#trendy mom bag

[mekyrdesign]

Introducing the 90s Retro Diaper Backpack, the perfect blend of nostalgia and modern functionality for today’s parents. This stylish backpack features vibrant prints inspired by the iconic trends of the 90s, ensuring you stand out while keeping your essentials organized. With spacious compartments and a comfortable design, the 90s Retro Diaper Backpack makes outings with your little one effortlessly chic and convenient. Embrace the past with this must-have accessory for contemporary parenting!

[francebaby]

i was so excited to get this bag i got off kickstarter, but it got delayed a bit to next month instead of this month nooo

i guess it's a bday gift now....

[bonsubear]

Reader loves Invincible but hates Mark┃Mark/Invincible x Fangirl! Reader ┃#2

a/n: I hope I didn't make reader too unlikable :P I’m literally just pulling these out of my ass with no outline. Also I just wanna keep these silly hsdhah

potential ooc warning cause I’m not confident I portray characters correctly ;;

#1, #2, #3

WC: 2.4k

“Mark, why are you whining about spending some time with your mother? You should be ecstatic, you know.” His mom playfully nudged at him as she pulled into the parking lot of the mall, the parking lot completely packed left and right with cars. “I’m getting scared you’re forgetting about me. I thought you’d be momma’s boy forever.” Debbie sighed, shaking her head as she unbuckled her seatbelt. A light smile on her face.

“You’re using me as a porter, mom.” Mark flatly replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m happy to spend time with you but it’s obvious you’re using me as free labor.”

“And that’s my right! I carried you for nine agonizing months, I get the perks of having you. Besides, you can think of this as—I don’t know—training.” She shrugged.

“Training?” He deadpanned. “Training for what?”

“Weight training or whatever you want to call it. It’s not like you’ll get tired from a couple of bags.” She nodded, pointing out his viltrumite strength. Debbie pushed the car door open, exiting and Mark simply sighed as he followed his mom’s lead.

His mom suggested (more like she demanded) that he accompany her to the mall. Apparently, a couple of stores were having a sale, and she wanted to check out the potential good deals. Mark is completely fine with this, but it’s pretty evident that he’ll be stuck carrying around all the things she’ll most likely purchase.

“What are you even looking for?” Mark asked, walking next to his mom.

“Anything! So many things are on sale right now at Always21 and f.a.e. We can get some stuff for your dad, couple of my coworkers, and you.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Don’t say that so soon, we aren’t even in the mall yet.”

His mom was standing next to the escalator, with Mark just right beside her. Just as he had predicted, he was being used as his mom’s personal porter as his hands and wrists were full of different bags of different colors and sizes. 85% of the items were for people Debbie knew like her coworkers or friends while the rest were for her, his dad, and him.

Mark eyed the bags, raising his brow. “How many babies is your coworker having again? This seems a lot for a baby shower.”

“She’s having quadruplets. She’s going to need all of those things—babies grow out of their clothes in a blink of an eye.” Debbie chuckled as she looked at her son’s face, being reminded when he was a chubby little baby who would outgrow his clothes practically every week.

Suddenly, her phone began ringing in her pocket and she was quick to check the caller ID. She released a small groan, shaking her head. “Mark, I have to take this. It’s work. You can put those stuff down and go walk around, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Okay, choosing work over spending time with your son—got it.” He quipped, the corner of his lips raising as Debbie swatted at him. Mark rolled his eyes playfully, setting down the bags near the bench that his mom took a seat on as she brought her phone to her ear with a furrowed brow.

He strayed away from his mom, walking as his eyes passed various stores. His eyes lazily bounced from one store to another, not really paying close attention to the people in them.

An elderly man sitting at the edge of the wall of a Vicky’s Secret.

A mom struggling to get her two screaming children off the floor of a Smallso

A bald guy staring a little bit too hard at a mannequin who was only wearing underwear inside an Aged Navy

You staring at an anime figurine inside Trendy Topic

A kid trying to reach their hand inside a gumball machine—wait, you?!

Mark Grayson immediately halted, tripping over his feet. His sudden action caused some people walking behind him to curse at him, but he pushed past them as he turned to poke his head back to look inside Trendy Topic. Rubbing his eyes, he saw that you were squinting at a figurine as you stood still like a statue. Obviously deep in thought. The punk rock that was playing in the speakers of the store surrounded you while you softly bit your lip, staring at the figurine—searching for an answer to your problem.

Wow, you looked great. You were wearing a casual baggy shirt and pants, the articles of clothing mismatched and contrasting each other in the ‘worse’ ways—yet is it weird to say that you still looked amazing?

Mark could’ve sworn that he heard his brain take a picture, saving it in his memory files with the rest of the mental images he saved of you.

Blinking, he realized that his feet were already moving towards you. His pounding heart matched with his footsteps as he walked closer to you, his body immediately acting on a weird impulse while his brain tried to come up with things to do once he finally got to you.

Shit, what do I say? Hello? Hey? His mind raced as his eyes flickered from your face to the figurine you were looking at. Thinking of buying that? Is that weird to say? Is that a good opener? Oh man, this is actually the first time I’ve ever seen her outside of school as just me. Me, Mark. Not Invincible.

Grayson had seen you multiple times around the city as Invincible while fighting or simply flying around the city. It was a coincidence that he would see you a few times then and there—totally not because he would keep an extra eye out for you and find any excuse to talk to you.

He totally didn't make sure whenever there was danger nearby he wouldn't be the first one to warn and whisk you away to a safer area, hearing you sing praises in his ear about how much you loved him. He also totally didn't pretend not to notice you as he stayed afloat in the sky yet close enough to the ground so you could point him out and call him with that sweet voice of yours.

No, pfft, totally not. What kind of superhero would he be if he did those down right pathetic things?

"Holy fuck! How long have you been standing there you creep?!" You yelped in surprise, shocking him too as he snapped out of his trance. You looked up at him with your gorgeous eyes, clutching your purse close to you as you stared at him as if he had two heads. "Did you stalk me? Fucking pervert." You hissed, taking a step back as if he had the plague.

"What? No! Uh—I saw you just for a second and wanted to say hi."

"Hi, now buzz off. Don't you have a loaded gun that you should be pointing at your head right now?"

Mark felt a chuckle swell in his throat, his lips quirking up in an amused grin. He should be offended at the harsh things you verbally threw at him, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind how you were all over him as Invincible yet so guarded off toward him as Mark. If he were to reveal his secret identity to you right here and now, how would you react? Embarrassed? Flustered? Hell, what if excited?

He quickly raised his hand to cover it, if you saw him smiling you'd get pissed—

"What are you smiling for? Eugh."

Never mind, you noticed.

"Are you interested in that figure? Uh, I saw you looking at it through the window." He smiled, his eyes shifting to look at the anime figurine that was out on display with the copies underneath it.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy." You scowled, eyeing him as if he was going to mug you at any second. Mark really couldn't help but continue to compare how you act towards him and his superhero alterego Invincible in his head.

You acted so outgoing and bubbly whenever he was dressed up in his hero costume, shamelessly fangirling over him by saying things like, "please sign the marriage papers already!" or "let me take you out on a date, I'll give you my whole college fund!" Yet acted like Mark was the dirt on your shoe whenever he was in his civilian attire.

"Is that a no?"

"... I might be interested in it." You teared your eyes off of him, looking back at the figurine. You glanced at your wallet, and Mark noticed how your eyebrow twitched just slightly. He pursed his lips as he took a second to piece the puzzle pieces together before speaking again.

"Don't have enough money for it?"

"!!!"

You coughed, your cheeks tinting slightly in embarrassment as you took a look at Mark's face—a sly smirk on his lips as he stared down at you. You shivered, he's so freakishly tall. "None of your business, jackass. Go die."

He hesitated before seizing the opportunity to take this as a chance to get closer to you. In school there was never opportunities since you refused to be in any group in him, never needed help with studying, declined exchanging notes—but this? Mark knew you were weak to obtaining new items.

"I can buy it for you." Grayson smiled innocently, trying to appear as friendly as possible. He picked up a box, turning it over to see the price tag. 24.99. "I've never seen this anime before. I'm more of a comic book guy."

"Why the hell would you buy that for me?" You barked, raising a brow as you took a step forward. "What are you tryna get at?"

"Nothing! I just want to do a nice thing for you."

"Your trying to get in my pants, aren't you. Your not getting this fucking cookie, it's for Invincible."

"W-What, no?!" He yelped, his cheeks flushing at the fact you accused him of trying to get into your pants and the fact you were so shameless about basically saying your—uh, as you put it, 'cookie,' was for Invincible aka him. "I, I just want to help you! Nothing weird!?"

"Your a pathetic pervert, I bet you were cooking that up while salivating behind the window, huh? Diabolical."

"No!"

"Then why!"

"I—you—" he stumbled over his words, his eyes darting to the Invincible phone charm that dangled. "Your a huge fan of Invincible—I'm a huge fan of him too! Two Invincible fans got to stick together, right?" He chuckled, sweat dropping at how stupid his reasoning sounded.

You stayed silent for a moment, quirking your brow. "... Your a fan of him?"

"Y-Yeah! A huge one!"

“Prove it.”

“I have pictures of him I can share with you.” Pictures?!

You blinked, and he internally screamed as he was certain that he just screwed up and made him look like an even bigger loser in your eyes. “… What kind of pictures?”

“Like, uh, so many of them. Up close ones, pictures of him back when he just started it without his official hero suit, um, and y’know the works!”

“…How up close are they?”

“Practically selfies?”

“…”

A pregnant silence passed between you, the punk music playing in Trendy Topic filling the air as you stared into his sweating face hard like you were dissecting whether he was telling the truth or not. You took a step towards him, your hateful eyes having a sparkle of something else inside them.

“Really?” Your voice chirped. He immediately recognized the tone of your voice being the same as the one you use toward Invincible, so sweet and filled with admiration. Shivers ran down his back.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You coughed, turning your face away. “I guess even losers can recognize peak.” You mumbled to yourself, but with his heightened hearing he heard it loud and clear. “How many of those pictures do you have?”

“Multiple?”

You squealed, jumping towards him. “Show me them, show me them!”

Oh no. “I don’t have them on my phone—I only have physical copies.” Nice one, Mark!

“That’s even fucking better.” You were practically shaking. With no warning, you grabbed on his arm, holding it tightly as you led him to the cashier register, Mark having a firm grip on the figurine box. “I’ll let you buy that for me if you give me some of those photos!”

Mark sat with you on a bench outside Trendy Topic, the figurine he had just bought in your lap. “I’ll only kind of believe you’re not trying to sleep with me if you prove that you actually have those photos,” You squinted, “If you don’t, let’s just say whenever you see me walk faster.”

“I did not buy that to sleep with you! I am… a super big Invincible fan.” He cleared his throat trying to pretend enthusiasm for himself. “And when I found out you were also one weeks ago, I figured you’d finally want to be friends with me.”

“In your wildest dreams. I’m only tolerating you right now for the photos that you may or may not have.”

“I do have them!” I don’t.

“Well whatever it is, I’ll believe it once I see them.” You huffed, reaching your hand out. “Give me your phone.”

He handed it over and watched you open his phone and into his contacts, entering a series of digits.

“I have to go so text me when you can hand the goods over. Don’t jizz your pants just cause you have my number.” You harshly pushed his phone back in his hands. “My hatred for you is on a slight pause, so don’t mistake this for friendship. Merely an alliance.”

His ears perked up at the acknowledgement of you profound hate towards him. “I don’t understand, why do you hate me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” You huffed, standing up. You jabbed a finger in the air, “I know it must come easy to you, but don’t act dumb. Unless you’re a secret blond under that thick hair of yours.”

“I seriously don’t—“

Before he could interject you already turned on your heel and walked off, leaving Mark sitting on the bench staring at your disappearing silhouette.

He internally groaned at himself—as soon as he gets home he needs to take pictures of himself.

Though, he couldn’t help but get giddy at the fact he had your number now.

Always21 = Forever21

f.a.e = e.l.f

Vicky’s Secret = Victoria Secret

Aged Navy = Old Navy

Trendy Topic = Hot Topic

Smallso = Miniso

[joaosnovia]

Hiiiii I’ve been waiting sooo long to request from u I looooove ur writing <33

So hear me out luv a Hector Fort long fic (please make it long 8k+) where he’s a popular student and reader is like an unpopular middle class student and she’s kinda bullied for that but Hector starts dating her cuz he loves her but all his friends and people in school start calling her a gold digger and Hector keeps defending her so one day he gifts her a necklace like an expensive one right but she needs money cuz her mom needs meds and her fam aren’t doing well but somehow the popular girl in school that has a crush on Hector finds out and tells him so he thinks reader is actually with him for the money so he fights with her and break up and then later he finds out that she suffered and he regret it when he found her working 2 part time and became always absent in school and got sent to principal cuz she sleeps in class cuz she’s tired from working and make the endings fluffy but please make it angsty like I wanna cry I wanna bawl my lil eyes and heart out (I’m a sucker for angst I litt read sad books all the time)

If you are able to write this I thank u in advance darling <33

Have a great weekend and stay healthy and safe 💙

❦ - unpopular.

summary:: the req.

warnings:: angst but yk that.

writers note:: this took way too long to write but tbf this got requested ages ago and i’d write like once a week but it’s lowkey fun! also there’s a baby ref in this

w/c:: 9k

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @mariejuli @nngkay

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montserrat academy smelled like money.

not literally, but in that subtle way: clean, polished hallways that echoed too much, perfume lingering in the air even after people had left, crisp uniforms that never seemed to wrinkle, shoes that didn’t scuff, phones without a single crack.

you didn’t belong there. not really.

you’d gotten in on merit, a scholarship, long nights of studying, beating the odds kind of story. your mom cried when you got the acceptance email. your little brother made a paper crown and called you ‘genius queen’ for a week.

but being in didn’t mean being part of.

you sat alone a lot. not because you were a loner, but because lunch tables filled up fast with people who didn’t look twice at you. your clothes weren’t trendy, your shoes were always the same beat-up pair of sneakers, and your accent still carried bits of the neighborhood you came from.

and the others… they noticed.

they didn’t push you or laugh in your face or throw your books across the floor like in those dramatic high school movies. no, it was quieter than that.

it was looking through you when you spoke in class. it was changing the subject when you joined the conversation. it was the way camila once complimented your thrifted bag, and everyone laughed like she’d told a joke.

you weren’t hated. just forgotten. misplaced. tolerated.

but you didn’t come to be liked.

you came to escape.

from the thin walls of your apartment, where you could hear your mom coughing through the night. from the grocery lists that had more crossed-out items than bought ones. from the part-time job you worked after school and on weekends, where your uniform smelled like espresso and burnt toast.

you told yourself that montserrat academy was a ladder.

get good grades. get out. get a future.

so you kept your head down. kept your notebooks full. tuned out the whispers.

until him.

héctor fort didn’t exist in your world. not really. he was the kind of student who was the school. son of someone important. name whispered like legacy. always surrounded. always laughing. not in a loud, obnoxious way, but in that warm, boy next door in a netflix teen show kind of way.

he played football, well. people wore his number on hoodies, not because they were on the team, but because he was the team. he was in all the sports day photos. he was in the group project that won nationals. he was even in the school tour pamphlet they handed to new families.

and he was everywhere.

in the mornings, leaning against his locker. during lunch, surrounded by people who hung on his every word. after class, headphones around his neck, bouncing a ball against his knee like he couldn’t sit still.

you noticed him because everyone did.

he noticed you, and that was the part you didn’t understand.

it started in october.

you were sitting behind the library, your favorite spot, shaded, quiet, full of soft rustling trees and the hum of faraway conversations you didn’t have to join. you liked being alone there. liked how the sun hit your notebook just right, how your soup thermos kept your hands warm.

you were rereading a chapter for literature class when footsteps crunched the leaves.

you didn’t look up right away. people didn’t usually come back here. but then you heard it, the unmistakable, too calm voice:

‘hey.’

you looked up.

héctor.

you blinked, then instinctively checked behind you, half-expecting him to be talking to someone else.

but there was no one.

just you.

‘is this spot taken?’ he asked, nodding toward the patch of grass near you.

you blinked again. ‘uh… no. it’s not.’

he sat. like it was normal. like it was nothing.

you waited for the joke. for someone to pop out with a camera. you waited to wake up.

but he didn’t say anything else. just pulled out a book, your book, actually. same edition, same dog-eared corner you had in yours. and opened it to where the next chapter started.

silence settled.

you told yourself not to read into it. maybe it was a coincidence. maybe he just liked the quiet too.

the next day, he was there again.

and the next.

by friday, he nodded at you like it was a routine. you didn’t even question it anymore. just shifted your bag to give him space and went back to your reading.

you still didn’t talk much. sometimes he’d point out a line in the book and mumble something about it being clever. sometimes you’d make a quiet joke and he’d laugh softly, like he was trying not to make it a big deal.

it wasn’t flirtation. not yet.

it was something else. something slower. something quieter.

and you didn’t understand it. didn’t know why he was choosing this spot when he had all the tables in the courtyard waiting for him. why he started borrowing your highlighters and returning them with smiley faces drawn on the caps. why he lingered a little longer after the bell rang.

but you didn’t ask.

because it felt… safe. and safe wasn’t something you had very often.

one wednesday, he showed up with two drinks.

‘one’s for you,’ he said, handing you a plastic cup with condensation beading down the sides.

you took it cautiously. ‘what is it?’

‘iced cinnamon oat latte,’ he said. ‘the guy at your café said it’s your usual.’

you stared at him.

he just shrugged, a little too casual. ‘i went there this morning. wanted to see if the pastries were as good as you always say.’

you blinked.

‘you went out of your way just to—’

‘they’re mid, by the way,’ he interrupted, sipping his own drink. ‘but this? this is good.’

you smiled, small and stunned.

and he smiled back, like he’d been waiting to see it.

you didn’t know what this was yet.

it wasn’t a relationship. wasn’t friendship, even, not quite.

but it was something. something soft. something beginning.

and even if you didn’t trust it yet… you were starting to hope.

you didn’t plan on him becoming part of your routine.

he just did.

it was subtle at first. like sunlight stretching across your bedroom floor, there before you really noticed, warm before you could name it. héctor started showing up behind the library before you even got there. sometimes with coffee. sometimes with an apple he’d take one bite out of, then forget to finish. always with that calm sort of presence. that ease you envied.

you learned little things.

he bit the inside of his cheek when he was thinking. he had messy handwriting and made his t’s too tall. he hated when people wasted food. he played with his necklace when he was bored. he smiled with one side of his mouth first, like the other had to catch up.

and he asked questions.

soft, curious ones.

‘what do you wanna do after this?’

you looked up from your book.

‘after school, i mean,’ he added. ‘like… life. what’s the plan?’

you shrugged. ‘go to uni. get a job. something stable. maybe sleep more than four hours a night.’

he laughed gently, but his eyes softened.

‘you don’t wanna dream big?’

you looked down. fiddled with the corner of your page.

‘i think surviving is dreaming big,’ you murmured.

he didn’t say anything right away. just nodded, slow, like he got it.

your classmates started noticing before you did.

you could feel the shift. the way people’s eyes followed you when you passed. the way conversations dropped to whispers when you walked into a room. it was subtle, at first. but it grew.

you weren’t invisible anymore. and it didn’t feel like a compliment.

camila started looking at you like you were a stray cat tracking dirt across her marble floors.

‘you and fort,’ she said one day in the hallway, voice sticky sweet, ‘are you, like… a thing?’

you blinked. ‘we’re friends.’

she laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world.

‘right. just checking.’

you didn’t tell héctor. you didn’t want him to feel like he had to defend you. not when things were still… undefined. you didn’t know what he called you when you weren’t around.

but then he asked.

‘do people ever give you shit?’ he said one afternoon, tossing a leaf in the air and catching it.

you paused. ‘what?’

‘about us hanging out.’

you looked at him, quiet.

he sighed. ‘it’s just, someone said something earlier and it pissed me off. they don’t know you. they don’t get it.’

‘get what?’

he blinked. caught your gaze. then shrugged.

‘you’re cool,’ he said simply. ‘you’re real. i like being around you.’

your heart did something weird and fluttery. you hated how easily he made you want to believe him.

‘well,’ you said, trying to keep your voice level, ‘i’m not really used to people liking me for… anything, so. that’s new.’

he looked at you for a second longer than he needed to.

‘they’re idiots if they don’t.’

your shifts at the café got longer. your manager asked you to cover weekends, and you said yes because your mom’s meds weren’t getting cheaper, and you didn’t know how to say no to survival.

you were tired all the time. your eyes stung during lectures. your back hurt from being on your feet too long.

and one friday, héctor showed up at closing.

you didn’t even look up at first, you were too busy restocking sugar packets.

‘hey, stranger.’

your head jerked toward the voice.

him. in sweats. hair damp from practice. a little out of breath like he’d rushed.

‘what are you doing here?’ you asked, blinking.

‘thought you might need company.’

you blinked again. ‘i… i have to mop.’

he grinned. ‘i’m great with mops.’

he wasn’t. he nearly slipped. twice. but he stayed. made you laugh. and when you locked up at the end of the night, he walked you to the bus stop, hands in his hoodie pockets, shoulders brushing yours.

‘thanks,’ you said softly.

he looked at you.

‘for what?’

‘showing up.’

he didn’t answer.

just nudged your hand with his, like he was asking a question without saying anything.

you let your pinky hook around his.

not quite holding hands. not quite nothing, either.

the next week, he brought you a sandwich during break.

‘you didn’t eat at lunch,’ he said, not even looking up from his phone.

you blinked. ‘how’d you—?’

‘you had your sad soup face,’ he shrugged. ‘figured you were tired of leftovers.’

you stared at the sandwich. it had your favorite cheese. the kind you only got when it was on sale.

‘you didn’t have to—’

‘i know,’ he said, finally glancing at you. ‘but i wanted to.’

and that… that was the beginning of the end.

because wanting you?

that was dangerous.

and you were starting to want him back.

by the time december rolled around, everything felt different.

you still woke up early. still packed your brother’s lunch. still worked weekends, still walked to school half-asleep with a thermos in your hands and a hoodie pulled over your ears.

but something in your chest had shifted.

it was the way you checked your phone before anything else, looking for a good morning text with a dumb emoji that never matched the mood. it was the way you stopped bringing soup because héctor always showed up with something better. it was the way his hoodie lived in your backpack now, just in case you needed it.

it was the way he’d learned to say your name like it was something soft.

and the way you stopped flinching when he did.

it was slow, so slow. every step of whatever this was. like he was giving you space to run, even though you didn’t want to anymore.

you hadn’t called it love yet.

not out loud.

but sometimes, when he leaned his head on your shoulder behind the library, when he handed you a drink with your name spelled right and a heart beside it, when he tied your shoe without saying a word and then stood up like it was nothing, you thought, maybe.

maybe.

the first time he asked you to come over, you panicked a little.

‘just a few of us,’ he said, fiddling with the ring on his finger. ‘nothing fancy. we’re watching the barça match. i’ll save you a spot on the couch.’

you hesitated.

you knew what his friends thought of you. knew the names they didn’t say to your face. knew you weren’t the kind of girl they invited to anything.

but you showed up anyway.

your jeans were the only pair you owned without a hole. your hair was in its neatest braid. you brought a bag of chips that cost more than they should have, but you didn’t want to come empty handed.

his house was everything you expected, clean, modern, a little too big for a family of three. his mom smiled politely, offered you juice. his friends barely looked at you.

except camila.

she smiled with teeth. leaned too close to héctor. made comments that danced on the edge of insults, just sharp enough to sting.

but héctor didn’t let you drift.

he kept his knee pressed against yours. he explained the game when you looked confused. he handed you a blanket when it got cold, and when the match ended and his friends were getting ready to leave, he pulled you aside.

‘you okay?’ he asked.

you nodded. too quickly.

he watched you.

‘you don’t have to pretend around me,’ he said, voice low. ‘i notice things too.’

you bit your lip.

‘i’m fine,’ you said. ‘they just… think you could do better.’

his brows pinched, jaw tightening.

‘no,’ he said. ‘they don’t get you. big difference.’

you looked up at him.

he stepped closer.

‘you’re the best part of my day,’ he whispered. ‘they can choke on their opinions.’

you laughed. you couldn’t help it. it burst out, messy and real.

and he looked so pleased with himself.

christmas break was colder than usual.

you worked doubles. your mom’s medicine ran out and insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. the heating in your apartment went out for three days, and you slept in the same bed as your brother, layered in sweatshirts.

you didn’t tell héctor. he was spending the holidays in menorca with his cousins, sending you photos of the beach and dumb santa filters on his face.

you didn’t want to ruin that with your problems.

he texted you the night before new year’s.

hey. can i see you tomorrow? like… actually see you?

you said yes, of course.

he showed up at your building at noon, wearing that navy jacket you liked, a bag in one hand and a little grin tugging at his mouth.

you met him outside, hair still damp from your rushed shower, shoes half-tied.

‘i brought snacks,’ he said. ‘and something else.’

you raised a brow.

he held up a small velvet box.

your stomach dipped.

‘don’t freak out,’ he said quickly. ‘it’s not, like, a thing. i just saw it and thought of you. that’s all.’

you opened it slowly.

inside was a necklace, gold, delicate, a tiny star on a fine chain. barely there, but still beautiful. something that caught the light just right.

‘héctor…’

‘you don’t have to wear it,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘i just… you look up at the sky so much, and it made me think of you. that’s dumb, right?’

you shook your head.

‘no. it’s not dumb.’

he reached out, slow.

‘can i…?’

you nodded.

he fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. you held your breath.

and when he stepped back to look at you, his eyes softened.

‘perfect,’ he said.

you didn’t cry. not then.

but something shifted inside you. something quiet and seismic.

you wore the necklace every day after that.

under your uniform, tucked into your sweater at work. even to sleep. you touched it when you were anxious. let your fingers find the tiny star when you missed him.

you felt… seen.

loved, maybe.

but nothing good stays untouched for long.

camila noticed the necklace two days after school started again.

‘cute,’ she said, twisting her lip. ‘real gold?’

you didn’t answer.

she smirked.

‘must be nice, having a boyfriend with a black card. you’re really playing the long game, huh?’

you froze.

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’

she shrugged. ‘just saying. not everyone gets a promotion from barista to princess without putting in work.’

you walked away before your hands could shake.

you didn’t tell héctor.

again.

but you should’ve.

because you were about to need him more than ever.

the first time he said it, i love you, it wasn’t planned.

no candles, no build-up, no carefully picked moment.

it was raining. you were curled up on his bed, wearing his hoodie, socks mismatched. you were both tired, he had practice all morning, you had two shifts back to back, and your eyes kept fluttering shut during the movie playing in the background.

he turned toward you, head on his arm, eyes soft.

you didn’t even notice right away. not until he said it again, this time quieter. slower. more certain.

‘i love you.’

your breath caught.

he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he didn’t take it back or explain it away. just watched you with that look. the one that made you feel like the world wasn’t spinning so fast. like maybe you could stop running and rest for a minute.

you didn’t say it back right away.

you blinked, heart thudding in your chest, and whispered, ‘why?’

he smiled, small, real, almost sad.

‘because you still show up, even when everything tries to tell you not to.’

your throat burned. your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. your eyes stung.

and when you finally said it, i love you too, his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

he didn’t kiss you. not right away.

he just pulled you closer. held you like you were something breakable and sacred at the same time.

like he knew you hadn’t been held like that in a long time.

after that, things got easier.

he called you more. waited outside the café when your shifts ran late. sent you dumb tiktoks and notes in your locker. sometimes he showed up at your place with dinner, stuff your mom liked, stuff your brother would actually eat.

he never made it a big deal.

never made you feel small about needing help.

never made it feel like charity.

just said, you’d do the same for me.

you fell for him a little more every time he said stuff like that.

he called you star girl sometimes. said the necklace made you look like you were born under something magic.

you rolled your eyes at him, but you never took it off.

not even once.

one night, after your shift, you both sat in his car in the parking lot. your feet were killing you, your voice was hoarse, and your eyes burned from staying open too long.

he reached over, took your hand.

‘come away with me this summer,’ he said.

you blinked. ‘what?’

‘somewhere quiet. no pressure. no uniforms. just you and me and maybe the sea.’

you laughed. ‘and how would we afford that?’

‘i’ll figure it out.’

‘you say that like it’s easy.’

he looked at you, serious now. steady.

‘i say it like i want you there. and when i want something, i make it happen.’

you looked away.

no one had ever made room for you like that before. not in plans. not in futures.

you squeezed his hand.

‘okay,’ you whispered. ‘just you and me and the sea.’

he smiled, wide. like you’d given him the world.

you started dreaming again.

tiny dreams.

less tired. more time. a quiet apartment with bookshelves. a degree with your name on it. dinner that wasn’t just toast or soup. a boy with brown eyes and soft hands waiting at the end of every day.

you let yourself believe you could have that.

you let yourself feel safe.

loved.

wanted.

just long enough for it to really hurt when it was taken away.

you noticed the change before it happened.

it started in the eyes. the way he looked at you.

less soft. less sure. less warm.

just for a moment, maybe two. but you felt it. deep, right between your ribs.

you brushed it off at first.

maybe he was tired. school, training, everything piling up. you told yourself you were being paranoid. that old voice in your head, the one that used to whisper they don’t stay, was lying again.

but then the texts got shorter. the calls went unanswered. the lunch spot behind the library sat cold and empty for three days in a row.

and then… the whispering started again.

it was different this time. sharper. louder. less subtle.

someone knew.

you caught it in the hallway.

‘heard she sold the necklace.’

‘seriously? damn. i knew she was in it for the money.��

‘poor thing’s gotta pay rent somehow, i guess.’

your blood ran cold.

you didn’t say anything. didn’t ask. didn’t confront.

you waited for him to bring it up.

but he didn’t.

not until the fourth night you waited for him after your shift, in the freezing cold, with your fingers numb and your chest tight and your backpack too heavy.

his car pulled up late.

he didn’t smile when he saw you.

you slid into the seat, heart already racing. he didn’t kiss your cheek. he didn’t say hey, star girl.

he just drove. quiet. stiff. hands clenched on the wheel.

you didn’t ask until you were two turns away from your apartment.

‘did something happen?’

he didn’t answer right away.

just exhaled. sharp. through his nose.

and then—

‘i heard you pawned it.’

your heart dropped.

‘what?’

‘the necklace.’

your voice cracked. ‘what are you talking about?’

‘camila said—’

‘camila?’ you cut in. ‘you’re listening to camila?’

his jaw tightened. ‘she showed me. a friend of hers works at the shop downtown. said you came in last week.’

your mouth went dry.

you opened it. closed it. opened it again.

because it was true. you had gone. but not to sell it. not to pawn it. you wanted to ask if they could hold it. just in case. if things got worse.

you didn’t do it. you couldn’t.

you still wore it. every day. tucked under your uniform. over your heart.

‘i didn’t sell it,’ you whispered.

he didn’t look at you.

‘you really think i’m using you?’ your voice trembled.

‘i don’t know what to think right now.’

‘you think i’m a gold digger?’

he winced at the word, but didn’t deny it.

you blinked, tears building fast, throat closing.

‘i helped pay for my mom’s medication last week,’ you said, voice barely a breath. ‘we ran out. the insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. she was in pain, héctor. i didn’t tell you because i didn’t wanna make you feel like you had to fix it. because i know you’re not a bank. you’re a person. the person i—’

your voice cracked.

‘—i loved.’

his face crumpled for half a second. but he turned away. again.

‘you should’ve told me,’ he said quietly.

you laughed, a bitter, wet sound.

‘and you should’ve believed me.’

silence.

you looked out the window. hand pressed flat over your chest, where the necklace sat, cold against your skin.

‘pull over,’ you whispered.

‘what?’

‘pull over.’

he did.

you stepped out. shut the door before he could say anything else. started walking.

and he let you go.

you didn’t cry when you got home.

you didn’t cry when your mom asked if you were okay, or when your brother offered you the last piece of bread from dinner.

you cried when you got to your room. when you closed the door. when you sat on your floor, in the dark, and finally unclasped the necklace and held it in your hand.

it glowed a little in the streetlight from your window.

a gift. a promise. a lie?

you didn’t know anymore.

you stopped answering his texts.

you couldn’t look at him in the halls. didn’t go behind the library. didn’t walk past his locker.

he tried. once.

‘can we talk?’

you shook your head. didn’t trust your voice.

he nodded. stepped back.

but he looked wrecked.

and you hated that part of you still wanted to run to him. still wanted him to take it back. to say he was sorry. to say i believe you.

but he didn’t.

not yet.

so you stayed quiet.

and tired.

and alone.

the first night he didn’t come to find you, you couldn’t breathe.

he didn’t text you. didn’t leave a voicemail. didn’t even try to look for you after school. you spent the whole night trying to tell yourself it wasn’t personal. maybe he needed time. maybe he was too ashamed. maybe he just didn’t know what to say.

but the silence echoed. louder than any apology. louder than anything he could’ve said.

you tried to distract yourself. books, homework, scrolling through your phone as if it could ease the ache gnawing at your chest. but nothing worked. nothing could fill the space he left behind.

you found yourself wishing you’d never said it. wishing you could take back those words, the ones that shatteredeverything. wishing that maybe, just maybe, if you had just stayed quiet, everything would’ve been okay.

but you couldn’t go back.

and in the silence, it became real. this wasn’t a misunderstanding. this wasn’t just a fight. this was something bigger. something that felt too heavy to carry.

the pain, his pain, stuck to your ribs. suffocated you. not from the words he said, but from the words he didn’t say.

he never even tried to fix it.

the next day, he didn’t try to find you. he didn’t come to your locker, didn’t sit beside you in class. he walked past you in the hallway, his gaze drifting somewhere else, anywhere but toward you.

it stung. the cold indifference. the way he looked like you weren’t even worth a glance anymore. like you were just another girl he used to care about.

he didn't apologize. he didn’t even see you.

he just, walked away.

and you hated yourself for still feeling something.

you tried to keep your distance. tried to push him out of your thoughts. out of your heart. but no matter how many times you told yourself you were better off, you couldn’t shake the image of his eyes. the way they softened when they looked at you. the way he’d whispered “i love you” like he’d meant it.

but that was before.

now, all you had were the remnants of the promises he’d made.

the necklace. the plans. the quiet moments. the love you thought you had.

and it hurt. oh god, it hurt more than you thought anything could.

you kept walking. kept working. kept pretending that it was okay, that you were okay. but every step felt like a betrayal of the love you had given him. the love you’d believed in.

that night, after another shift, you barely made it home before your mom noticed.

‘you look terrible,’ she said. ‘how’s your day?’

you didn’t answer right away. just slid off your jacket and put it on the chair. sat down at the kitchen table.

‘work’s fine,’ you said, your voice shaking despite the effort to sound normal. ‘it’s fine.’

but she wasn’t fooled.

she sat across from you, her eyes narrowing. ‘you know you can talk to me, right?’

you nodded. but the words were stuck in your throat. the words that needed to come out wouldn’t.

because they weren’t just about a fight.

it was about everything.

you stayed quiet. stared down at the table, where the unfinished bowl of soup from earlier sat cold.

‘does he love you, honey?’ she asked, her voice soft, gentle. like she already knew.

the question hit you like a punch to the gut. does he?

you thought you knew the answer.

you thought he did.

but now? it felt like that love had been a fragile illusion.

‘i don’t know,’ you whispered, voice breaking. ‘i really thought he did, mom. i really did.’

the next day, he still didn’t talk to you.

but she did.

camila. the girl who had spread the rumors. the one who’d whispered about you being a gold digger. the one who had poisoned his mind with lies.

she smiled at you like nothing had happened. like she hadn’t been the one to rip the love you had apart with her venomous words.

‘hey,’ she said sweetly, leaning against the lockers like she owned the space. ‘still hanging around him? thought you’d know by now. boys like him don’t stay with girls like you. they never do.’

you didn’t respond. couldn’t.

your stomach twisted, but you didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

you could feel her eyes on you as you walked away, but you didn’t turn around. you didn’t let her win.

by the time the final bell rang, the weight of the day crushed down on you. the world felt like it was closing in. your chest ached with every breath, your heart heavy, suffocating in the grief you couldn’t shake.

when you got to your locker to grab your things, you found something unexpected.

a small envelope, tucked into the corner of your books.

your hands shook as you opened it. and there, inside, was a note.

it wasn’t from him.

it wasn’t even signed.

just words, scrawled quickly. desperate.

he's sorry. he doesn’t know what to do. he needs you.

you stared at it. your vision blurred, and the sting in your chest deepened.

he needs you. but where was he? where was his apology? where was the man who promised to never leave?

he hadn’t even fought for you.

and the truth cut deeper than anything else.

he was still the same. still too afraid to face the mess he’d made. too scared to fix what was broken between you.

he had let you walk away. had let her win. let her voice drown out his love for you.

you couldn’t stay anymore.

not for him. not for this.

you folded the note carefully and shoved it into your bag. you walked out of the school, the weight of everything pressing on your chest, and didn’t look back.

that night, after another endless shift, you found him waiting for you. he was standing at the end of the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets. eyes wide, searching.

you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t.

and when you walked past him, you heard his voice crack.

‘i love you.’

you didn’t turn around. didn’t say anything. didn’t stop walking.

because love wasn’t enough anymore.

he didn’t sleep that night. couldn’t.

his phone was on his desk, buzzing with texts from friends, but he didn’t care. nothing mattered except the silence between you two. that’s all he could hear now. nothing but the deafening silence, thick with everything he hadn’t said, everything he should’ve said.

he thought about all the moments he could’ve fixed it. all the times he could’ve walked up to you and held you, apologized, and told you the truth. but no. he let his pride get in the way. let his insecurities shape his decisions. and now he was paying for it.

he sat up in his bed, staring at the wall, replaying the fight. hearing your voice break when you said, “you think I’m a gold digger?” like a knife to his chest. he couldn’t shake it.

he thought about all the things you must’ve gone through. about your mom needing medicine. about the struggles you were fighting on your own. and he had been too selfish to see it. too blind to see that you weren’t asking for anything from him except love.

the doorbell rang early in the morning, dragging him from his thoughts. he wasn’t surprised when he saw his mom standing there, her arms crossed, her face full of concern.

‘you look like shit,’ she said bluntly, walking in without waiting for an invitation. ‘what happened?’

‘i fucked up,’ he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. ‘big time.’

‘what’d you do?’ she asked, her voice softer now.

he shook his head, not sure he could explain it. not sure he could tell her that he’d messed up the best thing in his life, that he’d pushed away the only person who had ever really cared about him, really cared.

‘i hurt her,’ he said simply. ‘i hurt the one person who was real with me. and now she’s gone.’

his mom sighed and sat down beside him. ‘i don’t know what you want me to say, Hector. but you can’t change it unless you show her you care. unless you prove that you’re willing to fight for her. words are cheap, son. you’ve got to show her you mean it.’

he swallowed thickly. ‘but what if she doesn’t want to fight for me anymore? what if she’s just... done with me?’

‘then you’ll live with that,’ she said, looking him dead in the eye. ‘but you’ve got to at least try. she’s not a game you can just walk away from. she’s a person. and you’ve got to show her that you see her as that. if you love her, you’ll fight for her, no matter what.’

he nodded, but the weight of the reality set in. could he fix this? or had he already ruined everything beyond repair?

the next day at school was just as empty as the night before. he walked through the halls, trying to act like everything was fine. but every glance, every whisper, reminded him of the mess he’d made. his friends were quieter around him, his old group of popular kids acting like nothing had happened. but he knew better. they weren’t the ones he was fighting for.

he wasn’t even sure they cared about him anymore.

and then he saw you.

you weren’t looking at him. you never looked at him anymore.

you were with your friends, sitting by the lockers, talking quietly, like you didn’t even notice him across the hallway. and he couldn’t help but watch. watch how you smiled at them. how easy it seemed for you to laugh with them, like the last few weeks hadn’t existed. like you hadn’t been in love with him.

but he knew. He knew the truth, and it ate him alive.

his phone buzzed in his pocket. a text from his best friend: ‘yo, you good?’

he didn’t answer.

he couldn’t.

he knew if he answered, it’d be a lie. because he wasn’t good. he wasn’t even close to good.

he was broken. and it was all his fault.

you had to leave early that day. your mom had called, telling you she couldn’t pick up her prescription, and the pharmacy wouldn’t hold it any longer.

you didn’t want to be there. didn’t want to be anywhere near that school, near him. near the empty spaces where his words used to live.

the walk home was long. longer than it usually felt. with each step, you felt the weight of everything. everything that had happened, everything that was falling apart, and everything you had tried so hard to hold together.

and as you walked, you realized something: you missed him. you missed him so fucking much.

you hated yourself for it. because he hadn’t fought for you. he hadn’t cared enough to look for you. to hold you and make it right.

and yet, you were still here, still aching for him, still wondering if things could go back to the way they were before everything fell apart.

the whole situation made you sick. it made you feel small and foolish.

you needed to take a breath. you needed to move on. but every time you told yourself that, you could still feel him. feel his presence, his touch, his words, lingering like a ghost you couldn’t shake.

he didn’t wait long after you left.

he caught up with you on your way home. when you saw him in the distance, you stopped in your tracks, trying to pretend you didn’t feel the same pang in your chest as he got closer.

he was panting, out of breath, his eyes wild like he’d been searching for you for hours.

‘please... talk to me,’ he begged. ‘i can’t just let you walk away from me. not like this.’

you swallowed hard, eyes burning. ‘you already did. you walked away first.’

his hand reached for yours, but you pulled back, too hurt to let him in.

‘i didn’t mean it,’ he said, voice raw, desperate. ‘please. i’m so fucking sorry. you have no idea how much i regret listening to them. to camila... to everyone. i’ve been an idiot. i was scared, okay? i didn’t think someone like you would ever love someone like me. i thought—’

‘you thought what?’ you interrupted, voice trembling. ‘that i was just after your money? that i was just another girl who wanted a piece of your life?’

he winced at the accusation, guilt washing over his face.

‘i’m sorry. i didn’t think. i should’ve trusted you. but i was just so scared that i wasn’t good enough for you. i was scared of losing everything, and i let that fear take over. i let it make me do things i’m not proud of.’

you stood there, feeling like you were holding onto something that was slipping through your fingers.

‘you shouldn’t have been scared,’ you whispered. ‘you should’ve trusted me.’

he nodded, tears gathering in his eyes. ‘i know. i was stupid. but please... please don’t walk away from me. i love you. and i can’t lose you.’

for the first time in days, you met his eyes, and for the first time in days, you felt the faintest trace of something, maybe hope. maybe, just maybe, he still meant it.

but for now, it wasn’t enough.

he didn’t text you after that night.

you didn’t text him either.

and the world stayed still for a while.

it wasn’t silence the way it had been before, cold and final. this was different. quieter, softer. like the space between two people holding their breath, unsure if they’re falling apart or falling back together.

you were tired. tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. tired of hoping, of second-guessing, of giving and not knowing what you’d get back.

you still showed up to school. you still worked both jobs. still helped your mom with everything she needed. still carried the weight of a life no one at school ever saw.

and he noticed.

he saw the way your uniform wrinkled more now, like you didn’t have time to care. he saw the dark circles under your eyes. saw the way you zoned out in class, like your body was there but your mind wasn’t. he saw all of it. and it killed him.

because he knew that pain. knew he had a part in it.

and even worse, he knew you wouldn’t let him help anymore.

it was a week after he’d found you on that street when you saw each other again. not just passing glances or accidental run ins. this time, it was real.

you were sitting in the back of the library, curled into a hoodie three sizes too big, your head in your arms, notebook half-filled with messy equations and tired handwriting.

you didn’t hear him approach.

‘you’re gonna burn out,’ he said quietly.

you looked up, blinking slowly. ‘already have.’

he sat down across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. no drama. no begging. just silence and the low hum of pages turning around you.

‘i’m not here to fix anything,’ he said after a beat. ‘i know i don’t have the right. but i just wanted to sit with you. if you’ll let me.’

you didn’t answer right away.

you should’ve said no. told him to leave. told him that he lost his chance.

but the truth was, you missed him. and you were tired of pretending that you didn’t.

so you shrugged.

‘it’s a free country.’

and he smiled. just barely. just enough to let hope breathe again.

you didn’t talk much that afternoon. he watched you scribble notes. you watched him flip through a textbook he wasn’t really reading. every so often, your knees would bump under the table, and neither of you pulled away.

it was stupid how natural it still felt. how easy it was to fall back into rhythm, even with all the cracks between you.

but neither of you brought up the fight.

not yet.

it was too soon. the wound was still fresh. and you both knew that healing would take more than one soft moment in the library.

still... it was a start.

later that week, he found you in the cafeteria, sitting alone, a half eaten sandwich beside your notebook. your head was resting against your hand, eyes barely open.

he didn’t say anything. just slid into the seat beside you and offered his water bottle.

you took it without a word, too tired to argue, too drained to push him away again.

‘you’re not sleeping,’ he said gently.

you gave him a look. ‘gee, wonder why.’

he looked down, ashamed. ‘i deserve that.’

‘you deserve worse,’ you muttered, but your voice lacked the venom it once had.

he nodded. ‘i know.’

a pause.

and then, softly, too soft:

‘i don’t expect you to forgive me. not yet. maybe not ever. but i just want to show up. for you. however you’ll let me.’

you stared at him for a long moment. longer than you meant to.

‘you can sit,’ you said finally, nodding at the chair across from you. ‘but that’s all. don’t expect anything more.’

he nodded. and he stayed.

and just like that, he became part of your orbit again.

not your boyfriend. not your enemy. just… there.

he started walking you to your classes, just a few steps behind, never pushing. he offered you his jacket when it rained. he kept his distance when you needed space. and sometimes, he didn’t say anything at all.

but he was there.

and that meant something.

not everything. not yet. but something.

because you were still healing.

and healing doesn’t happen in grand gestures or perfect apologies.

sometimes, it’s just someone showing up. again and again. until the silence doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

he knew he had no right to ask for more.

he was lucky you even let him sit beside you. lucky you didn’t spit his name like poison anymore. lucky you didn’t flinch when his hand brushed yours by accident.

he was still tiptoeing around your pain. still watching you fold into yourself every time the world got too loud. still noticing the little things, how you wore the same three hoodies on rotation, how you never touched the food in the cafeteria anymore, how your phone always had a message draft open but never sent.

you were hanging on by threads. and he hated that he used to be one of them, and then chose to cut himself loose.

so he didn’t push. he didn’t beg. he stayed in the quiet with you.

and he noticed things again. like how you never showed up to first period anymore. how you’d started asking to borrow pens because you kept forgetting your own. how your eyes glazed over in the middle of conversations, like your brain just... shut off sometimes.

he asked around, lowkey. your teachers were frustrated. your friends were worried. the front office said you’d been absent a lot.

he didn’t ask why. he already knew.

he figured it out when he passed by the corner store one night, walking home after practice, and saw you inside, half asleep behind the counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes barely open. it was past ten.

his heart sank.

he stood there outside the glass door for a while, just watching you ring up a woman’s groceries, nodding politely, smiling weakly. it wasn’t your real smile. it was your i don’t have the energy to exist smile. and he felt like shit for knowing it.

when he finally came in, the bell above the door jingled, and you didn’t even look up.

‘i’m clocking out soon,’ you mumbled, automatically, voice tired and soft.

‘not here to shop,’ he said gently.

your head jerked up like you’d been shocked. and your eyes met his. and you just blinked, like your brain was short-circuiting.

‘why are you here,’ you asked, voice flat.

‘i was walking home,’ he said. ‘and saw you.’

you didn’t answer. just turned back to the register, scanned a pack of gum for a teenager with headphones in.

‘do you always work this late?’ he asked quietly.

you didn’t look at him. didn’t need to.

‘someone has to pay the bills.’

he nodded slowly, like the guilt in his stomach hadn’t just quadrupled.

‘i didn’t know.’

‘you didn’t ask,’ you said simply.

and that hurt worse than if you’d yelled.

when your shift ended, you didn’t expect him to still be there. but he was, leaning against the wall near the exit, arms crossed, eyes soft.

‘you really don’t have to do this,’ you muttered, walking past him.

‘i know,’ he said, falling into step beside you. ‘but i want to.’

you sighed, too tired to argue. and so the two of you walked in silence. your backpack looked heavier than usual. maybe it was. maybe you were just too drained to hide it anymore.

he offered to carry it halfway through.

you said no.

but when your steps started to slow and you winced mid stride, he reached over and took it anyway.

you didn’t stop him.

the walk to your building was quiet, but not uncomfortable. just slow. heavy. like everything between you was still being rebuilt, brick by broken brick.

he paused at your doorstep, holding the bag out to you.

‘i meant it, you know,’ he said.

you looked up.

‘meant what.’

‘when i said i’d show up. no matter what.’

your fingers brushed his when you took the bag back. you didn’t pull away this time.

‘okay,’ you whispered.

just that.

but for him, it was enough to keep going.

because maybe this wasn’t the end. maybe you were still letting him in. inch by inch. breath by breath.

and if there was still space for him, no matter how small, he was gonna stay.

every time.

until you believed he meant it. until you believed you were worth it.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d let him love you again. this time without fear. without conditions. just love.

quiet, steady, and real.

you didn’t mean to fall asleep at school again.

you tried. really. but your eyes had started burning halfway through third period, and your head had gotten heavy, and the warmth of the classroom mixed with the low buzz of the teacher’s voice just… pulled you under. you didn’t even feel it happen.

you woke up to the principal’s voice.

he was standing over you, your name tight in his mouth, like he’d said it more than once. your classmates were staring. the room was too quiet. your face was warm with embarrassment, but your limbs were heavier than shame.

you mumbled an apology and tried to blink yourself back to life, but your head still felt like it was filled with fog. your teacher looked guilty. the principal looked frustrated. and you just felt small.

he asked you to come with him.

you didn’t say anything. you just stood.

you sat across from him in his office, hands in your lap, hoodie sleeves tugged down past your knuckles. you’d been here before. when your absences started stacking. when your grades slipped. when someone reported that you were always nodding off, always running late, always “not quite here.”

he didn’t yell. he wasn’t cruel. he just sighed.

‘this isn’t sustainable,’ he said gently. ‘you’re clearly overwhelmed. your teachers are worried. you’ve changed, and not in the way we like seeing.’

you nodded slowly, unable to argue. because it was true.

‘is everything okay at home?’ he asked.

you hesitated, then nodded again. even though the truth was, not really. but what could he do? what could anyone do?

‘i’m just tired,’ you whispered. ‘that’s all.’

his frown deepened.

you left with a warning and a pass to go lie down in the nurse’s office. you didn’t go. you just sat on the steps outside the building, elbows on your knees, forehead resting on your arms.

you didn’t cry.

not because it didn’t hurt.

but because you didn’t even have the energy to.

hector found you like that.

he was supposed to be at practice. he left early. said he had a stomach ache. he didn’t. he just had a feeling. a gut-wrenching, aching sort of feeling that he needed to find you.

he spotted you from across the quad, folded up into yourself, hair falling forward, body still.

his chest cracked open.

he crossed the space between you like it was instinct. like his legs moved before his brain could catch up.

he sat beside you without asking.

you didn’t look up.

‘i heard,’ he said softly. ‘what happened.’

your voice was barely there. ‘did the whole school?’

‘doesn’t matter.’

you exhaled shakily, but didn’t speak.

‘you wanna talk about it?’

you shook your head.

so he didn’t push.

you sat like that for a while, him beside you, you folded in two, the sky slowly shifting above.

then, out of nowhere, you whispered, ‘i’m trying.’

he turned to you.

‘i know.’

‘i’m trying so hard, hector. and i just… i’m so tired of trying. and still getting nowhere.’

his throat tightened. ‘i see you. i see all of it.’

‘no you don’t,’ you said, finally looking at him, eyes rimmed red. ‘no one does. they all think i’m lazy, or ungrateful, or not trying hard enough. but i’m doing everything. i’m keeping my mom alive, and i’m paying rent, and i’m working every shift they give me, and i’m still failing everything and—’

your voice cracked.

‘—and i don’t know what else to do.’

he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you into him, arms wrapping around you like he’d wanted to since the first moment he messed up.

and you didn’t fight it.

you just sank into him, into the warmth of him, into the steady heartbeat under his hoodie. and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall.

‘i’m so sorry,’ he whispered into your hair. ‘for every second you had to feel alone.’

you didn’t say anything.

but your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve like you didn’t want to let go.

he didn’t leave your side after that.

not for a second.

he helped you with your homework that night. sat beside you on the floor of your living room while your mom rested in the next room. he watched you write your essays, helped quiz you for math, brought you coffee even though you told him not to.

he didn’t care.

he was there.

he texted you in the morning to make sure you woke up. met you outside your first class with breakfast in a paper bag. walked you to work after school. waited outside until your shift ended.

you kept telling him you didn’t need saving.

he kept telling you he wasn’t trying to save you. he just wanted to love you right this time.

and little by little, piece by piece, you started to believe him.

because love doesn’t always come in grand gestures or perfect words.

sometimes it shows up late, with shaking hands and tired hearts.

sometimes it’s soft and quiet and steady.

sometimes, it’s him, carrying your backpack without asking, walking you home in the rain, whispering that he’s proud of you when you finish your homework even though your eyes won’t stay open.

sometimes, love is just showing up.

and this time, he was here to stay.

[lightsoutmatthews]

heyyy can you do reader meeting william nylander’s family for the first time and it goes horribly wrong, but then she meets them again and it goes so much better lol

For the sake of the story, we will pretend Alex never signed with the Marlies and never got traded from Pittsburgh because I wanted to include him, but it wouldn’t have made much sense with the reader only meeting him months in while he´s living in Toronto.

First & second impressions – William Nylander

You and William had been together for eight months when he said it over FaceTime while he was on the road. “I want you to meet my family.”

You were laying on your couch in sweats, mid-bite of leftover pizza. His voice had been casual, but the look in his eyes was serious. “Mom, dad, Ella and Alex will be in town next weekend.”

Your stomach turned a little. You liked William, a lot actually. You had your own toothbrush at his place. He brought you coffee in the morning before he went to the rink for practice without asking for it. But meeting the Nylanders? That felt like a final exam you hadn’t studied for.

“Are you sure it´s time?” you asked hesitantly. William gave you a half smile in return. “Yeah, I´m sure.”

“Okay,” you mumbled. “I will do my best to not panic.”

-------------------

Dinner that weekend was at a trendy restaurant in downtown Toronto. William had been here before with his family and argued that his parents would feel more comfortable somewhere familiar.

When you arrived, the Nylanders were already seated at a long table. Camilla and Michael at the ends, Ella besides her mom, and Alex, scrolling through his phone with one elbow on the table next to their dad.

William gave everyone hugs and kisses. You followers behind, offering polite smiles and trying not to knock over anything on the table.

“This is my girlfriend,” William introduced you, arm behind your back.

“Hey,” you said, trying your best to sound confident and not like you were about to die. “It´s really nice to meet you all.”

Camilla, tight lipped, offered you a “Nice to meet you too.”  

Michael nodded. “Hello.”

Ella barely looked up from studying the menu. “Hey,”

Alex gave a nod but didn’t look up from his phone.

Cool. Great start. You thought.

After sitting down William launched into small talk about the Leaf’s last road trip. You tried to laugh at the right moments, make yourself part of the conversation but everything you said felt out of sync.

At one point to compliment the restaurant.

Camilla blinked. “I think it’s okay, a little too modern for my taste.”

You asked Ella what she did for work.

“I´m still figuring it out,” she said, then didn’t elaborate.

You asked Alex about hockey.

“It´s fine,” he offered. “I play on Wilkes-Barre now.”

“Oh! I´ve never been to Pennsylvania,” you added, trying to keep the conversation alive.

Alex just shrugged at your remark. “You´re not missing much.”

Michael was mostly quiet. When William brought up your job in marketing, he tilted his head.

“Advertising never made much sense to me,” he explained. “It´s has always felt manipulative to me.”

You tried to smile, even though your heart dropped at his remarks. “Sometimes it can be, but I like the psychology behind it.”

“I guess some people do,” he concluded and that was the conversation.

By dessert, the table was split into two conversations, William who was talking to his mom and everyone else who was quietly chewing.

You starred down at the panna cotta you ordered and fantasized about crawling under the table and disappearing or just vanishing into thin air.

--------------------

Back at Williams place, you dropped your bag on the counter and collapsed onto the couch. He sat beside you, silent for a few seconds.

“That… didn’t go great,” he stated the obvious.

“I was a disaster,” you laughed, but there was no humor behind it.

“No,” he shut that down quickly, “I think they weren’t ready.”

“I felt like I was being interviewed and failing at every question,” you said, throwing your head back, letting out a loud sigh.

William reached for your hand, interlinking your fingers before he spoke again. “They just need time, it´s been a while since I introduced someone to them.”

You nodded, though you weren’t convinced. Maybe you and William were from different worlds growing up. His family was polite, almost formal, but you could see how close-knit they were. Yours was loud, chaotic and built on sarcasm.

That night, after William had fallen asleep in bed next to you, you shed a few tears of frustration, you wanted his family to like you but right now you weren’t sure they ever would.

--------------------

Three months passed. You and William were still together, even closer than before. After the rough dinner he had become more attentive. Move vocal about how much he cared. He never made you feel like you had to prove something, at least not to him.

Then one Friday night while watching a movie, he carefully brought the topic of his family back up again. “My parents, Ella and Alex are coming back to Toronto next weekend. I´d hope you wanted to come to dinner again.”

You didn’t respond right away. “It´s here this time,” he added, referring to his condo. “Just family, no fancy restaurant, less pressure.”

You sighed loudly. “Are you sure they even want to have me there?”

He gave you that look, something between being offended and understanding. “Yes, and honestly, I think you scared them a little last time.”

That made your head snap up. “I scared them?” you exclaimed, slapping your hands over your mouth at how loud it came out.

“You were too polite, too careful, I guess. It wasn’t you, at least not how I got to know you and they didn’t know how to read you.”

You rolled your eyes at his remarks, not hiding your sarcasm. “Right, should I just show up in sweatpants and talk about my favorite reality TV shows with you dad?”

A grin spread on his face. “Honestly? That would probably work. He secretly loves that stuff.”

A few minutes later you finally agreed, under the one condition that you would help cook and he would make sure things were kept casual.

-------------------

This time dinner was pasta, salad and garlic bread. Comfort food, easy to make for a lot of people. You wore jeans and a sweater compared to the dress you had put on last time and helped William to chop vegetables while sipping a glass of white wine.

To your surprise you felt more relaxed when his family arrived this time.

It was you who opened the door, because William had to put the garlic bread in the oven.

“Hi,” you greeted with a genuine smile. “Come on in.”

This time Camilla smiled warmly. “Nice to see you again.”

Michael handed you a bottle of wine a small smile on his lips. “For dinner,” he explained.

Alex followed behind them, not starring at his phone this time. “Hey,” he opened. “Smells great.” He continued.

Ella, to your surprise, gave you a half-hug. “Hi.”

When you returned to the kitchen William, having watched the interactions from afar, leaned down and whispered, “Told you” in your ear.

Once everyone was settled, you passed around drinks and started chatting. The vibe was different than at the restaurant, lighter.

You weren’t trying to impress them, you just talked, like you had known them for ages.

“So, you work in marketing?” Alex asked mid-meal, surprising you.

“Uhm yeah, digital mostly. Ads, strategy, that kind of thing,” you explained. “I suck at that. I´ve been trying to grow my Instagram and it´s just sad.”

“Can you do it for me?” he asked, half-joking.

“I charge hockey-player rates,” you chuckled which got a laugh from everyone, even Michael.

William brought up a vacation the two of you were planning after the playoffs and Michael asked thoughtful questions about where you were staying and what you wanted to do.

It felt normal, much more familiar than when you met at the restaurant. Like you were part of their group and not an outsider trying to fit in.

After a beat of silence, everyone chewing contently or sipping whatever drink they chose, Ella jumped in. “So, are you the one that got my brother into watching reality TV?”

You froze, you didn’t think William talked about his newly found obsession with his family, mostly because he was still half opposed to admitting he enjoyed watching it. “Maybe,” you offered carefully.

“He said he is into Love is Blind now. You wouldn’t believe the face I made when he said that I thought he was joking.”

“Only because he cries at the weddings,” you said with a grin.

William groaned and rolled his eyes at you jokingly. “That happened one time.”

Ella laughed at her brothers defensive state. “We´re watching next time I visit.”

That made your heart beat faster for a second. She wanted to visit again, even with you here. That was a massive step compared to last time.

This time, when you were halfway through dessert Camilla turned to you.

“I wanted to say,” she began carefully, “I think I misjudged you last time.”

That sent a pang of anxiety through you because you weren’t sure if whatever came next would be something positive or negative. Still, you were glad she even acknowledged you in a nicer way than she did last time.

“Oh?” you answered.

Then, she smiled. “It wasn’t fair of me. I was a little protective, William still is my first born after all. But you´re lovely and I can see you make him very happy.”

You didn’t know what to say, words being stuck in your throat, so you just smiled, eyes slightly glassy. He made you very happy too.

Michael nodded at his wife´s remarks. “You handled tonight very well. It´s not easy having most of the family here.”

Even Alex chimed in again. “You make better garlic bread than Willy, for sure.” That got another chuckle out of everyone and William throwing a napkin at him.

By the end of the night, you were trading book recommendations with Camilla, discussed influencer drama with Ella and made jokes with Alex. Michael offered you to send you a spreadsheet he had made for planning a European trip which you found a little nerdy but very sweet.

 When the door closed behind them, you turned to William.

“That was the weirdest emotional whiplash I´ve ever experienced.”

He grinned and pulled you into his side. “They loved you.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “They tolerated me.”

He kissed the top of your head like he wanted to reassure you that he was right. “They loved you because you were you this time and that’s all they wanted to see.”

You leaned into his chest, considering what he just said and carefully nodded.

---------------

Two weeks later, Ella followed you on Instagram and DMed you a meme and Alex tagged you in a TikTok.

Camilla emailed you a recommendation for a podcast about behavioral marketing even though you knew she had asked William for your number.

Said man smiled when you showed him. “You´re in.”

And this time, you knew he was right.

[ghoulsbounty]

The Unexpected pt 1

DBF! Wade Felton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), car sex, cowgirl, semi-public sex, heavy flirting, p in v, bad dates, mutual pining, angst, age gap (reader is early 30's, Wade is 48)

Word Count: 6.3K

A/N: Anon! ALL the love for Wade Felton! There isn't enough for him and I've loved writing this. Yes this gif did inspire the first half. Here is the first part, I hope you enjoy! I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

The anticipation had been building all day, excitement bubbling up within you like a shaken soda bottle ready to burst. You'd meticulously chosen your outfit, practiced your smile in the mirror, and rehearsed witty conversation starters in your head. After weeks of chatting online, you were finally meeting him in person—the man who seemed to check all the boxes, the one who promised to sweep you off your feet and make your heart race.

But as you sat at the cozy table near the window of the trendy restaurant, watching the world outside blur by in a flurry of raindrops, you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach. Time ticked by slowly, each passing minute punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and the murmured conversations of other diners. You checked your phone for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping for a message, a sign that he was on his way. Yet, there was nothing.

When he finally walked in, you tried to mask your disillusionment with a forced smile. He shrugged off his navy sports jacket with casual indifference, his eyes darting around the room as he muttered excuses for his lateness—a familiar refrain of traffic jams and inclement weather that did little to appease your growing unease.

As he settled into his seat opposite you, his gaze flickering over the menu without so much as a glance in your direction, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. This wasn't how you had imagined your first meeting—a whirlwind of laughter and chemistry, a spark igniting between you from the moment your eyes met. Instead, there was only awkwardness, an intense strain in the atmosphere between you.

You tried to make conversation, to salvage what little remained of the evening, but his responses were curt, his attention already drifting elsewhere. The giddiness you had felt in suspense of this date had long since dissipated, replaced by a sense of defeat and heavy regret. As he snapped his fingers to get the waiter's attention, you realized with a sinking feeling that this was not the beginning of a grand romance, but rather the end of a fleeting fantasy.

Your mom had been relentless in her encouragement to dip your toes into the dating pool. "You need to get out more," she'd insist, her voice a blend of exasperation and eagerness. "Don't spend every weekend holed up with your old folks." Though her intentions were good, her words often felt like a gentle push tinged with a mother's anxious plea.

At first, the idea had appealed to you—a chance to break free from the familiar routine, to explore new possibilities, to embrace the thrill of romance. The thought of being wined and dined, engaging in lively conversations with potential romantic interests, had sparked a sense of excitement within you. It all seemed infinitely better than the quiet evenings spent at home.

However, what you hadn't bargained for were the rollercoaster rides that awaited you in the tumultuous world of online dating. Each date often began with high hopes and slight apprehension but ended with you feeling more disheartened than before. The profiles rarely matched the personalities, the conversations fell flat, and the chemistry was frequently non-existent. The thrill of romance quickly turned into a series of awkward encounters, leaving you longing for the predictability of Scrabble nights with your parents.

Throughout your twenties, your focus had been singular: advancing your career. You'd packed your bags and moved across the country, chasing opportunities that promised to elevate your prospects. Along the way, there were relationships, some fleeting, some more substantial, and your fair share of dates. But whether it was the adjustment to life back in your hometown, or the distinct pool of available men in Raleigh, dating since your return had been anything but smooth sailing.

As you swept your gaze across the bustling restaurant, a familiar figure caught your eye. There, perched on a stool at the bar with an air of casual confidence, sat your dad's best friend. His presence seemed to command attention, and when his eyes met yours, there was a knowing glint that passed between you. With a hesitant lift of his fingers, he offered a greeting, and you responded with a subtle flick of your hand before discreetly returning it to your lap. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you acknowledged him, a wave of nostalgia mingling with a hint of embarrassment.

Memories flooded back—summer barbecues filled with laughter, late-night advice sessions during tough times, and the unspoken bond that had grown over the years. It had been a while since you'd seen him, since you'd returned to your hometown. Despite the warmth of these memories, you'd kept your distance, declining invitations to join your parents at his recent back-yard cook-outs. A sense of failure and shame had held you back, the weight of unmet expectations and dreams unfulfilled lingering in your mind like a stubborn shadow.

Wade Felton sat at the bar, his casual confidence an anchor in the sea of strangers that surrounded you. His eyes, a mix of concern and curiosity, held a spark of recognition that sent a ripple of reassurance through you. It felt oddly comforting, the familiarity of his face amidst the unfamiliarity of the restaurant.

As you glanced his way, Wade raised his glass of bourbon in your direction, a subtle quirk of his eyebrow accompanying the gesture. It was a small but significant moment. Was it an invitation to join him in a drink, or perhaps a silent acknowledgment of the less-than-ideal situation unfolding at your table? You couldn't be sure, but the gesture warmed you nonetheless.

The evening had not gone as planned. Your date, Tom, was self-absorbed, endlessly droning on about his workout routines and expansive vinyl collection, without so much as a pause to engage you in conversation. You felt trapped, a prisoner of your own politeness, listening to him with feigned interest while your thoughts drifted to the man at the bar.

But now, with Wade's gaze fixed on you, you felt a spark of defiance. You'd had enough of enduring dismal dates out of sheer courtesy. His mere presence ignited a desire to reclaim your evening.

Summoning your courage, you interrupted Tom mid-monologue. "Can I stop you?" you said politely but firmly. "This isn't going well, I think you'd agree."

Tom looked taken aback, his expression shifting from confusion to resignation. He nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the table. He reached for his wallet, extracted a few notes, and placed them on the table. "You're right," he admitted bluntly, "you were much more interesting when we talked on the app."

You seethed inwardly but maintained your composure, offering a tight-lipped nod as you retrieved your share of the bill from your purse and placed it on top of his contribution.

"I'm taking this," Tom declared, grabbing the bottle of wine as he rose from his seat. Snatching his jacket, he glanced back at you. "Good luck," he added curtly before exiting the restaurant, leaving you alone at the table.

With a heavy sigh, you gathered your purse and the plate of food you had ordered. Determination fuelled your steps as you navigated the crowded restaurant, heading towards the bar where Wade sat, his sturdy frame dominating the space. As you approached, the soft glow of the overhead lights cast a warm halo around him, illuminating him like a beacon in the dimness of the bar.

Setting the plate down on the polished counter, you pushed it towards Wade with a gentle yet purposeful motion. With practiced ease, you hoisted yourself onto the stool beside him, the worn leather creaking softly beneath you. Leaning in, you met his amused gaze with a playful twinkle in your eyes.

"Did you order the Korean tacos with a side of a woman who is apparently more fun on a dating app than in real life, Mr. Felton?" you quipped, your words laced with a touch of self-deprecation. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as Wade's laughter filled the air, his easy-going demeanour a welcome contrast to the tension of your failed date. With a casual grace, he turned to face you, one arm resting on the bar as he met your gaze with genuine warmth.

His laughter was like a balm, soothing the sting of the evening's earlier disappointments. "I don't like to pry, but it didn't seem like you were getting a word in edgewise," he remarked, shaking his head in amusement. He signalled to the bartender and ordered you a glass of white wine. "White, right? If I remember, red gives you headaches," he added with a knowing smile.

You nodded appreciatively, a wide smile spreading across your face at his thoughtfulness. The way he remembered such a trivial detail about you struck a chord, touching you in a way you hadn't expected. It wasn't just the wine; it was the recognition, the familiarity in the gesture that made you feel seen.

As you brought the glass of wine to your lips and took a sip, a sense of calm washed over you. The crisp, cool liquid steadied your nerves, the taste familiar and soothing. The ambient noise of the restaurant faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this unexpectedly intimate bubble. The warmth of the moment wrapped around you, making this unfamiliar yet oddly comforting situation feel like a safe haven amidst the chaos of your evening.

This felt like a decisively grown-up situation, and while you knew you were perfectly capable of handling it, there was still a sense of novelty to the experience. Normally, around your dad's friends—people you had essentially grown up with—you couldn't help but feel like a child, forever relegated to the role of the kid tagging along. But here, sitting at the bar with Wade, it felt different. Two adults, sharing a drink and engaging in conversation as equals. You couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same way, or if perhaps this was just a figment of your imagination, a fleeting moment of perceived maturity.

"Are you waiting for someone?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you tried to manoeuvre yourself gracefully through the conversation with the older man. 

Wade's gaze drifted for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly to his phone before returning to meet yours. "I was," he admitted with a sigh, the faintest hint of disappointment colouring his tone. He lifted his phone from the bar to check a message. "But not anymore. Seems like I got stood up."

You noticed a flicker of frustration in his eyes, a brief moment where his façade faltered before he shrugged it off with a nonchalant gesture. The soft glow of the bar lights bathed his face in a warm, amber hue, accentuating the contours of his features and the subtle lines that spoke of a life rich with experiences.

"That's rough," you sympathized, your voice soft as you raised the glass of wine to your lips, offering a brief reprieve from the tension in the air. You savoured the taste, allowing it to linger on your palate as you considered the shared sense of defeat you felt with him. "Seems like we're both having a night of disappointments," you remarked, the words carrying a weight of understanding between you. 

Wade chuckled, a deep, reassuring sound that made you feel at ease. His eyes crinkled at the corners, reflecting the light. "Yeah, it looks like it. But hey, at least we can keep each other company now."

You couldn't help but silently thank the woman who hadn't shown. Since you were old enough to appreciate the opposite sex, you'd harboured a secret admiration for the older man. In your awkward late teens, you likely made it painfully obvious, your infatuation spilling over in clumsy gestures and stammered words, until your first experiences with boys taught you the nuances of approaching them with an air of sensuality.

But even as you matured, your admiration for Wade remained steadfast, a silent longing that lingered beneath the surface. You'd often caught yourself stealing glances at him during family gatherings, marvelling at the way his laughter seemed to fill the room and the easy confidence with which he carried himself.

Now, as you sat beside him at the bar, you couldn't shake the thought that fate had intervened in the form of a missed date. The anticipation of what could unfold between you hummed in the air, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Despite the unlikelihood of him ever seeing you as anything more than his best friend's daughter, you couldn't resist the urge to inch closer on your stool until your knee brushed his, a subtle yet deliberate gesture that spoke volumes of your unspoken desires.

"So, what were you looking forward to more, the company or the food?" you asked, your tone light and playful.

He leaned back slightly, the leather of the bar stool creaking under his weight as he considered your question. "A bit of both, I suppose," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed a hint of vulnerability beneath his usually composed exterior. "But if I'm honest," he continued, his gaze softening as it met yours, "good company always trumps good food."

There was a sincerity in his words that made your heart flutter, a comforting heat enveloping you you at the genuine sentiment behind them. With a thoughtful expression, you pursed your lips, considering his response. "I agree," you finally replied, a playful glint in your eyes, "but you haven't tried these tacos yet."

With a mischievous smile, you slid the plate over to him, the aroma of the savoury dish filling the space between you. Wade chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that reverberated through the air, his laughter infectious as it mingled with the ambient noise of the busy bar.

"You're right," Wade agreed, his tone light as he picked up a taco and broke it in half with a satisfying crunch. He held out a piece to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he willed you to accept it with a smile. "I can't be too quick to judge, can I?" he added, his expression teasing.

You accepted the taco from Wade, feeling a rush of excitement as his fingertips brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes remained locked on yours, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as he brought the food to his lips and took a bite, a soft hum of appreciation escaping him.

Following his lead, you savoured the explosion of flavours from the taco, each bite a delightful symphony of spices and textures that danced on your tongue. "Damn, that's a good taco," Wade remarked, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he turned his attention back to you. His eyes held a warmth that matched his smile, and there was a subtle yet unmistakable longing in his gaze. "Still prefer the company, though," he added, his words laced with sincerity and a hint of something more, leaving you with a fluttering sensation in your chest.

The moment felt unexpectedly intimate, the simple act of sharing food creating a connection that seemed to transcend the confines of the respective roles you held in each others lives. With each bite, the initial awkwardness of the evening melted away, replaced by a growing sense of ease that you hadn't felt in a man's company in a long time. 

When Wade finished with a lick of his fingers, a jolt of electricity shot through you, igniting a flurry of thoughts and emotions. You inwardly scolded yourself, urging restraint and reminding yourself of the countless reasons why anything beyond what you had with Wade was impossible. After all, there were too many factors to consider: your dad, the significant age difference, the intricate web of familial and social dynamics that bound you both.

"So, tell me," Wade continued, pulling you from your thoughts as he leaned back slightly against the bar, his expression relaxed yet curious. "What have you been up to since coming back to town? Besides enduring disastrous dates, of course."

"Well," you began, fingers idly tracing patterns on the stem of your wine glass as you mulled over your response, "besides dodging the pitfalls of modern romance, I've been navigating the murky waters of post-grad life and a floundering career." You paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle before continuing. "Moving back home has been... an adjustment, to say the least. But I'm slowly finding my footing again."

Wade nodded, his gaze gentle and attentive as he listened to your words. "I can imagine," he replied, a hint of empathy in his voice. "Transitioning back to small-town life after being away for so long must be quite the challenge. But it sounds like you're handling it with grace."

You couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at your lips, appreciating his understanding and the fact that he always knew what to say. "Thanks," you murmured, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks. "And what about you? What's been keeping you busy these days?"

"Work, mostly," he chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement as he reflected on his daily endeavours. "And trying to keep up with my girls. I was not prepared for teenagers," he confessed, shaking his head with a wry grin, "but your dad's been a real help, keeps me on my toes."

"I bet he does," you replied, the mental image of your dad as the lively and enthusiastic accomplice in Wade's parenting adventure brought a smile to your lips. "He's always been good at that."

Wade nodded, then with a playful wave of his hand, he dismissed the topic. "Enough about him," he added with a laugh, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful to steer the conversation away from your father. It felt odd, almost wrong, to talk about him while your leg was pressed against Wade's under the bar, a contact he made no effort to break.

"So, what are your plans now that you're back?" he asked, his eyes searching yours with genuine interest. "Any grand ambitions?"

Resting your chin on your palm, you observed the dance of light on the surface of your glass, captivated by the intricate patterns it wove. "Honestly," you began, your voice soft yet tinged with a hint of vulnerability, "I'm still figuring it out." You glanced up, meeting Wade's gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and resolve. "I had these grand plans for my thirties, you know? But I guess the universe had different ideas."

The weight of your words hung in the air, yet, despite it all, a small, determined smile graced your lips. "But hey," you continued, a flicker of energy lighting up your eyes, "if I'm a grown adult now, living under my parents' roof, I might as well make the most of it, right?" You chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of conviction. "So, I'm getting out and trying to have a little fun, seeing what else the universe has in store for me. I guess I'm just taking it one step at a time."

Wade's eyes gleamed with a sense of prideful understanding as he listened intently, nodding along in affirmation. "That's a good approach," he remarked, his voice carrying a comforting resonance. Each word seemed to wrap around you like a reassuring embrace. "Sometimes, taking it one step at a time is the best thing you can do. And hey," he added, a smirk tugging at his lips, "there's nothing wrong with a little fun along the way." 

The seemingly innocuous exchange between you in the intimate ambiance of the bar carried implications that sent shivers of excitement down your spine. With his gaze locked onto yours, brimming with sincerity, you felt a newfound boldness surge within you. "Sometimes, the best things can happen when you least expect them, right?" you posed, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness, yet underscored by a genuine curiosity, eager to explore the depths of this burgeoning connection.

He chuckled softly. Glancing down at his drink, he lifted the glass and met your gaze once more. "To the unexpected," he said, his voice low and inviting.

You brought your glass to his, the crystal clinking together in a toast that felt like a promise. "To the unexpected," you echoed, a smile spreading across your face as the moment hung between you.

As you both took a sip, the background noise of the restaurant seemed to fade even further, leaving just the two of you in your shared bubble. The possibilities of the evening ahead had your heart pounding against your chest, your mind reeling with the idea that perhaps your fantasies were about to come true. You glanced at Wade, noticing the way his eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

The buzz from the wine spread through you, mingling with the excitement of the moment. You set your glass down, your fingers grazing his on the bar top, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Can I take you home?"

The drive was silent except for the blues that crooned lowly on the radio, the tension between you palpable. Each glance, each accidental touch, only heightened the anticipation. When he finally pulled into his driveway, the reality of what was about to happen hit you with full force.

Wade turned off the engine, and for a moment, the only sound was the rain tapping softly against the roof, creating a cocoon of intimacy around you. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty. "I think I should walk you to your door," he conceded, his voice laced with sincerity.

A wave of disappointment washed over you at his words, the excitement you previously felt now ebbing away as you contemplated the end of the evening. Your gaze shifted to your house, standing in quiet solidarity beside his under the silvery glow of the moon. Every window remained veiled in darkness, the roar of the engine hadn't woken your family or his.

You hesitated, reluctant to let the evening come to such an abrupt end. With a fleeting glance back at Wade, you searched his eyes, hoping to uncover any clue about his true desires. The unspoken tension between you seemed to thicken, casting a heavy, almost suffocating atmosphere around you. Summoning your courage, you finally voiced your question. "Is that what you want?"

Wade sighed deeply, his hands sliding over his jean-clad thighs in a gesture of frustration. He looked up at the ceiling, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "No, it's not," he admitted, his voice a hushed murmur. "I want you, but I can't have you."

Your heart soared at his confession, a thrill coursing through your veins. Your fingers tingled as you unbuckled your seatbelt, turning inwards to face him. "Says who?" you challenged, your voice soft but steady.

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. The rain outside intensified, drumming a steady rhythm on the truck roof, making the interior feel even more intimate. The raw intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. The dim light from the streetlamp cast a soft glow over his rugged face, highlighting the conflict warring within him.

"Says everyone," he finally replied, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "Your dad, our families... It would be wrong."

"Does it feel wrong?" Your question hung in the air, charged with uncertainty. With a tentative touch, your fingertips traced a path along Wade's thigh, the fabric of his jeans rough against your skin. His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of surprise dancing in his eyes, mirrored by the vulnerability in your own. In the dim light of the truck cabin, every detail seemed magnified—the furrow of his brow, the intensity of his gaze, the subtle quiver of his lips. "Does it feel wrong?" you repeated, your voice steady, yet laced with a newfound determination. "I know what I want, and I think you do too."

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and hesitation as reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his palm, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savouring the warmth of his touch.

When you opened your eyes again, the uncertainty in his had given way to resolve. He leaned in slowly, his breath hot against your lips, filling the small space with an intoxicating air. "If we're doing this," he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion, "we're doing it right."

You weren't sure what  he was alluding to but nodded regardless, your heart pounding as his lips finally met yours. The kiss started tentative, sweet and gentle as if testing the waters, but quickly deepened into something more urgent and demanding. His other hand released him from his belt before finding its way to your waist, pulling you closer. The rain outside continued to pour, but all you could feel was the heat of his embrace and the electrifying connection that surged between you.

His lips were soft but insistent, exploring yours with a hunger that mirrored your own. The taste of bourbon lingered on his tongue, mingling with the sweetness of yours. You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, losing yourself in the moment. You slid the hand still on his thigh higher until your palm laid flat over the growing bulge in his jeans. You gave him a firm squeeze, and he tore his lips from yours as he eyed you warily. 

"We can't, not here," he said, glancing behind you, his eyes flitting between your house and his.

You followed his gaze over your shoulder, taking in the proximity of both houses, each window still dark and quiet. Turning back to him, you asked softly, "Are the girls home?"

"Yes," he sighed in defeat, his body still tense under your touch. "I can get us a room."

You shook your head. "I don't want to wait any longer," you told him, voice laced with persuasion as you leant in to plant a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. "I've needed you long before tonight," you told him.

"Gotdamn," he breathed, hand leaving your waist momentarily to adjust his seat, sliding himself back to make more space between him and the wheel. "Hop on, baby," he commanded, his voice rough with need as he pulled at you towards him. You climbed over the console, your dress hitching up as you straddled him, knees pressing into the worn leather seat on either side of his thighs.

His hands settled on your hips again, fingers digging in slightly as he looked up at you, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The raw hunger in his gaze sent a thrill through you, his need for you evident from the hardness pressed between your thighs. You leaned in, your lips finding his once more, the kiss deep and consuming as your tongues battled for dominance. 

The sensation of his hands roaming over your back, holding you tight to his firm chest, was exhilarating. His touch was both demanding and gentle, a mix of urgency and care that made your pulse race and nerves fray as he explored your body.

He kissed down your neck, his lips trailing hot and wet against your skin, leaving a path of shivers in their wake. His tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive spots that drove you wild. When he reached the dome of your breasts, you hooked a finger around the fabric of your dress and the bra underneath, pulling them down to expose yourself to him. The sudden rush of cool air made your nipples harden instantly, standing erect in anticipation. Wade's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight before him, and a soft growl escaped his lips.

He took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it with expert precision, each flick sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The delicious graze of his teeth added an edge to the sensation, making you gasp and arch your back, pressing yourself even closer to him.

His hands roamed over your back and sides, exploring every curve and contour, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The combination of his mouth on your breast and the possessive grip of his hands on your body was overwhelming your senses with a heady mix of pleasure and lust.

As he switched to your other nipple, giving it the same exquisite attention, you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close. The cabin of the truck seemed to shrink around you, the rain outside a distant, rhythmic backdrop to the heat building between you. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you in this moment of raw, unfiltered passion.

Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against the roughness of his jeans, seeking more friction, more contact. Every nerve in your body felt alive, tuned to the frequency of his touch and the sensations he was eliciting from you. The tension that had been building all evening was finally coming to a head, and you hoped that this was only the beginning.

His hardness was unyielding against your thigh, the heat of it sending a thrill through to your core. You smiled, the excitement electrifying as you slid a hand between your bodies, fingers deftly working to unbuckle his belt. The metallic clink echoed in the confined space of the truck, adding to the charged atmosphere. You released him from the constraints of his jeans and underwear, feeling the weight of his cock in your hand, heavy and pulsing under your touch.

Wade's breath hitched, his teeth grazing down on your swollen nipple with just enough pressure to make you gasp. The flat of his tongue followed, soothing the bite with a heavenly lick that prickled your skin with goosebumps. He kissed up your jaw, his lips soft and warm as he grinned against your neck, mumbling a promise not to leave any visible marks on you this time. 

Before you had a chance to contemplate the significance of his words, you shifted, aligning yourself over him and using the leaking tip of his cock to slide your panties aside. The feel of his smooth head against your wet folds made you both moan softly. Wade's hips pushed upwards instinctively, seeking more of you, but you held back, teasing him by running his sensitive tip through your slickness.

His eyes were dark with lust, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. "Please," he murmured against your skin, his voice raw with need. The sound of it made you ache for him and you felt your wetness seeping down your thigh as you dragged him back and forth.

You couldn't resist any longer. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, the head of his cock parting your folds and sliding into you with delicious resistance. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that felt both familiar and new. Wade groaned, a deep, primal sound that resonated through his chest and into yours, his hands gripping your hips as if to anchor himself.

You started to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that allowed you to feel every inch of him. Each thrust, each slide, sent waves of pleasure through your body. Wade's hands roamed over you, caressing and squeezing, his fingers digging into your flesh with every rise and fall as he guided you expertly on top of him, your own fingers gripping at the meat of his shoulders.

"W-Wade," you mewled, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he hit that sweet spot inside of you over and over.

The car was filled with the lurid sounds of your fucking —the soft moans, the wet squelches of your cunt taking him as began to bounce you on his cock, the occasional squeak of the leather seats. It was raw, it was real, and it was everything you'd secretly desired.

"You feel so good, baby," he murmured, pausing to tenderly nip at your chin. "So unbelievably good, wrapped around me like this." His words, laced with admiration, echoed in the intimate space between you.

Wade's lips found yours again, capturing them in a searing kiss that conveyed everything words couldn't. His tongue danced with yours, the kiss deepening as your pace quickened, the need to reach that ultimate crescendo becoming overwhelming. You rode him harder, faster, the friction building, the tension coiling tight within you.

When his hand slid down to where your bodies were joined, his finger pressed against the tight bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars. You tore your lips from his, seeking solace in the crook of his neck. Inhaling his bewitching scent—pine mingled with a faint hint of tobacco—your mind numbed, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations as you gave yourself to him completely.

Your body tensed, every muscle locking as waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling under his touch. He muffled the cry of his name from your mouth with a fiery kiss, continued to use his grip on your waist to bounce you on top of him as he fucked you through your orgasm and chased his own. When he followed, he groaned into your mouth as he pumped his load inside of you, bit your bottom lip as your greedy pussy took all of him.

You broke the kiss and collapsed against his chest, feeling his strong arms envelop you as his chin rested gently on your head. He traced soothing patterns on your back, and for a moment, you stayed like that, intertwined, with the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you. Slowly, you ran a trail of soft kisses along his jaw before resting your forehead against his, both of you struggling to catch your breath. His large palm caressed the exposed skin of your ass, sliding back and forth between your behind and your thighs in a tender attempt to soothe and comfort you.

"Well," you breathed, your eyes gleaming with a teasing light, though a hint of vulnerability still shone through. "Did it feel wrong?"

He chuckled, leaning back against the seat as he considered you. "No, darlin', it did not," he said, his smile matching yours.

You rose on shaky legs, took him from you and tucked him back into his jeans before reluctantly moving away from him. The ache for more of him already tugged at you, but you knew your time together was limited tonight. As you shifted back to return to your seat, you misjudged the space and accidentally pressed against the horn of the truck. The sudden blare shattered the night's silence.

You jumped in surprise, and Wade's hands immediately grasped your hips, steadying you both. His gaze quickly scanned over your shoulder, looking for any sign that his daughters had been awakened by the noise. You mirrored his concern, your eyes darting to your parents' home. The windows had fogged with the tell-tale signs of your act, but you managed to peek through a clear spot to see. After a few tense moments, you sighed in relief when everything remained still.

Looking at each other in disbelief, you both laughed as you sat back in your seat, adjusted your dress to cover your breasts and thighs as you smoothed the down the fabric. A wave of nerves washed over you, unsure of your next move until Wade turned to you with an endearing smile. "I'm gonna walk you to your door now, before you wake the whole neighbourhood."

He left the comforting warmth of the truck, and for a brief moment, you felt adrift, alone and lost. But then your door opened, and there he stood, extending a hand toward you. You smiled, placing your hand in his as he gently helped you down from the truck.

As he walked ahead, he kept your hand clasped behind him, positioning it between you both as if to shield you from any prying eyes that might intrude on your moment. The gesture touched you deeply, a silent reassurance that he was still connected to you even after leaving the intimate cocoon of the truck.

You followed him up the steps to your porch, the familiar creak of the wooden boards beneath your feet grounding you in the present. When you reached the door, he reluctantly let go of your hand, allowing you to rummage through your purse for your keys. The rain had stopped and the night air was cool against your skin, filled with the subtle fragrance of blooming flowers and the distant hum of nocturnal creatures.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his gaze brimming with worry as he peered down at you. "You'd tell me if you weren't, wouldn't you?"

Your lips curved into a smile, moved by his genuine concern for your well-being. You held you keys in your hand, the metallic clank loud in the silence of the night. "I'm perfectly fine," you reassured him, warmth infusing your words. "Actually, more than fine. Thank you for turning a disastrous evening around, Mr. Felton," you quipped, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Grinning, he casually leaned against the porch banister, hands snugly tucked into the pockets of his jeans. A mischievous glint in his eyes, he winked, reigniting a spark of need within you. "Hope to catch you at the next cookout," he teased, before pushing off the banister and descending the stairs with easy confidence.

You nibbled on your bottom lip, silently watching as he made his way to his own porch. Pausing at his door, he cast a lingering glance your way, offering a final wave before disappearing inside.

Entering your home, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your purse, leaning back against the door with a contented sigh. Your heart overflowed with joy, and your mind stubbornly refused to dwell on anything but the exciting possibilities awaiting you with Wade. You weren't quite sure what this was between you yet, but one thing emerged crystal clear: your dad was to never find out. 

[bluerthanvelvet444]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚𝓓𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

Kit Walker x fem!reader

tags: smut!!

warnings: murder, blood, fingering, p in v.

summary: reader and kit get paired up in the kitchen. Kit comforts her anddddd...you can imagine what happens next.

character count: 11k. yes. 11k. lost track of length while writing the plot.

full fic under the cut ↓

➽───────────────❥

May 14th, 1964.

People always said you were meant to be a teacher, that it was your role in the world, since kindness and patience have always been your best qualities. This is how you ended up in that pre-school in Massachusetts full of little sunshines that were absolutely fond of you and saw you as their older sister. It was the best job in the world in your eyes, and you were sure you were going to spend most of your days doing it. If only you knew.

That fateful day you were wearing a trendy but simply cut canary dress, slightly accentuating your waist, perfect for the warm weather of spring. Birds’ faint singing could be heard through the open windows, The kids were sitting around small tables while doing their drawings, and you looked at them lovingly while leaning your back on the chest of drawers that kept the children’s bags.

“Teacher! Teach-!” one of the little boys exclaimed to get your attention, but you cut him off.

“Joseph, I'll be there for you in a second, let me change the song first, alright?” You turned around to put the other vinyl in the player, and the tunes of ‘Hit the road Jack’ started playing. You waited a few seconds before turning around…and that was probably the biggest mistake of your life.

Hit the road Jack-BANG!

You quickly turned around as you heard that loud noise. What you saw next permanently changed your life. A tall man, all dressed in black, was holding a gun in his hands and had just shot one of your little kids. Before you could process anything, the gun was pointed at you, and…BANG! You fell to the ground. The bullet missed you and instead carved a little hole in the wall. You couldn’t feel anything, none of your senses worked, except for hearing.

Don’t you come back, no more-BANG!

no more-BANG!

no more-BANG!

no more-BANG!

Hit the road Jack-BANG!

You woke up by the police violently shaking your body. You were confused, and all around you was red. Red blood everywhere.

➽────❥

At first, the police was doing a fantastic job by trying to identify the killer. You had to do so many interrogations, but you felt like with your descriptions and help, the searching for the murderer was close to an end. The case was on all the TV channels and news, the whole state was thirsty for truth. It was when the police started looking into your past that things started to go wrong. You had a previous “arrest” for gun possession. Nothing too crazy, your uncle gave you one when you first started living alone, you realized your mistake, and you were released after a few days anyways. Then the moms of the poor little angels started to spread rumors about how you were “mean” to kids. That of course wasn’t true, they have always been pretty jealous of a young woman who got along with their children better than them. And you tried to explain that to the police, but they just seemed to get more suspicious. They believed that you randomly went crazy and shot all the kids, that would’ve explained how you were the only one who survived too.

Before you could know it you were charged of murderer, and your life sentence was to spend your whole life in an asylum. As bad as the situation was, you were hopeful that you were going to be treated better in an asylum than jail.

You were wrong. Briarcliff Manor was just another way to say hell. Nuns treated you horribly-except Mary Eunice- god bless that poor soul- and Dr. Arden was a living nightmare. You tried to stay as far as possible from him once you heard all the stories of his victims. People were REALLY crazy there…except one. Her name was Pepper. Sister Jude had introduced you two, insisting that you could bond over “baby murder”. You thought she really did it at first, so you kept distance. Pepper insisted on interacting with you, repeating the word “friend”. You glared at her, spitting words harshly.

“I'm not a murderer like you.”

Pepper frowned and started crying. Now she was saying the word “baby.” It was weird but, you felt sorry for her…something in you told you that she may have been not guilty. She dragged you into the library, then she showed you a magazine with the face of the popular star “Elsa Mars.”

“Mom.” She said, you looked at her confused, then Pepper pointed at the sentence written in the magazine “Elsa used to own a Freakshow before…” it was clear to you then.

“Did she put you here?” You asked. Pepper shook her head and mumbled the word “Sister”.

After a few weeks of befriending her, it was clear to you that Pepper was the living representation of “never judge a book by its cover”.

➽────❥

Two months later.

You were playing-at least trying to play-chess with pepper in the common room.

“Pepper, you can't move two pawns together…only one.”

She laughed and moved another one. Your attention was now brought to a woman who seemed new in that place.

“Uhm…you know what, pepper? You win! Congratulations!” You said a little white lie so you could meet the mysterious woman. Pepper smiled and laughed happily, and started wandering around. You got up and walked towards the new presence. She looked lost, confused, angry but definitely not crazy. You sat in front of her and tried to put on a friendly smile.

“Hi… I noticed you from across the room. Who are you?”

The woman looked at you. You couldn’t help but feel judged and studied by those piercing eyes, in a quiet voice, she replied.

“Lana. Lana Winters.”

➽────❥

Time passed. Every day was the same as the one before, torturing and boring. You bonded with Lana too after you acknowledged her story, and she told you about the secret tunnel and how she planned to escape. The occasion came soon when unexpectedly, one random night, cells opened. You insisted on bringing Pepper with you in the escape attempt, and you three ran for your lives. While running, though, pepper decided to take another path. You stopped and whisper-yelled at her to come back, but she didn't listen to you. As soon as Lana noticed you stopping, she dragged you with her, telling you to not waste time, and while you were running, Kit walker caught up with you two. You didn’t know much about him, so you didn't really mind him trying to escape too, but apparently Lana did. You heard her yelling.

“HELP! He’s escaping! The killer is escaping!”

You tried to shush her, but before you knew it, you were captured.

You and kit were then bent over Sister Jude’s desk, while she praised Lana and allowed her to choose the cane you were going to be punished with. You were surprised when Kit took the blame on himself, letting you free and gaining more lashes for himself.

➽────❥

After a few days, you found yourself paired up with Kit on kitchen chores. You stood there in silence, lost in your thoughts while kit prepared the dough.

“You okay over there, suga’? You haven’t said a word.” You were brought back to reality at the sound of his deep voice and smooth accent. You gulped.

“Yeah… I-I’m fine. Just thinking…” You heard him sigh.

“It’s because of what they say about me…ain’t that right? I’m many things, darlin’, but I’m not a murderer. So, don’t be scared.”

You looked at him furrowing your brows and shook your head.

“No…it’s not because of that- I don’t think you’re a killer- I just… I’m just worried. Worried about Pepper. She’s nowhere to be found, a-and I feel guilty. So guilty. I should’ve followed her and brought her back.”

He chuckled lightheartedly.

“Oh, don’t say that, suga’. I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably out there livin’ her best life.”

You sighed and replied nervously.

“You and I both know that isn’t true. She’s wearing a fucking gown, and her looks don’t help either. If she actually managed to get out, she’s already got caught.” You looked down, fidgeting with your fingers. You jumped slightly when you felt his hands touching your shoulders. He gently caressed your arm from behind and spoke with a kind tone.

“Hey-hey- calm down, suga’. Whatever happened to Pepper, it’s not your fault. Don’t be so harsh with yourself. You tried to stop her, there was nothin’ else you could do.”

You sighed and leaned into his gentle touch.

“I just hope she’s fine. She’s an innocent soul…I could never live with it if something bad happened to her.”

He took your hands in his.

“You don’t belong here. In Briarcliff.”

You sighed and let yourself relax in his arms. He whispered in your ear.

“You need a distraction, suga’.”

you then felt his cold hand on your exposed inner thigh. You looked up at him, your cheeks slowly turning red.

“Shhh… Just relax. It’ll feel good, I promise.”

You nodded slowly and looked down as his fingers made their way to your exposed folds under your gown. He sighed as he ran a finger over your slit, and peppered gentle kisses on the side of your face. He started slowly circling your clit. His big hands felt like heaven on you and you couldn’t help but buckle your hips towards his hand, sweetly whining for more. He flashed you with a tender smile and pressed a sweet kiss on your lips. His fingers shifted position, so his thumb was now grazing your clit while one of his digits made its way to your entrance, gently pushing in. You gasped and let out a soft moan, muffled by his mouth making contact with yours. He inserted another finger in, stretching you and slowly thrusting inside.

“Ah… Faster Kit…please…” you whined softly.

“Whatever you say, suga’.”

He started moving his fingers faster, making your back arch as he hit that sweet spot perfectly. He kept going until he felt your whines grow louder, and right before you could cum, he suddenly stopped and pulled his fingers out.

“mhhhph….w-why did you stop?”

He chuckled and have you a loving kiss on your lips.

“I wanna be inside of you…suga’…is that okay, mh?”

You nodded eagerly, and he picked you up to set you on the counter. He grabbed your waist with his veiny hands and leaned in to crush your lips together. His tongue swirled around yours as you sloppily made out. You pulled your lips away from his and whispered.

“w-what if they catch us?”

“They won’t. I’ll be quick, love.”

He lifted your gown once again and settled between your legs. He groaned as he rushed to lift his gown, and he hissed while lining up your entrance with his needy cock. He immediately began pounding in your poor cunt. His thrusts were fast and sloppy. As you whined for the sudden roughness, he whispered right next to your ear in a hoarse voice.

“Sorry suga’. Been too long since I've touched a woman.”

You moaned as your legs clung to his body, and you had to adjust to the new position. Not long after, between dough and adrenaline for the fear of being caught, he sped up his thrusts until you came with a loud moan that he tried to muffle with his hand. At the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, he cummed inside you right away with a deep groan. You panted for a few seconds before getting off the counter and regaining your decency. He pressed a loving kiss on your lips and gently caressed your hair. You allowed yourself to melt in his embrace, and while thinking about everything that had happened so far, a sudden thought came to your mind.

“Kit…why did you stand up for me when Sister Jude wanted to punish us?”

He put his chin on your head, and with a sweet smile plastered on his face, he spoke.

“I followed your case on the TV before gettin’ locked up' here. I always thought ya were innocent…”

He chuckled and pressed gently his lips on your hair.

“…and cute.”

➽───────────────❥

a/n: aaaahhh!!! this is my first smut. I'm really proud of this one. lemme know if you like it!!!🧡🧡

join my taglist!!

all rights reserved!!

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

So now sporting his mom's purse, Cory walks up to Shawn and quietly asks, how could you let this thing fall apart? -Danielle

Looking very trendy for today, by the way. Like guys are now all wearing fanny packs and like over the shoulder bags. I was like, oh, this is actually a good look for Cory. -Rider

He looks great with a murse. Shawn argues, it's bigger than me. It's bigger than both of us. Very well played. Great line. Bigger than me, bigger than both of us. Cory says they have to hold this thing together. -Daniellle 

Yes. Best performance in Boy Meets World history. I'll never get better. This is it...This is peak acting Rider. I think so. Because after this I take myself way too seriously. For whatever reason. I was like outta my head and just having fun this episode. Great. -Rider 

[jerzwriter]

For day 4 of the writing challenge - I have a confession. I took the original version I wrote for three of my MCs, Casey/Kaycee (OH) and Zoe (WTD), back in 2023 and edited it a bit. I also added a section for Carolina Rose (CoP), who I created after that time. In 2023, I said this was challenging for me because this isn't the type of writing I normally do, and that's still true today; of course, that's what made this a great challenge!

I'm not tagging my lists, as I'm not sure this is anything that would interest anyone, but it was still fun to do.

Day four of my 30-day writing challenge from @creativepromptsforwriting. Today's prompt: Write a scene without any dialogue.

Casey/Kaycee: * For those unfamiliar with my writing, Casey and Kaycee are different MCs that have the same background from childhood through the early part of their residency at Edenbrook Hospital. After the Miami Convention in Book 1, their paths diverge.

Growing up, Casey/Kaycee’s mother’s illness left her family with very little expendable income. As a result, shopping trips to the mall are not part of her memories. She had a lot of older cousins who gave her big bags of hand-me-downs, that’s where most of her clothes came from. Even though they were used, she was always excited to receive them. The clothes would end up dumped on the living room floor and she’d try everything on - putting on an impromptu “fashion show” for her parents or whoever happened to be there.  It wasn’t until years later that she realized that this wasn’t the norm for everyone.

Her parents always encouraged her to show her own style, and that would best be described as comfortable and eclectic. For example, she loved jeans, but they were often covered with patches she made from clothing she couldn’t use, or she’d pair a concert t-shirt with a frilly, formal skirt.

That fashion sense was appreciated when her family lived in Philadelphia, but when they moved to an affluent suburb before she began high school, many of her peers disapproved. By that time, her parents were in a better economic situation, so her Mom started taking her to King of Prussia Mall for shopping trips fairly often. She shopped in popular stores and bought trendy clothes… which left her looking like everyone else in a high school where she never felt like she belonged. So, by Junior year, she went down to doing her own thing. Since she wasn’t getting bags of hand-me-downs anymore, she would go into Philly and go thrifting with her old friends – this was long before thrifting was cool.

That style suited her well when she began her studies at New York University; she fit in with the more laid-back, bohemian scene in Greenwich Village. As a student activist and volunteer, she sometimes needed to dress up a bit more. But even at this age, she felt buying quality, timeless classics that could be easily mixed and matched, and would last a long time, was the way to go... when they were on clearance, of course.

Once she started med school her style could be described as whatever was clean, and sometimes, it wasn’t even that! It was a grueling four years, and fashion was the last thing on her mind.

By the time she arrived at Edenbrook, she had a classic American style with a bit of an urban edge. More confident in herself, she began wearing more body-conscious clothing and enjoyed getting dressed up when she was going out. But, on a day-to-day basis, jeans and sweaters or sweatshirts were her go-to.

At this point, Casey and Kaycee’s paths diverge and they become two different MCs with different headcanons. Both Kaycee and Casey kept their looks professional at work. If they weren’t wearing scrubs, they tended to wear tailored, business casual pieces that were professional but practical for the medical field. Practicality and comfort were their priorities when they were working long hours and caring for patients.

Outside of work, Kaycee’s style was a bit more classic, not conservative by any means, but more reserved than Casey’s. Kaycee continued to have a classic, American look. Casey’s wardrobe tended to be more flirtatious and sexy, and she paid more attention to trends after she began dating Tobias, who was a bit of a fashionista himself. Still, she never became someone who let trends dictate what she wore.

Zoe:

Poor Zoe lives in a post-apocalyptic world where fashion isn’t a thing, and clothing is what you were lucky enough to get. Still, I think people tended to find a style of their own, even if it was just how they wore their clothing.

Zoe is a fighter and a leader, she needed to be ready to act at any time, so she was about practicality and comfort, it had to be. But, during her time in The Tower (the colony where she grew up) and after, she preferred a bit of a sexy edge. For example, she preferred her jeans a little more snug if possible. If she was wearing an old Henley, she’d have a few more buttons undone than necessary, but she liked it that way. It fit her personality, flirtatious but fierce and ready for anything.

I imagine some colonists were able to make clothing at Olympus. Materials weren’t readily available, so style wasn’t the main concern, but this did allow residents to have a little more input into the clothing they wore. If Zoe had a choice, I would see her style as Army/Navy meets Bohemian flair.

Carolina:

Carolina grew up in the Bronx, in a working-class neighborhood where you learned to be street smart and how to look good doing it at a young age. Her abuela always told her, "You don't have to have money to have style, mija—you just need taste and creativity." Carolina took her advice to heart.

Her family wasn’t rich by any means, so she learned how to stretch a dollar. By the time she was ten, she’d spend weekends digging through second-hand shops in SoHo, looking for unique pieces on Fordham Road, or going to street markets where she could find designer knockoffs that passed for the real thing. By the time she was in high school, she had a knack for mixing a $20 thrift-store leather jacket with a $200 pair of boots off clearance at Macy’s and looking like she could have been in a fashion magazine.

Her work as a private detective requires her to blend in, so her day-to-day wardrobe tends toward low-key basics—black jeans, plain tees, neutral-toned blazers, and sneakers. She’s learned quickly that following someone around through the crowded streets of New York or sitting in your car for hours required comfort more than couture. But if the job calls for it, Carolina can turn on a dime. She has a small collection of “assignment clothes”—sleek cocktail dresses, uptown brunch wear, biker chick leather, yoga mom leisure, and college student chic all at the ready in her closet when the case demands.

Outside of work, her style leans sexy but effortless. Think of a cropped Yankees tee with vintage Levi’s and gold hoop earrings. She’s got a thing for 70s and 90s silhouettes and old-school NYC street style. She is not one to have luxury labels hanging in her closet (even after she begins dating an exiled prince), but she knows how to look like she does.

[seeyal8r]

@FCKL8RBOY JUST POSTED ON TIKTOK! - HANA AND LO TRAUMA DUMP WHILE MAKING CANDY SALAD

🍓 ˖ ࣪ CONTENT WARNING: swearing, mentions of harassment, suicide, sex, cheating and toxic relationships. It’s a bit explicit, I guess? Nothing crazy though.

₊˚﹒⤻ insp. by my forever boys @bluwavez

₊˚﹒⤻ this piece is set in the @dreamquest dorms!

Hana sits in front of the camera with a playful smile on her face, already makeup-free and ready for bed after a long day of rehearsals. From what can be seen in the background, she is in the shared dormitory of the DreamQuest girls.

Hana claps her hands together lightly before speaking. “I’ve noticed it’s trendy these days to share your traumas for fun, outside the confines of your therapist’s office. So, here we are.” Hana then grabs Eloise by the shoulder, pulling her into the frame. Eloise, with an unusual expression of discomfort plastered on her face, waves both hands at the camera with a forced smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Hana declares, motioning for Eloise to step out of the frame. “Hi, I’m Yunha. No, my real name isn’t Hana. Anyway, I’ve brought licorice sticks. When I debuted with that group—yeah, the one everyone knows but I won’t mention because they're all backstabbing bitches— I received a massive wave of hate just for being my father’s daughter. Creepy people would wait for me outside Hidden Entertainment at night and basically harassed me, calling me a spoiled talentless brat and telling me I should kill myself or I’d drag the group down with me. My dad had to assign me a couple of bodyguards for my safety. Super fun, right?” With a big fake smile, Hana dumps the licorice onto the clear bowl in front of her, her eyes never leaving the camera and her smile never faltering.

Tugging at the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, which is clearly a guy’s, Lo steps in front of the camera, replacing Hana.

"Hey, I’m Eloise, and I brought watermelon sour brite crawlers," she says, unenthusiastically waving the candy bag in the air. She pauses, pouting off-camera at what it can be assumed is Hana. Despite her reluctance, she continues, “So, during the Zombie promotions, one of our wardrobe assistants attacked me because she thought I was hooking up with her boyfriend, who happened to be one of our producers. Totally not true, by the way, but she was out of her fucking mind. She caught me off guard in the bathroom while I was washing my hands, yanked my hair, and slammed me into the mirror. The CEO found out and ended up firing both of them, so yeah, good riddance."

Hana's laughter can be heard off-camera, which brings a pleased smile to Eloise's face. She dumps the contents of her candy bag into the bowl before being replaced by Hana once again.

“Okay, what else…” Hana pauses, pretending to think, but it’s clear she knows exactly what she's about to say. “My dad cheated on my mom for the first time when I was, like, five? Maybe six? Who even knows at this point. So, one day, my mom and I go to the company to pick him up for a family dinner. She’s chatting with some employees in the lobby and sends me to his office. Of course, it never crossed my mind to knock, because Hidden is like my second home. And there he is, fucking one of his secretaries. The most basic cliché ever. So I ran back and told my mom that daddy was kissing another woman. And you know what she said? 'I’m sure you’re imagining things.' She made me think I was crazy and acted like I hadn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell. They both played the perfect couple in front of the whole family later that night.”

Eloise tries to suppress her laughter, which causes Hana to laugh too. “It’s okay! You can laugh. It’s funny. Years later, I found out my dad cheating is considered normal in their marriage. And my mom denying it is too. It’s ridiculously pathetic, but who am I to say anything anymore? Let them deal with their own mess. Oh, I also brought strawberry sour patch. These are the best!”

Eloise seems a bit calmer when she reappears on screen with a new bag of candy in hand. “Hi, it’s Eloise again, this time with original Haribo gummies. So, when I got kicked out of L8RBOY…” She’s cut off by a pink sour patch hitting her in the face. Eloise picks it up from her lap, where it landed, and pops it into her mouth. “Alright, alright, the group that shall not be named because they’re a bunch of blah blah blahs. Anyway, I started dating a boy. He was my first real boyfriend. He also happened to be obsessed with me sucking him off. We’re talking about the guy I lost my virginity to, so I had like zero experience. Plus, I was super shy in bed, like everything felt like a big deal to me. So, obviously, I kept refusing until one day he threatened to break up with me if I didn’t do it. He literally blackmailed me into sucking his stupid dick. I was such a mess back then that the thought of him leaving me was terrifying. I eventually caved and gave him a blowjob and he still dumped me, saying I was terrible at it. And now, I’m terrified of dicks! Yay!”

Both girls burst into laughter at Eloise's mock enthusiasm. She dumps the bag's contents into the bowl, and Hana takes the opportunity to sit down on the floor next to her. In an attempt to stop laughing, they both start munching on some of the candies, only to end up choking on them when the laughter doesn't let up.

When she finally calms down a bit, Hana starts talking again. "Okay, okay, one last rant for today. I’m Yunha, and I’m out of candy, but I vouched for one of the girls in the original lineup of the group that shall not be named because my dad wasn’t sure about letting her debut. And what do I get in return? The bitch backstabs me during the group buyout and INFERNO decides I’m totally replaceable. I said I wouldn’t name names, but screw it—Zhao Jiayi, you’re the biggest backstabbing bitch ever! I guess that’s how you stole the leader spot in the new lineup. Seriously, go to hell!"

Eloise looks totally shocked, eyebrows up and hand over her mouth. "I can't believe you just went there."

Hana shrugs nonchalantly. "I mean, I'm just speaking facts."

"Yeah well, she’s definitely gonna see the video," Eloise says, to which Hana grins wickedly.

"Oh, but I hope she does."

[buried-in-autumn-leaves]

Confession Time - Everett/Marina Fic

My beloveds in their version of the 'Be my Boyfriend' Scene <3

Also Available on AO3!

Marina likes fast food, really, she does. She just doesn't know how many more meals she can take in this shithole before her stomach rots inside of her.

"Why the hell do we keep coming here if you're just gonna glare at your plate the whole time?"

She jolts back to attention- Right, she's on a date.

"Seriously," Everett roll his eyes. "You're the one who keeps asking me to come here."

"I like it here!" She protests. It's not a lie, she always looks forward to their dates here. She does conveniently leave out the reasons as to why, though. There are three, but Everett doesn't need a bigger ego, if that's even possible.

"Yeah? Then eat the food."

She grimaces. "The food sucks."

"Why the fuck else would you come here?"

She shrugs. It's not a good enough answer for him, that's clear, but she doesn't offer anything else.

"I don't fucking understand you sometimes."

"Mm, you keep showing up, though." She laughs. He scoffs, looking away the same way he always does when he's embarrassed, as if any amount of fake tan can cover the way his cheeks suddenly seem the slightest bit red.

That, of course, would be reason number one.

"Whatevs. Of course I'm gonna show up, I like it here. Doesn't explain anything, though."

"You just answered your own question."

He frowns. "What the fuck does that mean?'

"That question you asked."

"Um, I asked why you keep coming here, dumbass."

"Mhm."

"Tch. If you say some corny shit like you only do it because I like it, it's not gonna make it any less weird."

She looks away, humming in fake contemplation.

"Hm, that's crazy. I don't remember ever claiming to be anything but weird."

"Seriously?"

"I like seeing you happy." She shrugs. "You shouldn't be surprised, considering how everyone loves you and everything."

She smiles when he shakes his head, his blush returning. Really, reason one was a great reason. First for a reason.

The 'argument', if it could even be considered one, ended quickly as one of Everett's aforementioned groupies walks in and immediately claims his attention. Unbothered, Marina continues to pick at her food. The girl doesn't acknowledge her, but she doesn't stare her down like she normally does either, so Marina considers it a win.

Truly, she doesn't understand exactly why Everett loves it here so much. Sure, it's the only really cheap place to eat in town, but with the amount of money she's sure his Mom sends him, it wouldn't be hard for him to go somewhere fancier. Besides, this place was too trendy with the rest of the student body to be considered 'underground' enough for him.

"So, are you busy right now?"

The girl (seriously, what was her name- Laura or something?) flirts shamelessly, as if Marina isn't there. Marina pretends not to notice, adjusting her veil and already reaching for her bag.

"Um, yes? The hell does it look like?"

She pauses, looking up in surprise.

Everett raises his eyebrows, nodding toward the table. "We're eating right now. Obviously."

"You've been hanging out with her a lot, haven't you?" Laura says, voice tense. Everett just laughs.

"Jealous?"

Marina chews on the inside of her cheek, attempting and failing to stop the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She'd half expected Everett to leave with the girl, especially after he'd already been annoyed with her. Yet, he'd brushed her off.

Reason two- He likes to pretend, but he's not a bad date.

Laura leaves after another minute, giggling obnoxiously about how they should 'totally go out sometime'.

"God, she's fucking annoying."

"She's your friend, asshole."

"Really? You're defending her? After she pulled that shit?"

When Marina just smirks, he scoffs.

"You think you're so fucking funny."

"I do."

"Tch- Whatever. Lets get outta here."

She frowns. "I thought you just said we were eating."

He laughs, grinning at her. "I was eating, you were sulking, and that's fucking lame, I'm not gonna have people see someone I'm on a date with not looking happy. Do you realize how bad that makes me look?"

It's a selfish reason, but all she hears is that he cares that she's having a good time.

He walks her back to her dorm. The first few times she asked him to do that, he complained, asking why the hell he should have to do anything for her after the date was over.

"If I say we can kiss when we get there, will you stop complaining about it?" She'd asked.

"Hm, maybe." He'd answered, but she hasn't had to ask again since.

That might be reason three, but there's no way in hell she's telling him that one.

He lets her hold his hand on the walk back. Usually he wouldn't do that, but Nate had track until 7, so there was no chance he would see. As much as Everett 'doesn't care' about the rules, he's not willing to risk a lecture from Nate as long as they share a dorm.

"Okay, we're here, pay up." He says, leaning against her door.

Marina laughs, leaning in to kiss him quickly before turning away. She brings her hand up to fidget with the crystal resting against her chest.

"…Hey, come in for a second."

"Hell yeah."

"Not for that, perv."

He complains, but it's half-hearted, not actually objecting as he follows her in. When she shuts the door, he shifts his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. "Make it quick. Nate would be mad enough I walk you to your door, he'd kick my ass if he found out I went in."

"Nate's at practice for another two hours, you're just being dramatic because we're not making out."

"Ha, maybe."

She sighs, rolling her eyes as she slips her necklace off, draping it over her altar.

"I still don't like that you keep that there. You better not be doing any creepy spells and shit on me."

"Do you even believe that would work?" She smiles at him over her shoulder. He scoffs.

"I don't care, I don't want you doing it anyway."

"Well, I'm not."

"Good-"

"Not that I would tell you if I was, anyway."

He scowls. "Bitch."

She laughs. She doesn't even do witchcraft, but she's not willing to give up the bit yet.

There's a moment of silence as she fidgets with a shell on the altar, staring out the window. She can hear him behind her, typing on his phone. Seriously, the only good thing about him having that ancient thing is that he can't text during dates without her hearing it.

"…Do you like going out with me?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

She shrugs, still facing the window. "Exactly what I said, is that too complex a question for you?"

"Bitch."

She laughs quietly. "I mean, you wouldn't keep showing up if you didn't like it at all, right?"

"If you think I'm that nice, you haven't been paying attention."

"Don't worry, I still think you're a total asshole." She drawls, finally turning around to pat Everett's shoulder reassuringly. "But, whatever, good enough. I had a question."

"What?"

"Did you want to be my boyfriend?"

"What the fuck?"

Her eyes narrow at the way he suddenly looks the way she's sure she does every time she has to smell that God awful fast food place. He flinches away from her, as if her words are some physical thing he can avoid.

"Don't be such a baby, it's just a question."

"I don't do the whole girlfriend thing."

"Why not?" She asks, tilting her head. "Seems like something you'd do."

"Eh, just don't feel like tying myself down."

What she's pretty sure he means is 'I don't feel like giving up my side-chicks', but she doesn't call him out on it, just shrugging and looking away from him.

"Okay."

"What, you're just fine with it?"

"Would you prefer I get upset?"

"Uh, yeah?" He shifts his weight, hands resting on his hips. "I'm fucking great, you should be heartbroken."

Marina laughs, apologizing under her breath when he scowls. She clears her throat, feigning seriousness.

"No, no, you're right, but it's fine. What kind of monster would I be to take you away from your fans?"

He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing her. "What are you plotting?"

"Nothing!" She holds her hands up in surrender, smiling as she swallows down another laugh. "…I'm sure Laura will be thrilled."

His face immediately screws up in disgust.

"Uah. That bitch? Like I'd ever go out with her."

"I don't know, she seems pretty determined. If only there was a way to show her you're definitely not interested…"

The frown falls, leaving him looking unimpressed, not that unimpressed isn't his default emotion. "Really? That's your big plan?"

"I like you."

"Yeah, it's one of the only good things about you."

"One of?"

"You're welcome."

She frowns. "Do you want to or not? Don't be a dick, I won't cry if you say no."

"Mm, I guess."

"I- wait, really?"

Her jaw drops, a grin breaking out over her face. He rolls his eyes.

"Are you deaf? I just said it, didn't I?"

She giggles, walking up and throwing her arms around him. He tenses, hands hovering above her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

She pulls back, rolling her eyes. "Well, I was going to thank you, but now I'm just doing it to annoy you."

"Tch- Whatevs. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me!"

"Good to know you're low maintenance, then. "

She raises an eyebrow, daring him to continue that train of thought. He frowns.

"Don't get any ideas. I can dump you, you know."

"You can, because you're my boyfriend. Crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, kind of."

His cheeks are red again, slight smile dropping as he pulls away from her to take out his phone. She stares.

"Who the hell are you calling?"

"My Mom? Duh?"

She lights up, leaning in to look at his screen. "Aw! Are you gonna tell her about me?"

He grimaces. "Don't make it a whole thing. She'd be on my ass if I didn't tell her about this right away."

"I like that you care about her so much."

"Yeah, so you've said." He shrugs her hand off of his shoulder. His thumb hovers over the call button, his eyebrows furrowing as he hesitates.

"Listen." He says, turning so he's facing away from her.

"Huh?"

"I'm not just about girls, okay? If you really wanna do this whole relationship shit, you should probably know, I guess."

The words are level as they're rushed out of his mouth, as if she somehow wouldn't hear him. It's said the same way he says everything else, as if it's the most casual thing in the world, but she's not blind. She sees the way he avoids her eyes, the way his hand taps anxiously against where it's resting on his hip. It's not something she sees very often, and she decides very quickly that she doesn't like it.

"…My real name is Mariella."

"What the fuck?"

Everett's head spins to look at her again, eyes wide with confusion. She cackles at the mood flip, covering her mouth. "I know, it's awful, isn't it?"

"What the fuck? Since when? Why?"

Still giggling, she nods toward her altar.

"My friends and I gave each other nicknames a few years ago. Sophie works with Aphrodite, so she's 'Rose'. Nick is 'Lyric' because of Apollon, you know? So… Marina."

For a minute, he doesn't answer, just staring at her as if she's sprouted a second head. Fair enough, honestly. She stares back, expression neutral, but her chest feels warm. It's better, she thinks, seeing him like this than seeing him anxious.

Eventually, his figure relaxes, his tone more normal.

"…So your parents couldn't just pick one basic white girl name? They had to frankenstein that shit together?"

"Actually, my Mom picked my name, my Dad didn't care much."

"Wow, she must hate you. Is that why you had to get another one?"

She gasps, punching his shoulder half-heartedly. "What the fuck, don't say that!" She scolds, but she's laughing anyway. "What if I said something about your mom?"

"My mom didn't name me Mariella."

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

Her faux anger softens into a genuine smile, and she hugs him again. He lets her, not bothering to tease her this time, settling for just sighing dramatically. When his phone goes off, though, he pulls away again, lifting the phone to his ear.

"Hey, what's up?"

It's not his Mom, he doesn't sound happy enough for that to be the case. There's a minute of chatter on the other side of the line, and then Everett's eyes widen.

"What the fuck, yes, I'll be there. Give me ten minutes, I gotta finish something first."

He hangs up without another word.

"Another party?"

"You know it."

She nods, looking away and rocking awkwardly on her heels. She's not opposed to ending the night here, but it's not as if she'd be heartbroken if he'd had time to stay with her longer.

Not that she's clingy though, that would be embarrassing. Obviously.

"Hey Mom."

She smiles, watching him pick up his glasses from her desk as he heads for the door. His voice was always an octave higher whenever he talked to his Mom, it was pretty funny.

"Yeah, I'm on my way to some school thing right now- No, just some assembly, nothing important, but anyway-"

His voice gets quieter as he walks out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. Marina sighs, shaking her head. She gets up, walking over to close it, when she hears Everett down the hall.

"You coming or not, El?"

She pauses, looking to peek around the corner to see who he's talking to, only to see him staring straight at her. Her stomach drops at being caught, but it's quickly overpowered by confusion- El?

"What- Me?"

"Is there anyone else here? Come on, I'm not gonna wait for you."

"Ah- Coming!"

She spins on her heel rushing to grab her necklace off her dresser and rushes out to meet him. He's still on the phone, barely glancing at her as she rushes to his side, but the corner of his mouth turns up, and she smiles.

Okay, so maybe there's four reasons.

[hihereami]

Yesterday talking with friends we realised all of us grew up as teenagers (13-16) knowing a girl our age who had been killed in an act of femicide that all of Argentina had known.

A girl I knew personally when we were twelve dissapeared for three days before being a half-undressed corpse on a beach at fourteen. They yelled for her all through the country and they didn't condone her alleged murderer until I was twenty two. She never got to that age.

Latin american young girls grew up planning or picturing how our loved ones would handle us being the next femicide. We naturalised girls our age appearing in garbage bags so much that we were straight up thinking "huh, my dad and grandma would be the one yelling for justice in the media because my mom would be too devastated" or "i should leave my passwords somewhere so they can tell those who wouldn't know otherwise".

And now? At least in Argentina, no one talks about it anymore. Every 30 hours a woman dies and no one gives a shit. It's worse than a decade ago because now the media cycle about femicides is over and everyone has decided the topic isn't trendy anymore.

And every once in awhile I think of her, her sunny smile and I make plans in case I dissapear tomorrow.

[aurorawitch]

Love magic isn’t romance—it’s control. When emotions are forced, is it really love, or just a beautifully crafted illusion?

A Life Not Mine

(Based on real events.)

In a trendy downtown beauty salon, a young hairstylist named Sophie worked her magic. She was vibrant and ambitious, a small-town girl with big dreams. The place where she had grown up felt too small, too limiting. So, the moment she earned her cosmetology license, she packed her bags and set out to conquer the city.

"Sophie, you have golden hands," her boss, Marina Parker, often told her. "Real talent like yours is rare."

And it was true—clients flooded in, eager for her touch. Sophie could transform even the most hopeless cases into works of art.

With her slender frame, deep brown eyes, and warm, inviting smile, she naturally attracted attention. Men pursued her relentlessly, but she kept them at a distance. Marriage? A family? That wasn’t in her plans.

“You’ll settle down one day,” her mother sighed during their infrequent calls.

“Mom, I’m only twenty-two! I just want to enjoy my life for now,” Sophie laughed.

Then came the fateful evening, one rainy October night. She had just finished with her last client when the door swung open again.

A heavyset man in his forties stood in the doorway, dressed in an expensive but ill-fitted suit.

"Sorry, we're closing," Sophie began.

"Name’s Alexander Monroe," he interrupted smoothly. "I hear you work magic with hair. And I could really use some magic before an important meeting."

She hesitated but nodded. A client was a client.

After that night, Alexander started visiting the salon regularly. He asked her to dinner, sent flowers, even gifted her a pair of diamond earrings for her birthday—gifts she politely refused.

"I'm sorry, but I don’t date clients," she told him with a polite, tight-lipped smile.

Something about him—the way he watched her, the way he never quite took no for an answer—unsettled her.

Then came the moment she let her guard down.

“Just a coffee,” he suggested one evening. “Right here, in the salon.”

Sophie hesitated. He had worn her down with his persistence, and besides, it was just coffee.

“Fine. But make it quick,” she relented.

She took a sip.

The world blurred. Her mind clouded.

When the fog lifted, Sophie was no longer Sophie.

Fifteen years vanished like smoke. It was as if she had watched someone else’s life unfold—a whirlwind of a wedding, three children, a devoted husband, a home filled with routines and responsibilities. The ambitious young woman she had once been disappeared into the role of a perfect wife and mother.

She adored Alexander. Worshipped his controlling mother, Eleanor. Raised their children—Maddie, Connor, and little Annabelle.

The spell broke the day Eleanor died. The fog lifted, and Sophie saw the truth with horrifying clarity.

This wasn’t her life.

She didn’t love this man.

She had been made to love him.

“How could you do this?” she whispered, stuffing clothes into a suitcase. “How could you steal my life?”

Alexander stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. “My mother wanted me to be happy,” he admitted. “And you wouldn’t give me a chance.”

“You drugged me,” she said, her voice hollow. “You took my choices away.”

And with that, she walked out.

Now, at forty-two, Sophie lives alone in a quiet city, working at a different salon. She shares her apartment with her cat, Max. The kids sometimes message her on social media, but she never responds.

Because how can she face them?

They were born not out of love but out of someone else’s selfish will.

And some wounds don’t heal.

[brokoala-soup]

I think my aesthetic might be something along the lines of cottagecore and light academia with a tinge of Studio Ghibli and bits and pieces of chaotic academia. So this includes:

classical music blaring out of cheap speakers, homemade food served in reused takeout containers, half dying houseplants in everything but traditional flower pots, the fragrance of jasmine and mint, mirrors reflecting sunlight on to disorganised bookshelves with the most random collection of books, soups in glassware, gel pen doodles all over my notes, herbal teas in whiskey glasses, locally sourced incense sticks, handmade woolen blankets over commercially sold quilts, baking granola bars on a lazy sunday afternoon, adding chocolate to literally everything, mid day naps when the weather is cloudy yet humid, ribbon ties instead of stapler pins, making my own spice powders, scented oil lamps, being obsessed with cloves, sleeping on a bed full of pillows only to find over half of them on the floor next morning, missing alarms because closing my eyes for two more seconds won't make me fall asleep again, picking flowers and herbs from the garden, sleepy afternoons, careful skincare but with the most day to day products, eucalyptus oil, use and throw inhalers to deal with my anxiety because the smell of menthol calms me down, short nails and neutral manicure, smelling like flowers one day and like the sea the other, getting excited whenever I spot the moon, absolutely in awe and in love with the clouds because they're amazing and so creative, puppies, calligraphy using ball pens, homemade mocha latte using soya milk, my grandma's childhood earrings that I wear all the time, newspapers, organic vegetables sold by retired social workers, tote bags, reusable metal water bottles, hot showers and cold rinses, using my grandmother's favorite brand of soap because I love smelling like her, herbal hair oil, smelling like sandalwood, cooking pasta with the family, reading secondhand books, collecting fused light bulbs, pencil underlines, postcards, 1 am poetry, pop instrumentals and pensive journaling, benzene rings on page margins, berry flavoured cough syrup, baking bread, long walks, loud conversations, thrifting, e-books, chocolate wrappers hidden between dictionary pages, colourful periodic table prints, plushies, honey, fleece blankets, sleeping cats, signet ring, dried rose I'd bought for myself and carried around like a trophy travelling back home with it in the public bus, twinning perfumes coincidentally with my best friend, vintage looking brand new ink pen and expired ink, sticky notes with motivational quotes covering my wall, never buying perfumes and only using the ones I'm gifted, random words that remind me of niche incidents or memories written along the corners of my study material, pearl jewelry set that my dad gifted my mom but it's me who wears it now, combat boots bought at ¼th it's price at a discount clearance sale, all my jackets being bought from different countries by my dad and thus each serving as a token of memory, lipstick shades that match only extremely specific vibes and look off and odd at other times, cherry lip balm stick that I've used only twice, daily calendar sheets reused as a notepad, birthday candles from my 16th birthday sitting on my work table, the lingering smell of multiple beverages in my room because I seldom wash the cups I drank them from and now they're cluttered all over the room, hand me down luxury watches older than me, chipped nailpolish, reminders written down on tissue papers, bus tickets all over my bag, sugar-free chewing gum, deodorant that never washes off my clothes, wearing clothes purchased 5 years ago and getting compliments simply because it's not trendy but is unique, mini origami cranes, rose sprays, lychee scented sanitizer, baking bread at home on weekends, homemade hair masks, turning up late because i was busy enjoying life walking through the eucalyptus grove on the way to class, running to the station yet missing the train, all my everyday ornaments having a deeper meaning to me.

[pplatonic]

Baby's First Pride

I'm 16 and a half years old. I came out to my parents inspired by a story at my school's GSA - just walk up the stairs and call it out. I was terrified, but they were accepting, and I learnt that my brother has trans friends and that Mom even experimented with girls when she was a teen. It's 5:10 PM, so it's probably time to go to the pride event Mom has been talking about all week. She said her boss told her about it, and that it's all ages. I get dressed in my Hatsune Miku cosplay, drape my Aromantic pride flag around my shoulders, and tie the ends in a reef knot around my neck to wear it as a cape.

I go downstairs, putting my Miku wallet in my bag, and take a short video of me twirling around to send it to my friends captioned 'ARO MIKU IS GOING TO PRIDE.' When I get outside, my parents and Mom's friend coo at my outfit, saying I look nice. They say goodbye to Mom's friend and they get ready, and they stop at Walmart to buy 'pride gear' to try and match my look. They get me pins, because they know I love pins.

I listen to my playlist of Magical Mirai albums as Dad drives us to the pride event. He does an illegal U-turn, and I tell him cops aren't allowed at pride, so we're okay. We park.

When we get there, the first thing we notice is all the food trucks. We ate before we came here, because they didn't think there'd be food. The first thing we do is Mom and Dad get alcoholic canned drinks, and they later buy me a cold vanilla latte at a different booth. We start walking around.

Mom's more interested in the concert being held by a queer artist who's name I didn't catch, and she jokes about us going to mosh there. I tell her it's dangerous and that I'm wearing my binder right now, and my dad comments that he didn't even notice.

While we're standing and waiting around, Dad perplexedly exclaims that there's a bar. I tell him as a joke that of course there's a bar, this is pride. He doesn't get it, so I explain the history of gay bars and the Mafia and all of that, and tell him the original pride parade was a protest where parking meters were uprooted and bricks were thrown at cops.

We start walking around to the several booths of queer creatives selling their art, and my eyes are battling between scouting for pins and looking at all the kinds of people here. It's truly all ages, from seniors to toddlers. I see as many visibly disabled and plus-size people as I do visibly abled and skinny people. When we first started walking in to the event, we saw a person in a cutesy lolita-styled outfit with cat ears and tail in the trans colours, in front of someone embracing their trans flag.

As I look around, I see various flags: bi, pan, lesbian, trans, nonbinary, genderfluid. On a couple people's shirts I see the ace flag. But as far as I'm aware, I'm the only person here in this entire crowd wearing the Aromantic flag. It's bittersweet, to be the sole representation of your people.

I see people in all styles of clothing as well: goth, punk, alternative, grunge, trendy, cute, casual, retro. I see some people standing out in absolutely fabulous outfits with sequins everywhere. I see a dog in a gay-coloured tutu, and a person with pride-coloured butterfly wings on their arms. Half the people here have dyed hair of some kind.

We sit down and take a break. It's near the mini waterpark nearby, which makes it fresh and cool-feeling and perfect for a break. A child with endless joys in their heart ends up spraying us with water, and we get a move on. I go around to multiple booths and buy an assortment of pins, one that says "I'M SO GAY I CAN'T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT" and one with a fuzzy Aro-coloured animal on it.

When we sit for a final break, I find two dirty books on the ground as Mom hands me a progress flag pin she found. I pick up the books. One is a 'queer history tour' of Edmonton brochure that has multiple locations of down-town and their associated queer histories. The other book is a mental wellness book targeted mainly at Indigenous folk, but I decide to take it any way since a lot of it advice applies to everyone. I show my Mom the page on ableist language, that talks about replacing words like 'crazy,' 'insane,' and 'psycho' with words like 'wild,' 'bananas,' and 'ridiculous.'

When we start walking back to the car, we see a group of four dressed ridiculously. One of them has massive, bouncing balloon tits, and they stand out the most. I'm afraid of what my parent's reaction will be, and this is what I told them to be nice about before we came, because pride was and still is a protest. They laugh and move on. I'm a little surprised that they're so cool with it.

We stop by the truck at the very start of the walk as Mom comments on it. It's a kink gear store. I stare in awe at the bear pride flag and leather puppy pride flag, telling my family about them. I have to ask one of them to confirm it's the leather puppy flag because I'm not wholly sure, and the people running the truck smile as they teach me about it.

We drive home, and as we walk back to the house, I think about Mom and Dad's reaction to the person with the balloon tits. I think about how they laughed kindly at one of the biggest displays of societal norm defiance I've ever seen. And then I think about the openly disabled people I saw with their pretty canes and wheelchairs, I think about the punks with fishnets and leather jackets and high boots, I think about the emo kandi kids with their black-and-rainbow stockings and vibrant kandi cuffs, I think about the booth run by African black people that stood for trans black liberation, I think about the truck run by kinksters decorated with historical flags, I think about the two feminine-presenting people I saw kissing and the transmasculine gay couple I saw holding hands.

I think about all of us, the societal outcasts that we are, proudly displaying what outcasted us in the first place, without a single person yelling that we're faggots, or trannies, or cripples, or fatasses, or freaks.

And for the first time in a long time, in all my childhood where I was ostracized from the girls for being too tomboyish from the boys for being born a girl, so badly until I started ostracizing myself, I know that I'm safe and welcome, somewhere in the world.

[kosem-sultan167]

"Daddy's Daughters. New ones."

Chapter 5

Dr. Ivo Robotnik began to get closer to psychologist Tricia Morgan. The woman helped Sophie get rid of stress before exams, Adele cope with allergies to sweets, and the sisters become friends (but it didn't work out very well). Stone watched as the doctor talked sweetly to Tricia. As it used to be with Y/N . The agent understood that the daughters would not accept this. He also shared this with Fatma Khanim. And one day something happened that turned my whole life upside down. Ivo Robotnik met with another woman who had the name Y/N. But she turned out to be too clingy and stupid. He left her and met Tricia. The psychologist shared that the man she likes will never ask her out because his heart is busy. At this time, Sophie fell in love with John Wackowski. They started dating. And at home, Adele found a gift from her mother behind Sophie's bed. Lizzie's mother gave her the encyclopedia she dreamed of, Dora got new headphones, and Adele got an expensive doll. Only Sophie didn't open it because she was offended by her mother (although she pretended to. She missed her mother). Adele looked into Sophie's bag and took out an expensive, trendy phone and a note.

-What a cool gift Sophie's mom gave her. I want one too,-Adele said. Lizzie and Dora looked at the phone.

-Better put it away, Adele,- Lizzie said, -it's Sophie's phone.

-Come on, Liz. She doesn't use it,- Dora said. Adele was running with Sophie's phone and accidentally touched a candle, which fell on a note from her mother. The girl stopped and looked at the fire. Dora and Lizzie pulled their sister away from the fire and huddled in a corner in a panic...

Robotnik returned home, put the ring away in a specially created drone. He decided to let his wife go. And then he smelled burning. -Daddy! - Adele screamed in tears. Ivo quickly ran to the kitchen and put out the fire. Then he hugged his daughters and started stroking them.

-Hush, girls. Dad is nearby. Dad saved you. Sophie returned home happy. And she gave Adele the phone. When the three girls had gone to play a board game, Ivo and Sophie were reading the remaining note from their mother. "Happy New Year, Sophie, my sweet daughter. I'm sorry that I'm not around, but if you need help, write..." The note ended there. There was no number. Sophie stared with glassy eyes, and Robotnik hugged his eldest daughter to him. When Sophie, Lizzie, Dora, Adele, Stone and Ivo were playing a game, the doctor's phone beeped. He read the message that said, "Ivo, hi. This is Y/N. This is my new number, let's meet and talk." The doctor rolled his eyes and wrote "leave me alone, I have another one" and blocked it. But she wasn't such a pesky woman... He got it mixed up... Y/N lifted her head from the phone and stared at the wall with tears in her eyes. Is that really it? Her husband has another woman and she has no place in their family...