You're not my family, Billy. You ceased being my family when you left me here to work for my bed," you replied firmly, brushing past him to retrieve your gun belt from the nearby chair. If there was one thing you appreciated about Billy, it was his lessons on shooting, and you had become quite proficient.

Billy followed closely, his voice growing desperate as he tried to persuade you. Moving around his brother and acknowledging Kathleen with a nod, you stepped into the night air. "Fine, leave. But where will you go, Y/N? You don't know how to survive out there on your own. You'll end up dead in a ditch, and I can't bear to bury another friend," he implored, quickening his pace to block your movements.

Shaking your head, you reached your horse, a striking brown and white paint, and began fastening your belongings. "I'll figure it out, Billy. I grew up alongside you. I'm confident I can handle myself. But I'm tired of stagnation. What happened to the Billy who dreamt of running away with me, exploring the world? You're not the same friend anymore. I'm happy for you and your mother, but I need to discover who I am, and I hoped you'd support me in that," you murmured, pausing your actions, refusing to meet his gaze.

Waiting for a response that never came, you mounted your horse and rode off into the night, leaving Billy behind, watching you vanish from his life.

---

A few years later, you had earned quite the reputation, becoming one of the most renowned outlaws. To conceal your past, you adopted a new alias, known to many as Sadie Bennet, while others foolishly dubbed you "The Wolf," a title you found entirely absurd but resigned to endure as there was not much you can do besides complain. One of your crew members had rationalized the nickname, claiming it suited you because you tracked your targets before striking, often appearing as a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Seated not far from the bar, your hair cascading down your back, you leisurely sipped on whiskey. "Ms. Bennet, I assure you this deal will benefit you. Your marksmanship is unmatched, and we desperately need your expertise. Mr. Tunstall won't rest until we secure your assistance. While we may not match your previous compensation, he's vowed to collaborate with you to clear your name," the man before you spoke. He appeared relatively young, likely just a few years older than you.

Setting down your glass, you arched a brow, sucking air through your teeth. "Mr. Bowdre, I appreciate the offer, but as I've reiterated, a petty power struggle isn't in my best interest," you stated, adjusting the suspenders chafing against your skin beneath the blue plaid shirt. "If Mr. Tunstall is genuinely in dire need, he should make a personal appeal. His absence leads me to believe otherwise."

Charlie ran his hands over his face, growing increasingly desperate, an almost amusing sight. "He's away on business, Ms. Bennet. That's why he can't request your services in person," he explained, using a word that made it seem as though you were peddling yourself to men, a notion that irked you.

"Very well, I'll consider it. There's not much occupying my time currently. I'll head to Lincoln County in a few days. There, we can convene and discuss details further. I have a few loose ends to tie up here before departing," you announced as you stood. Noticing his instant relaxation upon your agreement made you ponder just how desperate they were for your aid. Retrieving your hat from the table, you brushed it against your brown trousers to rid it of any table dirt before placing it atop your head. Tipping your hat, you offered a faint smile before pivoting on your heel. "I'll see you in a few days, Charlie. Ensure Tunstall is present; it would be nice to meet him after your vivid descriptions," you remarked, striding out of the saloon, unaware that accepting his offer would soon thrust you back into the life of a close friend.

---

As promised, you arrived in Lincoln County a few days following your conversation with Charlie. While making your way toward town, you were intercepted by Charlie himself, evidently waiting for your arrival. "Ms. Bennet, welcome! We were starting to worry that you might have had a change of heart," he greeted you as you turned your horse to face him, a smile gracing your lips.

"Nonsense, Mr. Bowdre. I may be many things, but I always keep my word. I said I'd come, and I intend to follow through," you replied, meeting his contented smile as he guided you toward his house. Though the ride had been somewhat lengthy, the scenery was undeniably picturesque. Looking up, you caught sight of an eagle soaring above, circling twice before disappearing. Closing your eyes, you reminisced about the last time you had seen an eagle. It was just after your departure from Santa Fe, when illness had nearly claimed you. Lying on the ground, an eagle had soared overhead, and you'd tracked its every movement before succumbing to sleep. Days later, you'd awoken in an unfamiliar bed, unsure of your whereabouts.

"Mr. Tunstall will be delighted to meet you. We have a few others more directly involved in our operations. They'll also be present to greet you. Don't be put off; some of them relish being intimidating," Charlie's words interrupted your thoughts, eliciting a soft laugh from you. Shortly after, you arrived at a small ranch, where a woman stood waiting. Radiant and evidently excited to greet the man beside you, you assumed she was Charlie's wife, judging by the ring adorning her finger and her joyful expression upon seeing him.

Dismounting your horse and patting her gently, you followed Charlie toward the house. Taking a deep breath, you entered and glanced around. It was a lovely, well-organized home—neither too crowded nor too sparse. Charlie guided you into the living room, where you paused, noticing a group of men engaged in conversation. Some appeared older than you, while one around your age gazed out the window.

"Mr. Tunstall, gentlemen, I present Sadie Bennet," Charlie announced, prompting the men in the room to straighten, catching their attention. The young man by the window turned towards you, causing your heart to skip a beat. Standing before you was your old friend, Billy McCarty, though markedly different from your last encounter. Life had evidently molded him into a hardened man. His widened eyes and the way he uttered your name revealed his surprise and disbelief at seeing you again.

Tunstall scanned you before removing his hat and extending his hand in greeting. "Ms. Bennet, I've heard a fair amount about you from Charlie, including the challenge it posed in persuading you to assist us," he remarked, his smile softening as you firmly grasped his hand. Indeed, you hadn't been the easiest to recruit, having encountered Charlie multiple times before, his persistent attempts at recruiting you finally wearing you down.

"I apologize, Mr. Tunstall. I wasn't initially certain about joining this endeavor. However, Charlie's persistence eventually led me to agree. I hope my delayed acceptance didn't hinder your plans too significantly," you offered, ignoring Billy's intense gaze as he positioned himself beside you.

"That's quite alright. What matters is your presence now, and your skills will undoubtedly be invaluable. Now, allow me to introduce you to the others," Tunstall said, shifting his focus around the room. "This is George," he gestured to the man on his left, "and you're already acquainted with Charlie." Charlie offered a reassuring smile, leaving only one person to introduce.

"Finally, we have B—" You abruptly interrupted Tunstall, turning to extend your hand.

"William Bonney, it's a pleasure to meet you face to face. You're quite the celebrity; I was concerned about competition for the title of most notorious outlaw," you jested, noticing a subtle change in Billy's expression. Unsure whether it was anger or disappointment, you shrugged it off. Arching your eyebrows, you awaited his response, but as he made no move, you scoffed and turned back to Tunstall. "Well, as famous as he is, he certainly lacks manners," you grumbled, crossing your arms, eliciting a surprised cough from Charlie, who attempted to suppress a laugh.

Billy cleared his throat and shook his head. "I apologize, Ms. Bennet. That wasn't my intention. I was merely surprised to encounter a fan. It's delightful to make your acquaintance. Please forgive my lapse in manners," he said, his gaze fixed on yours.

"Oh, I'm not a fan, Mr. Bonney. Just pleased to meet the most wanted man in several counties," you shrugged, distancing yourself from him. "Mr. Tunstall, can we discuss my involvement privately? I won't commit until we've reached mutual terms," you proposed. Tunstall nodded, dismissing the others, and you shot a lingering glance in Billy's direction. Removing your gun belt and placing it on the table, you settled into a chair. "Tell me the details of my role."

Tunstall positioned himself opposite you, crossing a leg over his knee and folding his hands. "As you're aware, there's a feud between Mr. Murphy and me. He's a power-hungry man, exploiting the land and its people. He indebts them, then employs unsavory means to seize their property. I'm sure you're familiar with his tactics." You nodded, feeling a simmering rage within. "We aim to confront Murphy, reclaim the land, and provide these people with the rightful homes they deserve without enduring such hardships. I require your skills to assist in taking him down. You and Mr. Bonney will offer exactly what's needed to dismantle Murphy's corrupt hold."

As you reclined in your chair, Tunstall's words raced through your mind. This man was willing to fight and die for a cause—bringing a better life to Lincoln County—and he sought your aid above all. "Alright, let's assume I agree to assist you. What assurances can you provide? I'm not interested in money; I seek something more secure and dependable," you challenged, noticing Tunstall's surprise, though it didn't shock him, especially given your reputation.

"I can offer you an opportunity to clear your name. As far as I'm aware, you're wanted across at least four counties, three of which have bounties on your head. However, by assisting me and transitioning away from the outlaw life, I can advocate for you. I'll speak to judges, emphasizing your change of heart and commendable actions, working to eradicate those bounties against you," Tunstall proposed. The offer held undeniable appeal. Clearing your name from charges that weren't your doing in the first place seemed like a tempting prospect.

Nodding, you contemplated the offer more deeply. "Very well, I accept these terms. I'll collaborate with you to take down Murphy and assist in your objectives. But it's crucial that you uphold your end of the deal, Mr. Tunstall," you affirmed, running your fingers through your hair. "Now, could you tell me further about William Bonney?" Tunstall's eyes brightened as he eagerly briefed you on what he knew about your former friend.

---

That evening, you lay outside, your coat serving as a makeshift pillow while your gaze remained fixed on the stars. A gentle cool breeze kissed your cheek and nose, while the nearby fire crackled softly. Your eyes flickered open as the sound of footsteps approached, halting beside you as a figure settled down. "I didn't expect to see you roped into all of this," Billy spoke softly. "Honestly, I thought you were gone for good until I spotted your wanted posters everywhere. Who would've guessed you'd dig a deeper hole than mine, but I suppose stubbornness runs in your veins, so that's no surprise," he said, glancing down at you.

Sitting up, you drew your knees to your chest and released a sigh. "What do you want, Billy?" you asked, pressing your lips together tightly. "Don't expect anything from this. I'm here solely to clear my name, not to mend something that shattered a long time ago," you added, redirecting your gaze back to the starlit sky. Billy sighed and fiddled with his fingers, uncertain of his next words.

"I tried to find you. After my mother passed away, and I was falsely accused of a crime, I searched for you. I assumed you'd moved on to another town or two, but you were nowhere to be found. Then I kept hearing about this remarkable woman named Sadie Bennet—how impressive she was, especially for a female outlaw. It wasn't until I saw your wanted poster that I knew it was you. Part of me felt relieved, but another part wanted to keep searching," Billy confessed, joining you in gazing skyward.

"I wasn't far when Kathleen passed. I'm sorry for your loss; she was a remarkable woman," you began, "I knew you were alright, still alive, as people talked about you often. Imagine my surprise when they accused you of murder. I couldn't believe it because you were always about settling disputes, not escalating them to violence. No matter how much I might have disliked you, I couldn't believe those allegations," your words struck a chord, leaving him silent.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he uttered quietly. "I took advantage of your presence, assuming you'd always be there for me, even when I distanced myself. You were a constant in my life, and I took that for granted. Life turned into hell after you left, and realizing my mistake hit hard when I didn't have you to turn to anymore. Joe was furious with me for weeks; he blamed me, rightfully so."

"Don't blame yourself, Billy. I left because I needed more than the life we had. Our rift was just one part of why I left; it's not solely on you," you said, meeting his gaze filled with sorrow. Wanting to comfort him, you hesitated but then pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Stop looking so forlorn, Billy. You're not alone; there are people who care."

Billy wrapped an arm around you, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. "The reason I regretted it so much was because I was in love with you. You meant everything to me, and you showed me what it felt like to be truly wanted," he whispered softly, tightening his embrace. You remained silent, uncertain of how to respond to his confession. When you attempted to pull away, he shook his head, drawing you closer. "Please, just listen. I was so deeply in love with you that my mother was helping me gather the courage to confess my feelings. But then you vanished, leaving me with unspoken words and a heap of regrets."

"Billy," you murmured, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. "You carry so many burdens and regrets. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. You didn't deserve to feel alone, and I regret leaving you in that state. I had feelings for you too, but when you distanced yourself, I took it as a sign and fled like a coward," you confessed, feeling his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb caressing your skin. Lost in each other's eyes, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

His lips felt weathered against yours, yet the kiss conveyed volumes of unspoken emotions, making you disregard any roughness. Your fingers entwined in his hair, gently tugging on his brown locks, and a subdued moan escaped as he pulled you into his lap. Breaking the kiss, Billy placed a tender one along your jawline before meeting your eyes. "Let's head inside. It's getting late," he murmured, guiding you along. Pausing just outside the spare room, he kissed you again before ushering you inside, where the evening was spent memorizing each other's bodies and sharing quiet confessions.

---

The next morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. Stretching your arms, a smile naturally spread across your lips. For once, you felt truly rested, and the usual ache in your back was noticeably absent. Sensing movement behind you, you felt an arm around your waist draw you closer. Memories of the previous night flooded your mind, and you suppressed a smile as you turned in bed to meet Billy's bright blue eyes. "Good morning," you whispered, gently cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a sleepy smile as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Good morning," he mumbled back, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on your lips. Pulling away, he nestled his head on your shoulder, his arm holding you tighter. "Do you think we should come clean about knowing each other?"

Running your fingers through your hair, you pondered his question. "I'd say we might have to. There's hardly any believable excuse, especially after last night," you chuckled, placing kisses along his jawline. "But we should probably get up and start our day," you sighed, only to squeal as he playfully rolled on top of you, tickling your sides and eliciting high-pitched laughter.

After some playful moments and shared affection, Billy rolled off and got up, heading to the small bathroom. Lying on your stomach, you observed him dressing and attempting to tame his tousled hair. Catching his gaze, you noticed a flicker of something before he grabbed a black shirt from the wardrobe. Handing it to you, he sat on the bed, tracing his fingers over your exposed back. "I'll head downstairs while you get ready. I'll try to hold them off until you're ready to face the grilling," he said with a playful eye-roll, making you stifle laughter in the pillows.

Eventually, you sat up and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. "I'll see you downstairs, cowboy. Don't let them chew you up," you teased, rolling out of bed. As you started dressing, you ran a brush through your hair, noticing the red marks on your neck and collarbone. Groaning, you tilted your head back, silently blaming Billy. Once dressed, you made your way downstairs, overhearing hushed whispers. Some sounded teasing, while others seemed more disgruntled, likely discussing you and Billy. Walking into the room, you stood behind Billy, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Good morning, gentlemen. How was your night's rest?" you greeted them with a wide smile that faded as Billy distanced himself from your touch.

Charlie greeted you with a small welcoming smile while Tunstall settled into the chair at the table. Positioning yourself next to Billy, you observed him, puzzled by his sudden shift in emotions. "Sadie, or should I say Y/N, what exactly is your relationship with Billy?" he asked. Part of you hesitated, uncertain of what to say, as his expression demanded nothing but the truth. Before you could respond, Billy interjected.

"There's no relationship. Last night, we both had a bit to drink which led to events that should have never happened. I want to apologize for our actions. We have more important things going on, and we should have been more careful." His words hit you hard, and your face contorted into a mix of horror and shock. It was a mistake—this whole situation. Just moments ago, he appeared content waking up beside you, but now you felt reduced to a mere error. Clenching your hands into fists on your thighs, you bit the inside of your cheek to restrain any comments on the brink of escaping.

"Billy is right, Mr. Tunstall. We both got carried away, and I'll ensure it never happens again. I allowed myself to become too vulnerable around someone, and I shouldn't have." You managed to force the words out, your voice strained. "Now, if you boys excuse me, I need to tend to my horse and maybe explore the town to familiarize myself with the area," you grumbled, rising abruptly and causing the chair to scrape against the floor.

Charlie stood up swiftly. "I'll join you. Perhaps I can give you an overview of the town and how everything operates." You nodded at Charlie and left the kitchen, purposefully avoiding looking in Billy's direction. Charlie followed closely, slowing his pace as you reached the horses.

"What truly happened between you and Billy? Anyone who can read a room can tell that you're more than just a drunken mistake. So, what are you to him?" Charlie inquired as he mounted his horse.

Swinging yourself onto your horse, you shrugged. "I thought I meant something to him, but I should've known better than to believe his words. I apologize if things were awkward this morning, Charlie. That wasn't my intention at all." You offered him an apologetic smile as he joined you on horseback. A part of you wanted to cry and vent your frustration after Billy's sudden indifference. You had opened up to him and comforted him, only to be discarded once again. Last night felt too perfect to be true, but it hurt to realize that you had exposed yourself only to be hurt in the end.

Charlie shook his head and regarded you as the two of you began riding towards town. "You don't need to apologize, Y/N. Sometimes people change, and sometimes they change in a matter of minutes. All you can do is look ahead and move on. You're a wonderful and kind young lady. Billy just doesn't know what he's doing," Charlie consoled. Part of you felt weak for letting Charlie comfort you, but his words resonated and lingered in your mind. He was right. You couldn't let this consume you. All you could do was fulfill your duties and keep moving forward.