#~~what’s her face doesn’t matter here~~

[purplecoffee13]

Cross The Line*

Summary: “Harry and Y/N have always had a great professional relationship, all based on one rule; a line they drew the first time they met. But when one day that line accidentally blurs, Harry finds that he doesn’t want it to go back to the way it was…”

Wc: 13k

Tropes: Boss!rry x Secretary!Y/N

Warnings: A LOT of back and forth (this is what Katy Perry wrote hot and cold about), arguing, curse words, smut, dirty talk, degradation, light ch0king, dom/sub dynamics, edging, b0ndage, and recording while… yk🤗

A/N: I’m terribly sorry to have been testing your patience so much the second half of this year, here is a long one shot to say I’m sorry🥲 and I appreciate all of you and I hope you are happy and healthy and will get everything you want in the new year xx💘💘

General Masterlist

HEADER = POV change

Harry's relationship with his secretary is completely normal.

At least, he’s always thought it is.

Sure, it may have seemed more friendly than the usual boss/secretary relationship, but that was only because Y/N was special. She was one of the kind. Smart, stealthy, and sneaky if need be. She did everything he asked for, sometimes before he even realized he should ask her, and was always ready to do more.

Of course, she was attractive as well. Shit, attractive may have even been an understatement. Y/N was drop dead gorgeous and Harry was entirely aware of it. Her ambition made her even sexier, and it's one of the reasons he hired her in the first place.

When Y/N walked through his office door that first time three years ago, he couldn't believe his eyes.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, those wide eyes staring back at him as she froze a couple feet away from him. She was quick to regain herself, though—he had to give her that. But she was nervous as she sat down, even though her movements were calm and the tone of her voice stern. He saw the slightest shake of those hands of her.

Because that job interview hadn't been the first time Harry and Y/N came across each other. It was actually a Halloween party at some high end secretive club in New York one month prior. A night that ended with them hooking up in one of the private lounges.

Even back then, when he never thought he'd see her again, he knew that he would never forget that night, nor the way her face scrunched up as she clenched around him, or the sounds that she made as he drove into her.

He could see that she remembered it as well as she sat across from him that day, but Y/N had quickly made it clear that she was serious about pursuing a career in the film industry. She said she could prove what a great secretary she could be for him, as long as they could put that Halloween night behind them and pretend it never happened. She wouldn't make him regret it, she had told him. He took the chance.

And she had been absolutely right.

Three years had passed and Harry was still thankful to himself for hiring Y/N. She was the best around; fiercely loyal as well. Y/N had been offered jobs by other companies, but she turned down every last one of them. Harry liked to think their relationship played a bit of a part in that as well.

They had become friends—if that's what you could call it—over the years. They had a playful dynamic filled with flirty jokes and random phone calls and favors that blurred that line they had drawn so carefully during Y/N's job interview.

No matter what, Y/N would be the first Harry would call, every time. Whether it was bad business news or a drunken phone call, her number was most likely to be at the top of his last calls. And she always answered, even though she didn't have to. It was a special bond, and while they always danced on it—especially Harry—they never crossed that one line.

Not that Harry needed to. As a matter of a fact, he had quite the adventurous love life. With plenty of people on speed dial and a charming smile that could make anyone's panties drop, Harry wasn't short on romantic escapades. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that it'd never last longer than a few days, and they were rarely ever repeated.

The same couldn't be said for Y/N. In fact, Harry had never seen her with anyone outside of her work, and he never heard her mentioning anything about it...

He didn't know why, but somehow, that thought popped up into his head last Friday as they sat in his office with a drink, celebrating the outstanding reviews that critics had given the newest produced film that was set to premiere next week. Before Harry knew it, he was asking about it.

"Why are you rubbing your temples?" He questioned, watching Y/N massage the side of her head with her eyes closed. He was leaned back in his seat, whiskey in hand as he observed the woman across from him.

"Tension headache." She groaned in response. Despite her grumpiness, Harry couldn't help but grin. What could he say? She was cute when she was grumpy.

"We are literally celebrating, Y/N. What could you possibly be so tense about right now?" He teased, and felt his stomach swirl as a smile painted her lips. She might have rolled her eyes, but she still thought he was funny.

"Oh you have no idea." She mumbled, grabbing her glass and leaning back into her chair. She took a big gulp, her face pulling at the strong taste of the liquor. Harry chuckled.

"You should relax more. Maybe get a hot date to take care of some of that stress for you." He suggested jokingly. Y/N scoffed at the insinuation.

Shaking her head, she said: "I get taken care of just fine, thank you very much."

The equally teasing tone in which she responded caught Harry seriously off guard. Her slight grin pressed down on his chest, and despite having started this joking banter himself, he suddenly didn't find the topic very funny anymore.

"When?"

Y/N locked eyes with her boss. “What?”

"You're here 24/7, when do you even have time to hook up with someone?"

"You know there's this thing called weekends." She joked, but the amusement faded when Harry's mouth didn't even quirk upwards in the slightest bit. It fell quiet for a second or two, and just when Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Harry had said, and soon enough Robin, one of the managers walked in, telling them everyone was going to the pub down the street to celebrate, and if they wanted to come along.

Harry didn't even have the chance to reject the offer—he'd rather spend his nights with his secretary—before Y/N agreed to go along. Feeling obligated, Harry reluctantly gave in as well.

He ended up going home quite early that night, not even properly saying goodbye to Y/N like he normally would before leaving, and he couldn't get the image of her wrapped around another man out of his head the entire ride home. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the fact that it shouldn't, and more importantly, couldn't bother him, which made it even less bearable.

Whichever reason there may have been for it, he decided to drown out his thoughts by inviting one of his old hook-ups to his house. But even as he drove himself into her as she kept screaming his name, he couldn't stop thinking of Y/N. When she had reached her climax and he began to chase his own high—Harry was caught off guard by Y/N's face flashing through his mind, and extremely embarrassed when those images triggered his orgasm.

The next week is awkward, to say the least. It started out Monday, when Harry could barely look Y/N in the eye. She had received the sudden cold shoulder pretty well, but Harry still felt horrible about it. His attitude got less stiff throughout the week, but it was still bad.

By the time Thursday rolls around again, Harry still hasn't had the chance to get that weird feeling out of his system. So when he approaches his office and spots Y/N behind her desk smiling at him, a wave of guilt washes over him.

He curses himself as he sinks into his desk chair, absentmindedly turning on his laptop. What is he doing? Y/N is his assistant. He shouldn't let his protectiveness of her get the best of him. He does not want to lose her in any way.

Harry flinches when there is a knock on his door. He looks up, finding Y/N standing in his doorway. Immediately, he signals for her to come in. She seems a bit nervous as she nears him, and considering she's never been nervous around him, his heart sinks at the idea that the cold shoulder he's been giving her the other night might have affected her way more than he thought.

He just doesn't know how to behave instead.

"You have a meeting in conference room C in five minutes. It's the banker's son who's been proposing his script for the past year. I  know your schedule is tight, especially with the premiere coming up, but I thought you might as well get it over with." She says, putting a stack of papers on the table that Harry can only assume is the script. He nods, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, smart thinking." The praise falls from his lips in a casual manner, and he doesn't miss the way she physically relaxes at the positive reinforcement. She nods at him, and turns back to the door. Right before she is about to leave the office, she turns around again. Harry leans back in his seat, waiting to hear what she'll say.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last week." She says, and Harry frowns at the apology.

"What?"

"I clearly said something that ticked you off." She explains,her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know we joke around, but I was afraid that maybe I'd accidentally crossed a line—“

"Y/N, stop it." Harry interrupts her, getting up from his seat. Her lips are locked within a second, and she stares at her boss with wide eyes. His stomach twists at the sight of it. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But— if I said something inappropriate then I want to apologize for it." She says, straightening her posture again, biting her bottom lip so he won't see it quiver. As if he doesn't know the way her body works. As if he hasn't known for three years.

Putting his hands inside his pockets, Harry walks around his desk and stands in front of her. A little closer than he needs to, and yet not as close he would like.

"Let me ask you this: How many times have you declined booty calls for me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit. A slight smile appears on Y/N's face, and she pretends to think it over.

"Twenty-seven." Her smile crinkles her eyes, making them even more glassy. Harry quite literally feels his hand itch to touch her face, but he keeps it sternly in his pocket. "I kept track so I could count all the reasons you definitely won't get into heaven."

At that, he lets out a snort. Y/N can't help but chuckle too, and slowly but surely the weirdness dissolves from the room. When the laughter has died down, she speaks up again.

"So... we're good?"

"We're good." Harry smiles at his secretary, and his chest heats up when he spots the faint blush that appears on her cheeks. Jesus Christ, did she become even more beautiful than she was yesterday or was he just too stupid to notice earlier? Probably the latter.

"Well in that case you need to leave because your meeting is like, right now." She reminds him, and he hums in agreement as he gets up from his seat and walks towards the door with Y/N.

"Already gone, love." He winks at her, walking out the door with a lot more confidence in his relationship with Y/N. Maybe everything can go back to normal again. Maybe he was just exaggerating when he couldn't get her out of his head this weekend. Perhaps it was just a glitch, a temporary error in his brain that had come and gone in a flash.

That must've been it, he tells himself as he makes his way to conference room C. He takes a deep breath, musters a polite smile, and opens the door to the room. Harry already knows this guy is going to be wasting his time, but he made a promise to hear him out, so he will.

The guy sitting at the table is the stereotypical spoiled rich son. When John Longwell—a long-time business partner of Harry's— asked him to revise his son's script as a favor, Harry told him he'd do it if he ever found the time. He always hoped John's son would lose interest and forget about the script by the time Harry could find a free space in his agenda, but unfortunately that hadn't been the case.

And although the arc of the story had sounded absolutely horrendous— something about zombies fueled by a brainwashing radio song, which didn't even make sense to Harry because zombies don't have brains—he couldn't back out anymore. So he needs to get it over with, starting now.

Harry loudly shuts the door.

The guy—whose name he can't really remember at the moment—flinches and turns around, a big grin on his face as he gets up from his seat.

"Mr. Styles, it's a pleasure to see you." The man says, extending his hand, which Harry, in turn, takes. He only gives a slight nod before heading over to the other side of the table and sitting down.

"So, where's your script?" Harry asks, eyeing the empty table. The guy looks flustered, opening his mouth to say something, but the opening of the door interrupts that. Harry leans back in his seat when he spots his secretary walk through it, not even eyeing the other guy as she struts over to him and lays the printed out script on the glass table.

"Sorry, you forgot this. It was still on your desk." She says, finally turning to the man to throw him an innocent smile. His sheepish grin satisfies her enough to turn back to her boss and focus all her attention on him. "I also forgot to ask you— do you want to move up lunch today?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up. Over the last three years, the concept of 'moving up lunch' has become a code for 'should I get you out of this early?'. Y/N came up with it a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since.

"Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you, Y/N." He says, and the way a smirk slowly creeps onto her face makes the hairs on his body rise.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Styles." She gives one final nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Harry would lie if he said he didn't let his eyes fall onto the way her hips moved as she strolled away.

Unfortunately the fun doesn't last long, and with the slam of the door Harry is reminded that he still has to sit through this meeting a little longer. He looks down at the script.

"A Thousand Zombies

By Jason Longwell."

Right, Jason, that was his name.

"Jesus Christ, if that were my secretary I'd have her bent over my desk all day. How do you get any work done?" Jason breathed out, grinning like a stupid fucking schoolboy. Harry quite literally felt the storm cloud that came floating right above his head the second he heard that incompetent loser say those words. His hands balled up into fists at the suggestive comment, knuckles getting whiter by the second.

"Get out." Harry growls. John raises his eyebrows, looking around him as if Harry couldn't have possibly been addressing it to him.

"W— what?" He stumbles.

"I don't do business with insolent idiots. Get out." Harry repeats, getting up from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. John follows his movements, anger starting to cloud on his face.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He exclaims in a failed attempt to sound intimidating. At least, Harry assumes that's what he's trying to do.

"I called you an idiot. Now, get the hell out of my face before I boot your sorry ass right to the front door." With one brow raised, he waits as John tries to muster a response until he eventually gives up and storms out of the room. Harry throws the script into the trash as he walks out of the conference room half a minute later. Y/N is immediately by his side.

"That was quick, I didn't even have time to think of an emergency." She jokes as they walk back to Harry's office together. He raises a brow.

"Yes you did. What was it this time? Food poisoning?" He guesses, holding the door to his office open once they've reached it. Y/N grins as she walks past him and takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Actually, your car was going to get stolen in about five minutes." She responds, the blush of her cheeks revealing the slight embarrassment of having to voice this excuse out loud. Harry's eyes widen as he walks over to his desk, feeling his assistant watching his every move. He quite likes the feeling.

"No way." He laughs. "You just get more creative by the day."

"What can I say, I'm good at crisis management." She shrugs, crossing her legs and getting into a more comfortable position on the chair. Harry tries his best to not let his eyes float to her legs.

"That you are." He murmurs, the huskier sound of his voice giving a different ambiance to the conversation. As Harry feels the mood switch, he curses himself. Why did he have to ruin it?

Y/N clears her throat. "Anyway— why'd the meeting end early?"

"It ended early because Jason Longwell is a sleazy douchebag." He responds shortly, straightening in his seat in an attempt to gain control of the situation again. He can't let himself slip like this again, and she can't know the real reason he kicked out Jason. But there is no denying the sheer rage that boils his blood when that comment flashes through his memory. He hates that the asshole thought he could just speak about Y/N like that.

"Ooh, what did he say when you kicked him out?" Y/N asks eagerly, still in a playful mood. "You did kick him out right?"

"I don't have time to get into this right now. I need to sign those contracts that were sent in yesterday before I go home." Harry says sternly, avoiding eye contact with Y/N as he speaks, but he still sees the slump in her shoulders at his sudden shift in attitude.

"Right, of course." She immediately returns to the responsible secretary she always is, getting up from her seat. He hears her exit the room, heels clacking against the wooden floor. As soon as the door has shut, Harry throws his head back in frustration.

So much for going back to normal.

Playing into the teasing will only rope him further into that forbidden fantasy, and he clearly won't be able to stop himself from resisting her if he does. But he's the one who started all the playfulness, massively screwing himself over he realizes now. If he shifts his behavior, she's always going to think he's mad at her because of something.  But he's going to have to, because Harry can't go back to normal anymore.

Deciding he needs to clear his head, Harry grabs his coat and heads for the elevators without so much as a word. He pretends not to notice the way people's eyes widen when he walks by, suddenly on their best behavior, and although it used to give him an ego boost back when he started, nowadays he just prefers it if people aren't scared of him.

It turns out to be a particularly nice outside for a winter day in London. Not to get it twisted— it's still freakishly cold. It's just that the sun has replaced the endless rain of this entire month. Harry suppresses a chuckle at the irony of the sun finally being out at the very first moment where he's felt so shitty in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he's outside, so he knows it's not fair to be frustrated when he comes back and Y/N isn't at her desk, but he can't help the slight distress that washes over him at the empty seat.

"It's just a date—"

"Your second date!"

Harry creased brows don't do much to hide his feelings when he turns around to see his secretary with a co-worker. The shy smile on her face—accompanied with that blush on her cheeks she always gets when she's secretly giddy about something—disappears at the sight of her boss looking at her like she just killed a puppy.

"Ha— Mr. Styles." She is quick to catch her almost error. Her wide eyes bore into his, filled with confusion and worry. But Harry's frown doesn't give away much, aside. From the fact that he is obviously annoyed.

"I was looking for you." He states stoically, not even acknowledging the employee that is standing next to her. The woman takes the hint and gives Y/N and Harry a small nod before walking away. As soon as she does, Harry turns around and walks towards his own office. He can hear her footsteps following him inside, and with the inconsistent clacking against the floor he can tell she's having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Still, he doesn't slow his pace.

"I need the papers for the donations printed out and on my desk. And I'll need you to move the meeting with the director of the romance movie to Tuesday evening."

"Yes, of course." The breathy response falls from Y/N's lips the second he finishes his sentence, and by the time he enters his office, she is long gone to do exactly what he asked. Harry shuts the door a little louder than intending to, accidentally shaking the framed artwork on the wall.

Y/N isn't very talkative for the rest of the day, that usual spark of hers seemingly having dimmed. Harry's chest is heavy, knowing his cold attitude was the catalyst for that, but he keeps it up nonetheless. He can't help himself from falling back into it every time he sees her face.

A date. She's going on a date. A second one at that. He can't believe it. Is this who she referred to when she said she gets taken care of? His stomach churns at the possibility.

He tries not to, but Harry still gets warped into the spiral of overthinking about 'date' Y/N has tonight. So much, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the time flying by until Y/N knocks on his door at 6PM. Harry spots the coat that hangs over her desk chair, and he realizes the work day is over.

"Everything is done for the day and ready for next week. I also sent the papers about the donations with a courier who owed me a favor, so the documents are signed on both parts and the donations will be officially registered by Monday." She explains, hands behind her back. Her new shy behavior—while quite endearing—is excruciating to see. She had always been comfortable around Harry, until now. Until he had to ruin it for the both of them.

"Thank you." Harry gives her a firm nod.

"No problem." She responds a bit awkwardly. "So... I'm going to clock out for the day."

Y/N has already turned around by them time Harry's voice croaks out a 'no'. She whips her head towards her boss, head tilted as she awaited whatever it was that he was going to say.

"I need those contracts for that romance movie." He says before he can even comprehend his words.

"But you won't be negotiating that deal for another two weeks." Y/N retorts, her tone more stern than usual. He can tell she's tired.

"I don't care. I want them on my desk tonight." He holds his head high, despite knowing damn well what he's doing.

He's stalling. Long enough for... he doesn't know actually. For her to cancel her date? It sounds ridiculous now that he really thinks about it.

"Harry, I have an appointment tonight—"

"I said I don't care. I pay you to do as I ask. This is not something you can argue me on." He grumbles. With how Y/N's jaw is clenched, he can't say the same for her attitude. Without another word, she leaves the office.

Harry's worry begins to grow every minute that passes with Y/N out of sight. But when she returns with a stack of papers in her hand after a bit—seven minutes to be exact—that worry evolves into surprise. Walking over to his desk, she plops the papers on them a bit carelessly before speaking up.

"I had them made on Monday because I like to be a few steps ahead." She elaborates. "Now, if that's all, I'm going home."

Y/N doesn't even say goodbye when she grabs her coat and walks to the elevators. Harry sighs to himself, not knowing how the hell he should handle this. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he really can't do this anymore. He needs to talk to her, if only just to clear the air.

And so, he gets up from his seat and hurries after his assistant.

He catches her just as she walks into an empty elevator, and he joins just before the doors close. Her knitted brows make it clear that she is not in the mood to talk to him.

"I'm sorry... about the documents." Harry confesses, but she doesn't face him. It stays quiet between them for a bit, until the biting sentence falls from Y/N's lips.

"You said we were good."

His heart cracks at her wobbly voice. He can't believe he made her feel this way. If any other person would've brought her to tears, he would've beaten the shit out of them. He reaches for her arm.

"W— we are." He lies. It's the biggest lie he's ever told her, and she knows it, because she immediately turns around.

"No we're not! I said I was sorry if I did something wrong, and you told me it was okay, and now all of a sudden you're being so... cold. I don't understand—" her eyes become glassy. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out his apologies, when Y/N's phone starts to ring. It takes them out of their little trance, and Y/N fumbles around her jacket for a bit until she's finally found her phone. He can't see who's calling her, but it can't be an expected call if he has to judge by the expression on her face.

"Marco, why are you—" her eyes widen at whatever the voice on the other side of the line is telling her, and Harry subconsciously finds himself leaning in a bit in the hope to find out what's wrong.

"What?" Y/N breathes. Her voice is small, and it sounds defeated, tired. The elevator dings, signaling they're downstairs, but Y/N doesn't move, so Harry doesn't either. She seems to notice and lets out a huff before storming out of the confined space and pacing around the lobby.

"You said we had a green light! That was months ago, Marco! Did you even—" She growls, clutching at her phone so hard Harry is afraid she's going to break it. "You know what, never mind. Give me his number."

The Marco guy seems to say something that he really shouldn't have said, because with the way Y/N's face twists Harry swears he can see steam coming out of her ears

"I don't care that they're not answering, I'll make them answer. Give me their numbers and then go find them." She orders before ending the call. And although the thought really shouldn't be crossing his mind right now, Harry can't help but notice how attractive Y/N is when she's mad. He shakes off the thought, telling himself that's the last thing he should be paying attention to right now.

Y/N paces around one more time, cursing under her breath, before striding past Harry and pushing the elevator buttons like a maniac.

"What's going on?"

Y/N shakes her head. "N— nothing. Just a little hiccup that could've easily been prevented. I won't be long."

Harry raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't dare to meet his eye. She's lying through her teeth.

"Y/N—"

"Harry, really, it's nothing. I'm taking care of it." She tries to convince him, but he notices the way her hands are slightly trembling. "I'm sorry I was unprofessional. You're my boss. It's my job to take your orders, not question them."

Wait, no.

That aching feeling fills his stomach. His entire body, for that matter. He doesn't want her to be a silent and compliant assistant. That's not why he hired her. He needs someone to push back, to joke around with. Shit— what has he done?

Harry finds himself speechless as she enters the elevator and pushes the button of the seventh floor; the office. His brain isn't fast enough to think of what to say before the doors shut and the elevator ascends.

His feet stay glued to the ground as he ponders, his mind reeling like a rollercoaster. Frustration fills his body to his every finger tip. Everything has gone wrong, and he has no idea how to make it better.

At least ten minutes must've gone by by the time that a concierge taps Harry on the shoulder to ask him if he's okay. Still a bit wary, he nods before excusing himself and leaving the building.

Everything is going wrong.

Leaning over the desk with her face buried between her arms, Y/N is unable to hold back the tears that glide over her cheeks.

First, her boss gets mad at her, and she has no idea why. Then, just when they seemed to be okay again, he changed his attitude up again. And what does she do instead of letting it go? She starts a fight. And now Marco drops a disastrous bomb in her lap that could entirely ruin the movie premiere on Sunday. And if that wasn't enough—and she really thinks it was—this sudden crisis caused her to cancel her date of tonight.

It wasn't anything special, really. Y/N had met Jamie a few weeks ago, and they went out last week. He was a nice guy, handsome too, and she thought he was perfect for a short lived affair. Besides, her vibrator just couldn't live up to her fantasies. She was human, she needed to get off every now and then too. It was like Y/N had this itch in need of scratching, one she hadn't been able to reach in what felt like years.

But that wasn't going to happen now. In fact, she was risking being fired if she didn't solve this problem as soon as possible.

Damn! She really thought she had kept it all together, despite the extreme business this year. She thought she'd done a good job.

But that was a lie, because if she had done a good job, Marco wouldn't have ever gotten into the position where an artist on the soundtrack could manipulate the contract they signed. Y/N had told Marco to make it airtight, already having been suspicious of the artists' integrity from the moment they became part of the soundtrack. She assumed that they would try something.

'Chain' was an up and coming band known for their indie sound, but Y/N would just describe them as two pricks. Not only had they been subtly demeaning to her when Harry met with them, barely acknowledging her existence, they were arrogant as well. They came in expecting a lot more money than Harry and the rest of the company were willing to give them. It was absurd that they expected such a big number, but their cocky attitude didn't fade throughout the meeting.

It was truly a favor to the director, why Harry worked so hard to compromise with Chain. The director had been so passionate about the movie, and he had really wanted the song. If one thing was important to Harry, it's that there went passion onto the projects he produced and invested in. So, he decided to help, and eventually managed to struck a deal with the singers. It was still way above the pay grade they should've got—in Y/N's opinion—but they agreed.

Having seen first hand how greedy those two were, she had told Marco—the guy who handled all the legal documents—to make that contract airtight. She demanded to look it over, but because of her busy schedule, she let Marco have another lawyer look at it before sending the contract.

And now, because of a lazy mistake Chain's lawyer found, they are demanding more money or they'll waive their rights to the music. Something which would be absolutely detrimental because the entire climax of the movie, the cinematography and timing are all tuned to the song.

If she doesn't find a way to solve this problem, this entire premiere could fall apart, and it would all be her fault. She gave the green light to Harry, who gave it to the director. It's all her fault. 

She should've fucking read that contract herself, then this would've never happened.

Between Harry being mad at her, the fact that she was in her luteal phase, and this sudden disaster, the tears began streaming down her face, and the soft crying only turned into full on sobs the more she tries to calm herself down.

She allows herself the mental breakdown, but when she begins to regain control of her breath again after a few minutes, Y/N decides that it's enough. She has a job to get done, and no one was going to swoop in and save her.

So, she starts making call after call, ringing everyone in the immediate vicinity of the two arrogant bastards. It's crucial she reaches them before the night is over. Only forty minutes have passed by the time she is on the seventh person, but it feels like an eternity nonetheless.

She flinches when, while trying to reach Chain's tour manager, the elevator door dings and a shadow nears. Her tense shoulders sink a little bit at the sight of Harry, glad it's not some creep. Her brows crease as she watches him walk towards her. He's carrying a couple of bags with... is that food? It sure smells like it.

When the call goes to voicemail—for the third time—Y/N puts down the phone and gets up from her seat, hurrying over to her boss and stopping him before he could reach her desk.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks, blocking his way. He lifts the bags, a subtle, apologetic smile on his face.

"I brought food—" He looks up at her, and his eyes darken as soon as he takes in her face. "Have you been crying?"

Y/N raises her hands to her face, quickly glancing at the ground while she wipes her cheeks before meeting his eyes again. Harry puts the bags down, and it feels like her heart skips a beat or two when his thumbs stroke the skin under both her eyes. He leaves his hand around her face, cupping her jaw while he stares at her with such a piercing pain in his eyes that it makes Y/N's eyes water altogether again.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, and the feel of his big, warm hands holding her is comforting her in a way she hasn't experienced in a quite some time. Y/N only focused on his chest, afraid that the welled up water in her eyes will spill out again the second she looks at her boss. She told herself the crying was over, so why wasn't she able to control herself?

A few seconds pass, and silence runs between the thick air that makes it nearly impossible to breathe normally. Then, Y/N feels the slight pressure of Harry's hands, inching her head upwards. Automatically, her gaze flicks to that of her boss, and when she sees the worry on his face, a tear escapes her eye. His thumb catches it before it has the chance to roll down all the way down her cheek.

"I messed up." She only says, closing her eyes in shame. Harry says nothing, only letting out a sigh as he continues to caress her cheek.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Y/N reluctantly backs away from Harry's touch, and runs over to her desk to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, her voice laced with such desperation that she internally cringes at it.

"Y/N? It's Marco. I found them, they're at a studio just outside the city."

She hums, grabbing a pen. "Give me the address."

"No, I'm going. This is my mess, Y/N, I'm not going to let you clean it up." Marco croaks from the other side of the line, and Y/N feels his voice tug at her heartstrings.

"Marco, listen to me. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should've read the damn thing and notice the mistake." She replies, leaning over her desk to grab her coat.

"Y/N, I'll take care of it, okay? I found a fault in their loophole, they're stuck. Let me handle this. You just go home and enjoy what's left of your evening I ruined—" Marco tells her. "Wait, didn't you have a date tonight? Oh my god, did I ruin your date?"

"I did... but it's alright. It probably wouldn't have worked out with him anyway." Y/N chuckled awkwardly and glanced towards Harry, who looked weirdly annoyed at what she said.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Marco shares the desperate plea.

"You can make it up to me by giving me the address of the studio." Y/N tells him cheekily.

"Y/N..." he warns.

"What? I promise I'm going home. It's just so I know where you are." She lies. Y/N is a good liar, except in front of Harry. Having a tendency to get nervous, she always betrays herself. She's lucky that this is a phone call, otherwise Marco would've known she wasn't planning on going home at all.

Hesitantly, he gives her the address, which she immediately writes down on her hand.

"Okay, thank you Marco. Good luck." She says, hanging up the phone with a lot more confidence than ten minutes ago. She can feel Harry staring her down as she puts on her coat, clearly waiting for an explanation for this whiplash-like behavior.

"I really have to go."

Harry shrugs. "I'll give you a ride. You can explain everything to me on the way to your house."

Y/N shakes her head, walking towards her boss. "No, really, you don't have to."

"Yes I do." Harry argues.

"You really don't."

"Do you have a problem with me bringing you home, Y/N?" He asks as if he's dumb, as if he doesn't know she's secretly trying to go to that studio.

"No!" She is quick to protest.

"Or does it have anything to do with the address of that mysterious studio you've written on your hand?" He teases, and Y/N clenches her jaw in frustration.

"I just— I need to make sure it's handled." She sputters. Harry shrugs.

"From what I heard it's being handled just fine." He points out. "You've got to learn to let things go sometimes, Y/N."

She shakes her head, looking the floor. "I can't. Not with this."

Harry lowers his head, trying to get on the same eye-level as her and searching for her eyes. "Why not?"

"I told you; I messed up." Her voice quivers as she tells Harry the truth. "There was a mistake in the contract with Chain. Somehow they found a loophole, and now they want more money or they'll waive the rights to their song."

"What?!" Harry growls, exactly like Y/N anticipated he'd react. God, he's going to fire her any moment.

"It's my fault. It was a reference mistake I could've easily spotted if I had taken the time to revise it." She admits, feeling extremely shameful of her lazy actions.

"What are you talking about? This is the legal team's fault, they should've seen that damned mistake! It's not in your job description to revise a contract, it's not your responsibility. It's not your fault, Y/N." He explains. She sucks in a breath, his words hitting her harder than she expected. Heart aching, the one sentence rings in her head.

It's not your fault.

That couldn't be true, could it? She was responsible for this deal, and for Harry. She should've seen this coming, even though she couldn't have possibly known. Did she not always pride herself in having this sixth sense, in being ahead of everyone else? What was she without that? What was she if not the best at the one thing that made her special, that set her apart from the crowd. What was she worth without that invincibility?

"You revise every contract, don't you?"

Her eyes flick towards her boss. She doesn't say anything, but the answer is hidden in her pupils. And it seems Harry can read them like an open book. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Two years." Y/N stammers, her arms crossed as if it will keep her body from revealing whatever her mouth won't. Harry just lets out a breathy chuckle before pulling her into his arms, taking her into a sweet embrace. With his chin leaning on her head, Y/N takes the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, trying not to bask too much in the heavenly scent of his cologne.

"Remind me to give you a raise." He jokes in a soft whisper, earning a sniff of laughter from Y/N.

For a while it seems like everything that tore her down, including what went down between her and Harry, didn't exist anymore. There was just him and her, their embrace and a distant ticking clock, the only indicator of time passing. Yet it felt like the world stopped, or slowed down at least, being in Harry's arms like that. And suddenly, that itch that she hadn't been able to scratch in so long, it felt like it was soothed by a stroking hand instead, and in a way it fulfilled her. It just so happened to be a way she did not expect.

The initial shock at the realization—this puzzle piece that suddenly clicked—made Y/N back away. She clears her throat, fiddling with her hands.

"They're supposed to be at this studio right outside the city. It's only twenty minutes away by car. I just need to be sure." She announces. Harry grabs the bags of food he put down before placing his hand on her lower back and guiding the both of them back to the elevator.

"We'll take my car." He states, and although Y/N can tell by his tone that Harry expects there to be no talking back, but she just can't help herself.

"Harry, I told you I can take a cab." She suggests as they wait for the elevator door to open. Harry doesn't respond as he guides them both into the small space and pushes the button for the ground floor. When the door closes, he turns to her, looking down at her with such an intimidating stare that Y/N feels like she's shrinking.

"And I told you: we're taking my car." He says sternly, his low voice twisting her stomach in an interesting way. When Y/N goes to open her mouth again, Harry lays his finger on her lips. He hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

"I was being clear, right?" He asks rhetorically. His gaze sweeps over her mouth before settling on her eyes again. Not daring to speak another word, let alone breathe, Y/N only nods in response.

"Good." Harry responds, a cocky smirk framing his face as he strolls out of the elevator, leaving Y/N breathless and in a slight trance. Blinking a few times, she comes back to her sense and hurries after her boss.

Richard has always been a master at reading people, and this time is no exception. The second he began driving, he raised the partition, leaving Harry and Y/N with some privacy.

Harry really has a knack for hiring the right people.

The first few minutes of the car ride are silent, and Harry spends it observing Y/N as she picked at her nail beds, frantically looking at of the window as if it would make the car move faster. She has so much tension inside that little body of hers; she is clearly in need of a distraction.

"I think I'm jealous."

Y/N's head whips to him, brows raised at the sudden confession. Her body turns with her, knees now in Harry's direction as she leans back into the seat, getting comfortable as she lays close attention.

"Of me?" She asks, utterly confused. She seems very lost, not really connecting the dots. Harry doesn't blame her; that confession was quite out of the blue.

"Of whoever gets to take care of you."

Pure silence. Harry swears he could hear a pin drop. Y/N stares at him like a deer in headlights, probably having no idea what to say or do or think. She gulps.

"What?" Her voice is so soft that he almost doesn't hear her, but since all his focus is on her, he doesn't miss it. Letting out a breath, he leans forward, placing a hand on her thigh. His face inches closer and closer until their mouths are mere inches away from each other. Checking for her reaction with every small movement, he can't help but notice how she doesn't stray away from him. In fact, she leans in, causing their lips to brush against each other.

"The idea of another man touching you, having you, it makes my fucking blood boil." He says, voice hoarse. Her eyes frantically search every last inch of his face, looking for something she seemingly can't find. Perhaps she's attempting to find the usual playfulness that always accompanies any conversation that blurs that line between them. In that case, she could keep looking forever and ever, because he is dead serious. Fuck how it used to be and fuck whatever's right or wrong.

And most of all, fuck that line, because he's crossing it.

Harry closes the small gap between them, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to work up his throat at the sole feeling of her lips against his. What a fucking idiot he was for ever agreeing to forget about that Halloween night. Not that he ever truly did forget about it. Besides her obvious competencies, hiring Y/N was a way of keeping her where he seemed to like her best from the moment they met; close to him.

With that thought in mind, he wraps his hand around her face and pulls her closer. She complies, clicking her seatbelt free to move further towards Harry when he slips his tongue inside.

Their mouths move against each other like it's both the first time and the hundredth time they've done this. So familiar and yet it's like nothing he ever felt before. A sensation so different from three years ago, one so heavy and laced with a detail his brain can't quite seem to grasp. Deep down, he knows what it is, he just can't quite lay his finger on it.

But his body can, and it does, and so does Y/N's, because her grinding against him is exactly what he needs. His hand sneaks around her neck, lips curling into a smile at the familiarity of the curves of her neck and the identical moan that falls from her lips just as it did three years ago.

Harry groans when the car suddenly stops and Y/N falls forward a little bit, the friction against his trousers being a bit too much to bear at the moment. Slowly, the partition lowers, and without so much looking at them through the mirror, Richard speaks up.

"We've arrived."

Wrong. Harry clearly hasn't.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Y/N can get off his lap, and either one can even answer, the partition rises again. Immediately, Y/N throws her face into Harry's neck.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She wheezes out in pure, utter shame. Harry shakes his head, a faint grin on his face. He would have been laughing his ass off if he wasn't so painfully hard right now. Instead, he only pats Y/N's back, telling her it's fine. She groans and opens the car door.

"No it's not! God, I will never be able to look him in the eye again!" She says, punching the bridge of her nose. Harry shuts the door and grabs Y/N's waist, pulling her towards him. She stumbles into his chest. He lifts her face with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're going to have to, because I don't want to fire him." He jokes, and Y/N bites her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide. Not wanting to give Harry the satisfaction that he made her laugh, she looks to the side, but her face expression falls quickly.

"This is not my apartment." She notes, looking at the huge building next to her. "This is yours."

Harry nods.

"I can't be at your apartment, I have to—" Y/N stops herself before she can say more. But Harry already knew what she was going to say. Playfully, he raises a brow.

"You have to... what?"

"To... I have to—"

"Sneak out to that studio?" He finishes her sentence, and her eyes widen. She tries to regain herself but her cheeks are flushed and there is nothing she can do anymore. He's got her. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

With that, he places a hand on her lower back and guides her towards his building. She stumbles a bit, but eventually catches onto the pace. But her body language is apprehensive, looking back at the road where Richard is standing. Or well, was standing. Harry ordered him to drive away as soon as they got out of the car.

Still, she turns around in a quick motion, trying to get to a cab. Harry's arm catches her, however, and he pulls her back against his chest. Along with his other hand, he turns her around, catching sight of her big eyes boring into his.

"Don't try me." He speaks slowly, dipping his head down until he finds himself inches away from Y/N. "You know what happens if you try me."

His voice is lower than before, having flipped a switch now that her mouth has been on his. He got a taste for the first time in years, he wasn't going to let her get away now. Y/N's breath hitches, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

Knowing he's got her right where he wants her, Harry pulls back and strolls toward the entrance of his apartment building. Soon enough, he hears those heels behind him and he smirks.

It's silent when they step in the elevator, and for the first few seconds, as Harry leans agains't the wall and observes his secretary, it stays that way. She eyes him a couple of times, her ears getting redder.

"What?" She breathes out, looking down at her body like there must be something wrong if he's looking at her for so long. He simply shrugs.

"Nothing. Just admiring you."

At that, Y/N vigorously shakes her head and crosses her arms. A soft scoff leaves her mouth, one she didn't think Harry would hear, but he did. He takes a few steps towards Y/N, inching her against the wall.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He asks sincerely, searching for her eyes. When she finally looks up at him, the nervous smile on her face fades a bit.

Harry doesn't like that look on her face. Needing to fix it, he leans forward and plants his lips on hers again, grabbing her face and pulling her into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before her arms are wrapped around his neck and their bodies are impossibly close to each other again.

Tongues delving deeper into each other's mouth, Harry feels himself floating on some sort of feeling. Despite not being able to define it, he is absolutely positive that he doesn't ever want it to stop. And since kissing Y/N causes this specific feeling, the only feasible option is to never stop kissing her. It's the best plan he's had in ages.

It doesn't take long before the situation gets heated, much like it did before, and Harry's hands trail to Y/N's hips to pull her against him. Desperate for any sort of relief, Harry's hips automatically start to move, and Y/N immediately responds. His body feels like it's on fire, and he tries not to let out any sounds as his strained cock rubs against his tight pants.

Harry takes his lips off Y/N's mouth, peppering kisses to her jaw instead. Slowly, he works his way towards her ear, where he stops to whisper in her ear.

"I'm going to remind you how fucking beautiful you are." The hot breath that left his mouth had her shuddering against him, a slight whine escaping her lips. As he leaves sloppy kisses on Y/N's neck, Harry's free hand slowly travels under her shirt, finding her bra.

She gasps softly when his hand starts to massage her breast, the sensitivity of both spots leaving her hot and bothered under Harry. Fuck, she is so fucking stunning, how did she not see it herself?

Suddenly, the elevator stops, and the door opened. Taking a step back, Harry only winks at Y/N before he turns around and strolls out as if it's a casual Friday. As if he doesn't have his secretary, whom he left high and dry, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks when they enter his home, Harry immediately going into the kitchen.

"Absinthe." Y/N breathes out, leaning over the kitchen island. Harry peeks inside his fridge.

"I only have white wine."

Y/N shrugs. "I'm sure it'll have the same effect if I just keep drinking."

Harry chuckles, grabbing the bottle of wine and placing it on the counter. He walks to a cabinet and takes two wine glasses out of it. Placing one in front of Y/N and the other in front of himself, he opens the bottle and starts pouring, not stopping until the glasses are halfway full. Y/N laughs at the ridiculously full wine glass that he pushes her way, but takes it gladly. He doesn't miss the way her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she leans forward a bit further than intended to in order to grab the glass.

"To the unexpected." She says it like it's a dare. Amused, Harry decides to entertain it, and nods his head.

"To the unexpected."

They raise the glasses before both taking a long sip. Y/N rests her arms on the table, giving a perfect view of her tits right in Harry's frame. She smirks when his eyes accidentally fall on it, and Harry's stomach swirls with excitement. She's trying to play.

"Crazy, how fast life can change, isn't it?" She asks rhetorically, and Harry just hums, waiting patiently for her to reveal what she's trying to do. "I mean, I got up today thinking I'd end the day in another man's bed."

There it is.

She's always been smart, and she knows how to push Harry's buttons. Though his fingers grip the kitchen counter tightly, so much that his knuckles turn white, Harry keeps the corners of his mouth lifted.

"And now you're here." He says, head tilting just a bit. She hums in agreement, taking another sip from her wine.

"Yeah, but just crazy to think that I went into the day thinking I'd hook up with someone else." She tells it so innocently, as if she's mostly talking to herself. Harry's jaw clenches as he stalks around the kitchen island and nears Y/N.

"But you're not, though." Harry notes, falling right into the trap. He knows what she's trying to do but he just can't help himself. He doesn't like the idea of her being with another man. He waits for her answer, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I know, but I could have—"

Before the sentence has entirely left Y/N's mouth, Harry's hand flies to her neck. The amused look on Y/N's face tells him enough, but he doesn't care.

"You're not. You're in my bed tonight, and any night after that as far as I'm concerned, so I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she stares up at him. "You really are jealous."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, "And you've gotten feisty over the years."

Y/N bites her bottom lip, humming in agreement to his observation. Harry lets out a soft chuckle, tightening the grip on her neck. Y/N gasps in surprise.

"But do you still like to be put in your place?" He asks, inching his face close to hers. The answer is written in her eyes, and yet Y/N doesn't respond. When it's clear that she won't anytime soon, Harry's free hand sneaks around the waist of her pants. She shivers at the touch.

"Well? Do you?" He repeats himself, and slowly but surely, Y/N nods her head. Harry lets out a disapproving noise. "That's not a proper answer."

Closing her eyes, Y/N lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I like to be put in my place."

"That's what I thought." Harry laughs, taking his hands off of her entirely. She frowns, but her eyes widen when he barks out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

He watches carefully as she follows his orders, and she clearly takes her time stripping down to her underwear. When she has, she looks to him for some sign of approval, but Harry just raises his brows. His hands are sunk into his pockets as Y/N lets out a little breath and takes off her bra and panties.

His eyes trail down her body, his cock hurting at the sight of her. God, she's beautiful. He feels like an absolute idiot for not having fought for her earlier, but he reminds himself that he can't change the past and that she is here now, stark naked in his kitchen. A grin spread across his face.

"Do you remember how you addressed me all those years ago?" He asks. It takes a few seconds before Y/N answers, but she gives him a firm nod.

"I called you sir."

Harry nods. "Rules haven't changed. Now, get on the counter."

Her eyes flick to the marble countertop, shock flashing through her eyes. "But Har—"

His right brow lifts ever so slightly. Catching the hint, Y/N stops herself before she can finish the sentence and hoists herself on to the cold countertop. It must not be very pleasant to lay your naked body on that freezing surface, but it was an uncomfortable temporary obstacle. The results would be great, and in about thirty seconds, she'd forget all about that cold touch against her skin.

Harry pulls out one of the bar stools and sat directly in front of Y/N. Spreading her legs apart, he catches sight of that perfect pussy he has been waiting three years to taste again. Like a starved man sat in front of a feast, the urge to dive right in is almost too strong to bear. But before he has her writhing under him, he wants to make her shiver.

"Can't believe it took us so long to get here." Harry hums, tracing his fingers up her thigh, carefully observing the way Y/N tries to control her breathing. Her fists are balled up into curls, attempting to send her concentration to anything else than Harry. He tries not to let his smugness show too much, but he has to say he likes seeing her struggle a bit. A bit of payback for trying to toy with him just now.

"You've always been stubborn." Y/N jokes, a gasp strangling out of her when Harry's fingers ghost over her clit. He chuckles, the tone of his voice so low that it could almost be considered evil.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who wanted to forget about that Halloween night." He notes. Y/N hums.

"I also made the condition to act professionally, but we didn't do that either." Her eyes gaze into his, catching the fond smile with which he stares at her. A faint blush erupts on her cheeks.

"You drew the line." Harry retorted, and Y/N scoffed.

"You crossed it about a hundred times." She argues in response. He only hums, that cocky smirk on his face.

"I did, and consider this hundredth and first time to be the last, because I'm not getting behind that line again."

Y/N has never been so turned on her in her entire life. Harry’s words are the epitome of determination, and the way his fingers slip inside her so easily the second he finishes his sentence only solidifies that notion. The gasp that leaves her mouth is cut short and evolves into a low moan as Harry’s lips latch onto her clit.

Sensitive would be an understatement for her current state. She is aching, and the way Harry is ravishing her almost hurt. But any pain dwells in comparison to her desire she was overcome with at the situation she currently finds herself in. She is on Harry's kitchen counter, legs spread wide open and letting him do all the things that slipped into her dreams over the past three years.

Harry sucks in all the ways that made her squirm, moving his fingers with such ease that made it seem like he has fingered her a thousand times already. As if he knows her like the back of his hand, as if he knows all her secrets, even ones she doesn't know herself.

Y/N's hand buries itself in Harry's hair when he begins to kitten lick her clit, and she feels that inevitable climax inching closer and closer. She wonders how she had been able to keep herself composed for so long, because the high that creeps up on her feels like it was long overdue.

Unfortunately, the sensation comes to a grinding halt when Harry backs away from Y/N. Her head shoots up, and finds him leaning over her body, wearing boyish half-smile that is now glimmering with her juices.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other one under her legs, he picks her up bridal style. She holds onto his shoulders, burying her face into his neck as he carried her to his bedroom. When she begins unbuttoning his shirt, he throws her on his bed. She lets out a soft yelp, bouncing onto the bed.

"So greedy..." Harry tuts in disapproval, but Y/N doesn't quite care. She wants him, bad, and now that she's had a preview of what's to come she doesn't want to wait any longer. She needs him and she needs that orgasm.

She pulls him closer by his pants and starts to unbuckle his belt. "You're taking too long."

Y/N is about halfway done when Harry's firm hand wraps around her neck and pulls her closer to his face. Inching down, he growls: "You'll take what I give you."

"Then give me something." She spits back, and Harry's eyes turn five shades darker at her invitation to a challenge. He slowly leans back, Y/N watching his every movement in anticipation.

"On your stomach."

Y/N stomach swirls at the command, and she obeys as quick as she can. It stays silent for a little bit, and she awaits his further actions eagerly.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, she does what he says. Y/N doesn't dare to turn her head as she hears Harry walking around his room. When she feels a silky material around her wrists, she knows enough. He's tying her up.

Knowing better than to do otherwise, Y/N keeps her mouth shuts as Harry makes an impenetrable knot with his tie. She moves her wrists, assessing how tight it really is, and gets interrupted by a punishing slap on her ass. The sting remains for a couple of seconds, and she is sure there is now a red print the size of Harry's hand on her right cheek.

"Ass up." He barks out his final order, no doubt smirking as she changes her position, slightly struggling now that her arms are of no use.

Y/N bites her lip in anticipation when Harry's hand grabs onto her hips, steadying himself behind her. She slightly flinches forward when the tip of his cock teases her entrance, and attempts to speed up the process by leaning backwards a bit. She's rewarded with another slap on her ass.

But then Harry finally sinks in, and that dreadful itch that plagued Y/N for such a long time is finally scratched, over and over again as he begins to pound into her with long, slow strokes.

"Fucking hell..." Harry murmurs, his cock suctioning into Y/N's tight, clenching pussy. He is so big, and it bruises her in all the right ways.

"Oh baby... thaaat's it." He groans when Y/N begins to bounce back on his cock, aiming to get it even deeper inside of her. She is ruthless in her movements, groaning at the overwhelming sensations. When Harry gropes her ass— and his nails bite into her skin—she loses control.

Burying her face into the mattress, Y/N screams as she reaches her peak. The sound of Harry's moans at her pussy convulsing around his cock only strengthens her orgasm. Her mind goes entirely blank as the shattering release ripples through her like an earthquake. The only thing she can think of is Harry's name, and it's the only thing she cries out as the dizzying explosion settles all over her body.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" Harry sneers as he pulls his cock out of Y/N, letting go of her hips. She nearly falls over, her tied up hands making it difficult to catch herself. This orgasm was so intense, she could feel the three years of pent up tension as it washed over her. Her cheeks are burning red and her teary eyes makes her vision somewhat blurry.

Y/N is thrown off when Harry suddenly turns her around and she finds herself lying on her back. The way he towers over her would have been intimidating had it not been extremely hot.

"Came on my cock so fast..." he mumbles cockily, corner of his mouth pulled up like the arrogant bastard he is. "Such a slut for it."

Y/N wants to give him some snappy comeback, but her brain is still fried from the orgasm and she's always liked to be degraded in bed, so she decides to only glare at Harry while he speaks. He catches it, and his grin only widens.

"You know it's true, baby." He tells her, bringing your legs over each of his shoulders. That deviant smirk is the last thing Y/N sees before her eyes roll into the back of her head at the feeling of Harry's cock stretching her out again.

He leans forward, almost folding her in two, and reaches deeper. He stays there for a few seconds—as if he is catching his breath—then slowly backs out of her before slamming right back in. Y/N lets out a screech that, if it hadn't been for the desperation laced in its tone, would've sounded like someone was trying to murder her.

Trying to keep her own moans at a minimum, Y/N closes her eyes and listens to the harsh slaps of Harry's skin against hers, and the groans that escape his mouth with each thrust. The strength behind each movement makes her clench around Harry, who in turn hisses her name as if it were a curse word. It only causes her to clench more. 

"Fuck, such a pretty little whore." Harry praises as he drives into her. Y/N can only whine, her tits bouncing uncontrollably at the impact of his motions. She must look fucking helpless. Opening her eyes, she catches the way Harry looks at her; like she's a dream. Like she's his dream.

"My pretty little whore." He growls, leaning back and holding one of her legs with his arm while the other reaches for her breasts.

"Yes..." Y/N breathes as he begins squeezing her breasts, getting lost in the sensations of him. Somehow it feels like Harry is everywhere. As if he has latched onto a part of her soul and she feels him coming to claim that every time his cock sinks into her.

"Such a tight fucking fit." He groans, taking her nipple between his fingers. "You should see how perfectly your pussy sucks in every inch of my cock..."

Y/N bites her lip as Harry talks, trying not too get too overwhelmed by the filthy things he's telling her as he plunges in and out of her. Her eyes catch the flex of his muscles that occur with every thrust, and she wonders how she got a man so perfect to fuck her stupid like this.

"Should record it... make a little video for just the two of us. What do you think?"

Oh my god.

"Don't you want to see how perfect we fit together?" He taunts, thrusting his hips harsher than before, hitting a spot that had been untouched for quite a while now. Y/N's face scrunches up.

"F—fuck! Yes, yes..." She responds when Harry stills inside of her to await an answer. He chuckles at the apparent hurry in her voice and reaches for—what Y/N assumes to be—his phone, on the bed. His motions are slow and soft, determined to keep Y/N satisfied at least a bit while he logs into his phone and searches for the camera app. She notices the start of his recording by the sudden change of pace and force of his movements.

His camera is pointed right at her pussy as he begins thrusting deep inside of her, and Y/N screams out Harry's name. The concentration on his face as he captures how she takes him proves too much to bear, and she shuts her eyes tightly, head flopping to the side.

She can hear his ragged breathing over all the other sounds that their bodies are making. The small grunts he makes in an effort not to moan too loudly is all she can focus on, and the tension in her belly grows exponentially with each vibrations of his voice that reaches her ears.

Harry slows his pace, putting more emphasis on the impact of his moves. It allows him to bring his free hand down to touch Y/N's clit. Her legs begin to shake the second he does.

"Are you gonna come again for me? I'm so close, baby. I can tell you are too." The softness in the delivery of his words have Y/N's ovaries rattle. She can only nod, a whine that was an attempt at a 'yes' falling from her rosy lips. Harry grins, his eyes flicking from his phone to her face. Everything feels so hazy, much like a daydream.

"Please don't stop." She squeals in such a high pitch that surprises even herself. Y/N had no idea she could go that high. Harry's bringing out an entirely new side of her.

"I'll never stop, baby." Harry rasps, pressing down on her clit in such a way that Y/N becomes cross-eyed for a second. Her nails grip into the bedsheets, the second release rippling through her like a hurricane. She never quite understood the word bliss, until now. This must be it; this feeling of... pure ecstasy.

Like a blank canvas splattered on with all the bright colors that exist in the world; fresh and exciting and psychedelic in a way. Impossible to define yet such a specific feeling. Y/N let all of it tingle from her head down to her toes, wanting to remember it forever.

The continuous pounding Y/N through her orgasm comes to a grinding halt when Harry reaches his own, pulling out just in time for his sperm to coat her puffy clit and swollen tits. His camera is focused on her frame, recording every spurt that paints her. She's the canvas, he's the colors, Y/N realizes. Harry is her definition of bliss.

The words shared between the two are scarce as Harry unties Y/N's hands, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom to clean her up. But the smiles on their faces says enough, both knowing what they feel is rare, and beautiful. Y/N assesses Harry's face, concluding that the soft edges of it makes him look like a proper angel.

When he's dressed her in one of his shirts, he takes her back to the bedroom, where he pulls her against his frame. Y/N wraps one leg around his torso, hugging him from the side with her head buried into his neck. The way his chest rises and lowers fills her with pure ease, and she leaves a few soft kisses in his neck as a silent thank you. Harry only hums in satisfaction, his arm only tightening around you, as if he's afraid you might let go.

"I'm never gonna let you go now." You tell him before you can even fully comprehend your words. Your heart starts racing, afraid that might've been too soon to say.

"Promise?"

Your racing heart is now melting as you turn your head and see Harry holding up his pinky. You are quick to interlock it with your own.

"Promise." You say with a smile.

General taglist: @mema10

[luludeluluramblings]

The Tape

Reader and Conner’s sex tape gets leaked…

Based on this…

Warning: Fem!Reader, NSFW themes, no actual smut, pure crack nonsense, fake Twitter post

A/N: @fanfictionlover277353 Heard you wanted some more! Here’s some of my nonsense!

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"Come on, Babs. Please. I'm begging. Just for a few hours. Two tops." Dick's whining could be heard through out the entire cave. The vibrato of his voice echoing off the rocky walls and stalagmites as he leaned over Barbara's shoulder and played with her hair.

She was currently sitting at the Bat Computer, looking over anything related to the family or incidents in Gotham with strained eyes and an exasperated look on her face.

"I told you, I'm busy-"

"You need a break." Dick interrupted, playing the hypocrite with a grin. "Come on, two hours. We'll watch a movie, you can even pick. No sappy Rom-coms, anything you want. All your choice." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Admittedly, Barbara was tempted, but she let out an indulgent sigh.

"Fine. I'll set up notifications to alert me if anything that needs to get scrub gets posted." She quickly type out a few things on to the computer, having it connected to her phone before Dick whisked her off with way too much excitement.

It was a simple notification system. One that would alert her if anyone's vigilantes identities were mentioned in the media. Unfortunately, it wasn't set up to alert her if anyone's civilian identities were mentioned. That included the family's only civilian member as well.

And, a lot can happen in two hours with the power of the internet and a very interesting topic.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You were having a good day. A very nice day. You had gone out into the world, enjoying the sights and sounds of a mid-morning Gotham. Ignoring the wailing sirens in the distance, by now you had grown used to it.

Dick, Babs, and Alfred where in the manor doing either Bat stuff or sleeping. Damian was visiting Jon. Duke was on patrol. Cass was at dance practice. Bruce was at the Watchtower. Tim was at the Wayne office. Stephanie was your chaperone (stalker) of the day. And, Jason was fuck who knows where.

A peaceful, calm day.

Until you got a Twitter notification and you realized...

"Oh, that's not good. That is really not good." You mutter, watching as the internet burns while you drink your coffee. Not like you could do much else. You still sent a quick text to Conner, just to prepare him while you mentally packed.

You warned him when he suggested filming the two of you making love in the Wayne manor parlor right in front of the fireplace.

You had suggested you’d both go to the mountains and fuck in the wild, but he just had to be kinky and want to do it in the manor. Better lighting he said.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it had been your anniversary and he had pulled out all the stops, you would’ve said no. (It doesn’t matter that he had you literally crying from the pleasure when the two of you had finally finished filming. Nope. Not at all.)

However, that mountain sex might still be on the table. You didn't want to be around when the rest of the family saw that video, so a remote location in the mountains sounded like a decent idea. You’d been wanting to runaway from the manor for a while anyway.

“Hey, Steph, hand me your phone real quick…” Best to probably by yourself some time.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Conner had a tendency to mute his notification on all his socials. Not that he didn't look at what people tagged him in or mentioned him in. He just find it easier to manage.

So when he got a text from you saying to check Twitter, he was a bit puzzled. But, he figured you had seen him tagged in something funny and wanted him to see it too.

Only for the record in his head to scratch when he realized what he had been tagged in.

"SHIT! Shit, shit, shit, shit." Could he get off planet fast enough? This was bad. Not the video. That was good. He may have thrown extra fuel on the fire by liking it and retweeting it on to his official account, but, damn it, was he proud of that. Probably shouldn’t have hired that rando to edit it for him though.

But, yeah, he was about to possibly be the only man ever murdered in cold blood by Batman. It was one thing to fuck his civilian daughter, but filming it in the man’s own home? Yeah, the kryptonite was definitely coming out and getting stabbed into his skull.

"JON! Distract Damian!" Conner yelled out before taking off, knowing that Jon's super hearing would pick up it up. Best get to Gotham and grab you before Batman came after his ass.

There was a nice planet a few solar systems over that you two could have some fun on. Maybe if he was lucky, you could visit that spot in front of the fireplace on last time. He doubted the two of you would get another chance to do it there again.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Jason had actually been at Roy’s that day, having finished some Outlaw business from the night before. Only to be interrupted when Roy suddenly choked on his drink and sprayed it all over him from across the table. Soaking Jason and the papers on said table.

“What the fuck?” He muttered in disgust whipping the dripping liquid off him.

Roy, however, was still choking. Wheezing as he clutched his phone like it was the most precious thing in existence.

“Nothing! Nothing!” Instantly, Roy was trying to back the video up the Cloud and his back up phone. He’s paid for porn with less quality than this and he was not wasting this opportunity before it was scrubbed from the internet.

“Let me see that.” Jason pushed the table and slammed it into Roy’s gut, causing the phone to clatter on to it. A video silently playing on the screen.

A video of two people in a fancy parlor. Doing very intimate things.

Two people Jason knew. In a fancy parlor that Jason knew.

A parlor that Jason had literally sat in three days ago watching the fire in the exact same fireplace.

“Did you fucking save this, asshole?”

“Dude, that is ART!”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Back in the BatCave Alfred had come down to tidy up after resting a bit only to look at the screen in horror. Despite his many skills, socially media escaped him at times.

However he did manage to learn one thing…

“That was what was on my bloody carpet?!”

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Tim had been in his office, going over a couple charts when his secretary burst into the room. Stumbling and falling on the floor panting. One of her heels broken.

Normally she was a serious and composed woman, not tolerating any nonsense from him. So this behavior was unexpected and worrisome.

Tim rushed to stand up at help her when she suddenly blurted out, “Leaked sex tape!”

That made him panic. Before confusion hit him.

“Wait, did I film on of those? I don’t remember filming one of those-“

“Your sister! Superboy! PR is going fucking nuts and getting calls. Share prices are fucking increasing because of this!”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

The Justice League Watchtower was in a meeting. Quite a long one judging by the way most of it’s members sitting around the table seemed to be drifting off or subtly scrolling their phones.

Oliver Queen, Green Arrow was one of those people scrolling. Checking over twitter, catching up on the latest gossip. Only to nearly fucking scream in the middle of the meeting when he realized what Superboy had shared on his official account.

Forget man of steel, the kid has damn balls of steel.

Worst yet, the video had been posted for over an hour. A full hour. Almost two. There was no way that was going to be getting scrubbed and forgotten. He’d bet it was in a military archive already with a team of scientist documenting the half-Kryptonian’s dick size right now.

It was an impressively long video. One that Oliver was sorely tempted to watch. But, he didn’t because he knew Batman would actually rearrange his face if he did. Like fist and plastic surgery rearrange it.

So, when he heard Batman’s voice ring out in the meeting, he broke his phone in half to hide the evidence of his discovery.

Only, Batman hadn’t been calling for his attention. He was calling for Booster Gold’s.

“Booster, focus on the meeting. Put that away—“

It was amusing to see Booster get caught with his phone out watching him scramble to shut it off in a panic. Only for it to fall to the ground.

And, the sound to turn on at full volume.

Moans to fill the silent void of the room.

Oliver could only look on in horror when he realized just what Booster had been watching, during a Justice League meeting, and across the table from Batman himself.

“Conner, please, p-please, stop teasing.”

“No, I don’t think I will. You look so pretty like this. All nice and—“

No one moved. Not as they watched Batman literally work through every emotion under that cowl of his and Superman’s face went as white as it possibly could, anguish washing over both their faces when they realized who was in the video booster was watching.

Diana was the only one that stood up and moved to pick up the phone. Everyone held their breaths when she slowly looked down at the screen.

“Quite impressive. You both must be proud.” She said with a slight hum.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I apologize so much for this, but I just was cackling the entire time I came up with this and wrote it. Forgive me y’all! 🙏🏻

A/N: All the Twitter stuff was randomly generated and picked! I’m not good with it, but I added it for giggles!

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ Twisted Wings: The Joker’s Plaything ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 4

Summary: Everything hurts... But... But he can take it... He can take it... He just have to wait... He just have to wait... You and Bruce won't let him rot like this... Right?

Warning: Physically and mentally torture, Joker being Joker.

Notes: Merry Christmas everybody! I'm about to ruin it for you... English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

When the cell door creaked open, Jason didn’t even look up. He kept his head down, staring at the cracked concrete floor.

“Oh, bird boy,” the Joker sang, his voice laced with mockery. “Still sulking, are we? What’s the matter? Don’t like the accommodations? Or is it the lack of fine dining?”

Jason didn’t answer. He barely even moved, his breaths shallow and labored.

The Joker’s boots clunked against the floor as he sauntered in, something dangling from his gloved hand. “Well, lucky for you, Papa J is feeling generous today! I brought you something special.”

Jason’s stomach churned as the Joker dropped his “gift” onto the floor in front of him.

Dead rats. Three of them. Their tiny, broken bodies lay sprawled on the floor, their glazed eyes staring up at Jason.

Jason’s lips curled in disgust, and he finally looked up, glaring at the Joker. “You’re fucking insane,” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

The Joker grinned, crouching down so his face was level with Jason’s. “Oh, come on, kiddo. Don’t be rude. I went through all the trouble of finding these little guys for you! Freshly caught, too. You should be grateful.”

Jason swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat. His stomach twisted painfully, but he refused to give in. He spat at the Joker’s feet, his good eye blazing with defiance. “Fuck you.”

For a moment, the Joker stared at him, his grin faltering. Then, to Jason’s surprise, the clown’s face lit up with genuine delight. He clapped his hands together, letting out a peal of laughter that echoed through the cell.

“Oh, you’re precious! You really think you can starve yourself to death, don’t you? You’d rather wither away than eat the lovely meal I prepared just for you. How dramatic! How noble!”

Jason clenched his jaw, his body trembling with rage and hunger. “I’m not eating your fucking rats.”

The Joker’s grin widened, and he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a phone. “Oh, I think you’ll change your mind, bird boy. Because if you don’t…” He tapped the screen, and the phone lit up. “Well, let’s just say things are going to get a lot more interesting.”

Jason froze. His heart dropped into his stomach as he stared at the screen.

It was her.

She was standing in what looked like an alley, her arms crossed, her face pale. She wasn’t tied up or restrained, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable.

Jason’s chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat. “No…”

The Joker’s grin stretched impossibly wide. “Oh, yes. You see, bird boy, if you don’t play along, I’m going to pay your little girlfriend a visit. And do you know what I’m going to do?”

Jason shook his head, his voice trembling. “Please… don’t…”

“I’m going to skin her alive,” the Joker said, his voice gleeful. “I’ll peel her pretty little face right off, inch by inch. Then I’ll cook her up into a nice, juicy meal—just for you! Imagine that: you, sitting right here, munching on her crispy little fingers. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

Jason’s vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. “No… Please, not her. I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt her. Please…”

The Joker tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Then eat,” he said simply, gesturing to the rats.

Jason stared at the dead animals, bile rising in his throat. He wanted to say no, to refuse, to let himself starve. But the image of her face haunted him—the fear in her eyes, the trembling in her hands. He couldn’t let the Joker touch her. He couldn’t let him win.

With trembling hands, Jason reached for one of the rats.

“There’s a good boy,” the Joker cooed, clapping his hands. “Now, be a dear and eat up. And make it quick—I’ve got places to be!”

Jason gagged as he brought the rat to his mouth. The stench of decay hit him like a brick, and he had to fight the urge to vomit. He closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face, and bit into the flesh.

The Joker erupted into laughter, his cackles filling the room. “Oh, this is priceless! Look at you, bird boy, gobbling up rats like a starving stray. Faster now! Come on, show me how much you care about her!”

Jason obeyed, choking down the rancid meat as tears blurred his vision. The Joker’s cheers echoed in his ears, each word a dagger to his soul.

“Faster! Faster! Don’t keep Papa J waiting!”

Jason sobbed as he forced himself to eat, his body shaking with revulsion and despair. He couldn’t stop thinking about her—her smile, her laugh, the way she used to look at him. He clung to those memories like a lifeline, even as the Joker’s laughter threatened to drown him.

She loves me, she loves me. She was just scared. She’ll come back… She’ll come back…

His mind screamed at him to stop, to fight back, to do anything but this. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let her die.

Everything hurts…

But he could take it.

He had to.

They’ll come for me, he told himself, over and over, like a mantra. Bruce won’t let me die here. She won’t let me die here. I just have to wait. Just a little longer…

But deep down, a voice whispered in the back of his mind—a voice that sounded eerily like the Joker’s.

What if they don’t?

Jason didn’t know how long he’d been in the chair. Days? Weeks? Months? The passage of time had become a blur, a murky haze of pain, humiliation, and Joker’s laughter. He couldn’t tell what was worse—the physical agony or the constant barrage of words designed to pick him apart piece by piece.

The room was cold and damp, the stench of mildew and blood lingering in the air. His wrists were raw and bleeding from the restraints, his muscles aching from being held in the same position for hours—days, maybe. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. But worse than all of it was the gnawing emptiness inside him.

The door creaked open, and Jason instinctively flinched. He hated that reaction, hated how the sound of that door sent ice through his veins. But it was impossible not to. Joker entered with his usual swagger, his painted grin stretching impossibly wide.

“Wakey, wakey, bird boy!” he sang, his voice grating and shrill.

Jason didn’t look up. He couldn’t. He focused on the floor, the dirt-streaked concrete beneath his feet, anything but the clown.

“Aww, what’s the matter, kiddo?” Joker cooed, circling him like a vulture. “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. “Maybe you’re starting to break, hmm?”

Jason didn’t respond. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the sharp pain in his cracked ribs. He wouldn’t give Joker the satisfaction.

But Joker didn’t need words. He always found a way to dig his claws into Jason’s mind.

“I brought you a little present today,” Joker said, his tone sing-song. “Thought it might cheer you up, you know, brighten your spirits!” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “It’s picture day, after all!”

Jason finally looked up, his good eye narrowing at Joker. The clown grinned wider and held out the paper, waving it in front of Jason’s face.

“Go on, take a look. Don’t be shy!”

His bound hands couldn’t reach, so Joker leaned in and shoved the picture into his line of sight.

Jason’s blood turned to ice.

It was a photograph. A grainy, Polaroid snapshot of her. She was smiling—laughing, even—standing beside someone in a Robin suit. But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his suit.

“No…” Jason whispered, his voice cracking.

“Oh, yes,” Joker said, his tone gleeful. “That’s your replacement, kiddo! Isn’t he a real charmer? A little younger, a little smarter… and oh, so much shinier!”

Jason’s chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe. His mind raced, his heart pounding against his bruised ribs.

“She’s moved on, bird boy,” Joker continued, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’ve been replaced. Forgotten. Left behind. And look at her—she’s happier, isn’t she? Laughing, smiling, all while you’re down here rotting away.”

Jason shook his head, his breaths coming faster. “No… no, she wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?” Joker interrupted, his tone suddenly sharp. “Wouldn’t forget about you? Wouldn’t find someone better? Oh, come on, kid. Look at the picture. You’re not even a memory to her anymore. You’re nothing.”

Jason felt tears sting his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now.

Joker noticed anyway. He always noticed.

“Aww, poor little Robin,” Joker mocked, crouching in front of him. “Does it hurt? Does it sting? Knowing she’s out there, living her life, while you’re stuck here… forgotten… abandoned…”

Jason’s silence only seemed to fuel the Joker’s sadistic glee.

“You know, I bet she doesn’t even think about you anymore,” the clown continued, his voice turning cruel. “She probably doesn’t even remember your name.”

“Shut up,” Jason growled, his voice trembling.

The Joker’s grin widened. “Oh, struck a nerve, did I? What’s the matter, kid? Can’t handle the truth?”

“SHUT UP!” Jason screamed, his voice raw.

Joker’s laughter filled the room, loud and maniacal, echoing off the walls.

“Oh, this is too good! You’re just so much fun to play with, bird boy!” He stood, pacing around Jason’s chair. “You know, I should thank you. Breaking you has been the highlight of my days.”

Jason clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wouldn’t break. He couldn’t.

But then Joker leaned in close, his breath hot against Jason’s ear.

“You know what the best part is?” he whispered. “She doesn’t care. She never did.”

Jason’s resolve shattered.

Joker saw it—the moment the fight left Jason’s eyes—and his grin turned triumphant.

“That’s it, bird boy,” he said softly, almost lovingly. “Just let go. Stop fighting. It’s easier that way, isn’t it?”

Jason didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Joker straightened, his grin returning. “Well, I’ll leave you to your thoughts, birdie. But don’t worry—I’ll be back. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring another little picture next time. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Jason didn’t watch him leave. He stared at the floor, the photograph still burned into his mind.

She was smiling.

She was happy.

And he was nothing.

Jason barely registered the blows anymore. His entire body was a mess of torn skin, bruises, and agony so deep it numbed him to everything but Joker's voice. The laughter. Always the laughter. It echoed in his skull, filling every empty space where his own strength used to be.

By now, Jason had stopped flinching. When Joker’s boot slammed into his ribs again, he just let his head hang forward, blood dripping from his mouth onto the filthy floor.

“Oh, come on now, kid!” Joker taunted, squatting down to meet his eyes. He tilted his head in mock pity, his crimson smile as wide as ever. “Don’t tell me you’ve got nothing to say. Not even a little squeak? No ‘stop it’ or ‘please, sir’? You’re usually such a polite little punching bag.”

Jason forced himself to lift his head, just barely, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “Please… sir,” he croaked, his voice hoarse.

Joker’s grin split wider. “That’s the spirit! I knew you had some manners left in you.” He stood, pacing in lazy circles around the boy. “Now, I’ve got some questions for you, birdie. You’re gonna answer them, right? Be a good little boy for Uncle J?”

“Yes, sir,” Jason rasped, his voice trembling.

Joker clapped his hands together like a delighted child. “Oh, how precious! Alright, let’s get started, shall we?” He leaned against the wall, casually spinning a crowbar in his hand. “Tell me, Jaybird… what did you see in her?”

Jason blinked slowly, trying to process the question. His mind was a foggy haze, but when he thought of her—her smile, her laugh—it cut through the pain. His lips trembled. “She… she was everything,” he whispered.

Joker cackled, the sound sharp and cruel. “Everything! Oh, that’s rich! And what exactly does ‘everything’ mean, hmm? Did you think she loved you? That she cared about you?”

Jason’s throat tightened. He wanted to lie, to deny it, but he couldn’t. His voice was barely audible. “Yes, sir. I thought she did.”

Joker laughed harder, clutching his sides. “Oh, you poor, delusional boy! And what about you? What did you want with her? Hmm? Did you have plans, birdie? Little fantasies about your future together?”

Jason swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the floor. The words came slowly, haltingly, dragged out of him like a confession. “I wanted… I wanted a family.”

Joker froze mid-laugh, his grin twisting into something darker. He stepped closer, crouching in front of Jason. “A family?” he repeated, his tone dripping with mockery.

Jason nodded weakly. “Yes, sir. I… I thought we could have a life together. Away from all this.” His voice cracked, tears streaming down his battered face. “I wanted… to marry her. Have kids. Be happy.”

Joker stared at him for a long moment before bursting into hysterical laughter. “Oh, my God! You really are pathetic, aren’t you? A little boy playing house, dreaming of a white picket fence while Daddy Bats fights crime.”

Jason didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

“And what about now, hmm?” Joker pressed, his grin predatory. “Do you still want that? After what she did?”

Jason’s head dipped lower, his tears falling freely now. “I don’t know, sir.”

The Joker’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something colder. He grabbed Jason by the hair, yanking his head up to force him to meet his eyes. “Oh, don’t go all quiet on me now, kid. You wanted her, didn’t you? You loved her. You would’ve done anything for her. So tell me…” His grin widened again, sharp and cruel. “Do you still love her?”

Jason’s lip trembled, blood mixing with tears as he whispered, “Yes, sir.”

Joker’s laughter exploded again, filling the room with its twisted echo. He shoved Jason’s head back, sending it slamming into the chair. “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

Jason didn’t respond. He just sat there, broken and defeated, Joker’s laughter ringing in his ears.

“That’s enough for now,” Joker said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “But don’t worry, bird boy. We’ve got plenty of time to dive deeper into that broken little heart of yours.”

And as Joker walked away, Jason let his head hang again, wishing he could disappear.

Jason didn’t look up when Joker came back. He didn’t have the strength. His body was a wreck, each breath a struggle, each movement a new kind of pain. His mind… it was something else entirely. Foggy, frayed at the edges, and slipping into places he couldn’t pull it back from. It didn’t make sense anymore—none of it did.

The world was nothing but pain now. Pain and laughter. The Joker’s laughter, high-pitched and endless, reverberating through Jason’s broken skull.

"Alright, bird boy!" Joker’s voice rang out, sing-song and sharp, dragging Jason back to the surface of his nightmare. “Let’s play a game, shall we? I call it Truth… or Pain.”

Jason didn’t react. His body slumped in the chair, his head lolled forward. He could barely lift his eyes to meet the clown’s, blood and tears crusted to his face like a second skin.

Joker crouched in front of him, leaning close, so close Jason could smell the rancid stench of greasepaint and sweat. “Here’s how it works, kiddo,” he said, his voice mockingly gentle. “I ask you a question. You tell me the truth, or…” He smacked the crowbar into his palm with a wet thud, grinning wide. “You get the idea, don’tcha?”

Jason didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

The Joker’s smile twisted, his patience as thin as the thread Jason was clinging to. He grabbed a fistful of Jason’s hair, yanking his head up. “Nod if you understand, birdie.”

Jason nodded weakly, his neck too stiff and weak to do more than a faint dip.

“That’s my boy!” Joker chirped, releasing him and stepping back. He twirled the crowbar lazily, watching Jason with an almost fatherly gaze. “Now, first question.” He leaned forward, his grin sharpening. “What’s your name, hmm?”

Jason blinked slowly, his brain struggling to process the words. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

CRACK.

The crowbar slammed into his ribs, a sickening snap reverberating through the room. Jason choked on a scream, his body convulsing against the restraints.

“Wrong answer!” Joker sang, his voice bright and cheerful. “Let’s try again, hmm? Who’s Batman’s favorite? Which one of you brats he loves more?”

Jason wheezed, blood dripping from his lips as he forced himself to speak. “D… Dick…”

The Joker tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Oh, really? Are you sure?”

Jason’s throat worked, but the words wouldn’t come.

CRACK.

The crowbar struck again, this time across his knee. Jason screamed, the sound raw and broken, echoing in the dark room.

“Ooh, wrong answer!” Joker said cheerfully. “See, the correct answer is none of you! You’re all just little tools in his utility belt. Didn’t you know that?”

Jason didn’t reply.

“C’mon, birdie! You’re not even trying!” Joker taunted, twirling the crowbar again. “Alright, let’s make this interesting. What’s your biggest fear, hmm? What keeps you up at night, even in this lovely little hell of ours?”

Jason’s breaths came in short, ragged gasps. His vision blurred, but the question cut through the fog. His biggest fear…

The words spilled from him, trembling and desperate, like a confession to a god who wouldn’t listen. “I’m… afraid…” His voice cracked, barely audible. “I’m afraid of forgetting her…”

Joker froze, his grin faltering for just a moment.

Jason didn’t notice. He couldn’t stop now, the words pouring out like blood from a wound. “Please… don’t make me forget Y/N…” His voice broke, tears streaming down his battered face. “It’s only her… only her and me… in this whole world…”

The Joker tilted his head, his grin returning, slower this time. “Oh, kiddo…” he murmured, his tone almost tender.

Jason’s voice cracked again, his words dissolving into sobs. “Just… give me that. Please… please… don’t take her from me… Don’t make me forget her… please…”

Joker stepped closer, crouching again to meet Jason’s tear-streaked gaze. He cupped Jason’s bloodied chin, forcing him to look up.

“Oh, sweet, sweet birdie,” he cooed, his voice soft and mocking. “Don’t you know? She’s already forgotten you.”

Jason’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as the words tore through him like shards of glass.

“She’s out there, laughing, living, loving… while you’re here, rotting away.” Joker’s grin widened, his voice dripping with venom. “And when you’re gone, birdie, no one will even remember you. Not her. Not Batman. No one.”

Jason’s head dropped, his sobs choking him as the Joker’s laughter filled the room once more.

“Truth or Pain, birdie?” Joker asked, raising the crowbar again. “Oops! Looks like it’s both!”

And the blows rained down again, each one erasing a little more of Jason, until all that was left was a broken, empty husk whispering one name into the darkness.

“Y/N…”

Next: Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 5.

@ʀᴏ���ᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[imaginespazzi]

Our Merry Eternity

And she swears that every Christmas season, it feels like they fall deeper and deeper in love with each other.

(In which a writer would like to argue that a day after Christmas, is a perfectly reasonable time to release a Christmas fic)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, fluff, fluff with some hurt/comfort and angst if you squint

Words: 9.4K (if I could write things shorter maybe y'all would get things faster but alas)

TW: Implied sexual content/suggestive content, mentions of divorce, mentions of injuries, swearing

A/N: MERRY (one day after) CHRISTMAS MY LOVIES <3 It seems like everyone wanted domestic fluff and who am I to deny the people what they want (even if it is a little later than I intended it to be) and I didn't realize how much I missed eternity-verse till I wrote this. I'mma keep this short and sweet and go through the basics. Such as the fact that I did not edit. I eventually will but for now, feel free to let me know about any grammar/spelling/formatting issues. And even though I haven't had the time to go through my inbox in a hot second, I promise I will soon so as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a lovely rest of your holidays my angels <3

It’s beginning (to look a lot like Christmas) 

Paige isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas; she doesn’t dislike it by any means but she’s never understood the fascination everyone else seems to have with it. Perhaps it’s because when she was younger, Christmas had been her parents’ favorite holiday to try and one-up each other. They’d competed in everything, from how big the tree was to how evenly spread the icing on the cookies were. Eventually the excitement of getting a big expensive present from one parent that would only be rivaled by an even bigger, more expensive present from the other wore off and all that was left was this hollow feeling of being torn in two. Her parents have matured now -no longer in a constant battle for her approval now that they had other kids to focus on as well- but the magic of Christmas had long worn off and Paige hadn’t bothered trying to rediscover it. 

Until now. 

Because right now, watching -through a facetime call that’s been running for almost four hours now- Azzi run around Walmart, searching for decorations and presents with her exasperated family in tow, almost feels a little magical. The way the younger girl’s eyes twinkle when she finds the perfect gift, the way her dimples deepen when she triumphantly wins an argument against her mother for an ornament her tree needs, makes Paige think that it would be so easy to fall in love with Christmas, if she got to spend it with Azzi. 

And it’s like Azzi’s reading her mind because suddenly the younger girl’s face is filling all of Paige’s screen as she holds the phone close to her face, lips pouting in a way that has the blonde feelings decidedly unfriendly feelings toward a girl she’s barely known for six months, but feels like a best friend she’s known all her life. 

“I wish we could spend Christmas together,” Azzi says with a slight whine, “and then you could help me with all of this. They’re absolutely no help-” her last sentence is cut off by her family and Paige laughs as the Fudds break out into a series of indignant protests. 

“Oh so you just want me for manual labor or something huh?” Paige teases, leaning back against her bed and folding her arms across her chest, “and here I thought it’s cause you missed me.”

“I do miss you,” Azzi says matter-of-factly.

“Nah,” Paige shakes her head, “sounds like you just need another person to slave around for you.”

Azzi's mouth falls open at the accusation as the Fudds break into laughter behind her, the sound of it making something impossibly warm bloom in Paige’s chest. 

“I do not make people slave around for me.”

“Yeah you do. You’re the princess. You order us around and we do as we’re told.”

“Here, here-ow!” Jon’s noise of agreement is cut off by his sister elbowing him in the stomach, “do all that work and get rewarded by violence too.”

“I tell you I miss you and this is how you repay me?” Azzi asks, her voice tinged with drama. 

“Nah I still don’t believe you miss me,” it’s a lie; Paige is fully aware Azzi misses her -thinks that the younger girl has to feel at least a semblance of the emptiness she feels herself at the distance between them- but she likes making Azzi repeat it; likes the constant confirmation that Azzi misses her too. 

“Of course I miss you P, after all,” Azzi’s eyes glint with mischief, “we’re engaged aren’t we? A girl’s gotta miss her fiancé.”

The cavalier use of the tone of endearment makes Paige freeze. It’s a joke; a callback to the fact that Paige had practically threatened Azzi that she’d have to marry her if the younger girl won their little pop-a-shot competition last summer at the Minnesota State fair. Paige hadn’t been thinking, it had just slipped out but then Azzi had won the game and then there were rings being exchanged and somehow the whole thing had become one big running joke between the two of them. Except, the idea of forever with Azzi doesn’t feel much like a joke to Paige. It feels like a wish, a hope, a want, a need  something she’s not quite ready to admit to herself yet. 

“I miss you too Az,” Paige says softly as they grin at each other through the phone, “can’t wait to see my best friend soon.”

Thirteen days to be exact -they’d planned to spend the last half of winter break together- but it’s not like Paige is crossing the days off of her calendar or anything. 

“Fiancé,” Azzi corrects and Paige’s heart flutters despite her brain trying to remind her that this is just a bit they’re playing at. 

“Right, so fiancé,” the word tastes like sugar cookies and marshmallows on the tip of her tongue, “you get my present yet?”

“You know I have and before you ask,” Azzi gives her a knowing look when Paige excitedly opens her mouth, “no I won’t give you a hint about what it is.”

“But Azziiiiiii-”

“Absolutely not Paige,” Azzi says firmly, “presents are meant to be surprises.”

“Aren’t fiancés meant to tell each other everything?” Paige scrunches her nose. 

“Not this. Christmas presents are a sacred secret,” the younger girl replies gravely. 

“And who made you an expert on all things Christmas presents?”

“Santa did,” Azzi retorts haughtily. 

Paige snorts, “well Santa doesn’t ex-”

“PAIGE MADISON BUECKERS,” Azzi yells and the blonde can tell by the way she winces immediately that the younger girl’s little outburst had gotten her more than a couple of wary looks, “Paige Madison Bueckers,” she hisses again, her voice much quieter this time, “you take that back right now!”

“Az-”

“Take it back!”

“Bro you’re fifteen years old,” Paige argues. 

“Believing has no age,” Azzi hums airily, “now take it back.”

“Nope!”

“Take it back or I’ll end our engagement,” Azzi threatens and Paige blanches at ultimatum. 

“You wouldn’t,” she gasps. 

“Try me.”

Paige is sixteen and she’s only really just started to learn what love is, but she thinks, as she sits on her bed bickering on facetime over the most ridiculous of topics with a girl who makes her feel things she’s never felt before, that maybe love is just something as simple and crazy as pretending admitting Santa is real so she can prevent her fake engagement, that’s almost beginning to feel a little much like a real promise, from being called off.

2. With you (under the mistletoe)

The truth is that neither of them quite remember what started the fight or even really why it had continued after. All they know is that one minute everything had been fine and then the next minute, they were fuming at each other and their plane ride back to the DMV for Christmas had passed in uncharacteristic silence. They'd parted ways at the airport -glumly sauntering over to their waiting families while decidedly avoiding looking over in each other’s directions- with a dreadful mixture of regret, guilt and the feeling of missing each other. But despite the fact that they were both clearly miserable, Paige and Azzi were both too stubborn and too eager to prove which one of them could be more stubborn. This was their first true fight after they’d gotten together earlier this year, and they were both adamant that the other one would apologize first. 

But Azzi can feel the urge to cave in grow stronger and stronger by the minute as she feels Paige’s body against her own as the blonde reaches over the younger girl to grab something from the shelf. The contact is unnecessary and she knows Paige is doing it on purpose, trying to get a reaction and it takes every inch of self-control Azzi has to not shiver as the older girl presses herself against her back, acting like whatever she’s grabbing isn’t right at the front of the shelf. Azzi tries to focus on the cookies she’s icing, tries to keep her hands still as she traces the outline of a star in royal icing, tries to do anything but focus on the way Paige’s warm breath is tickling against the back of her neck. 

It’s two days till Christmas and the Fudd family and friends have gathered to do their annual cookie baking and decorating tradition. And Katie had been clear that no matter what issues Paige and Azzi were having, they wouldn’t interfere with the open invitation that Paige had always had -since she’d moved to the DMV but even before that really- to join them throughout the Christmas festivities. Azzi had pretended to be a little miffed by it but secretly she’d been hoping that her girlfriend -god she still got such a thrill out of being able to call her that- would show up. They’d only really been apart for a day, but since they’d met, Paige and Azzi hadn’t gone often without talking to each other -whether it was in person or through text or on the phone- and so 24 hours had felt a little bit like 24 years and Azzi had spent every second missing the girl who’d long since become a part of her soul. And even though Paige had grunted about only being here for Drew’s sake, Azzi knows -by the way the blonde’s eyes had drunk in the sight of her when she’d let her into the house, by the way her stiff shoulders had relaxed just by being near her again- that Paige had missed her just as much. 

But neither of them are quite ready to admit it yet, and so, as they bustle around the confined space of the Fudd’s kitchen, Paige continues to find ways to light Azzi’s skin on fire and Azzi continues to pretend it isn’t making her burn with want. 

“Noooooooo,” a drawled out whine from the kitchen table has Azzi and Paige jumping away from each other as they both turn to look at Drew. 

Azzi’s eyes widen and Paige bursts into laughter as they take in the scene in front of them. Clearly the little boy had overestimated his strength and the piping bag had burst and now Drew stands by the table, his lips slightly parted in shock, as the red icing -originally intended for the Santa hat cookies- drips down the front of his shirt. Jon and José are doubled down in their chairs, tears practically streaming down their faces as the sound of their laughter echoes through the walls. 

“Oh my god,” Paige manages to get out between her giggles, “what did you do Drewskie.”

“Nothing,” her little brother immediately defends himself, “it literally burst out of nowhere.”

“Sure it did little Hulk, sure it did,” José teases as he swipes his finger over Drew’s ruined shirt and then licks the icing off of it, the casualness of it causing Jon and Paige to burst into another round of laughter while Azzi tries as hard as she can to keep her own giggles contained but a smile slips through the cracks. 

“It’s not funny,” Drew stomps his feet petulantly, “I’m all sticky and icky and gross. Azzi,” he looks at the brunette with imploring eyes, “tell them to stop- OH MY GOD ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME TOO.”

Azzi's eyes widen as she tries to protest, “no of course not. C’mon let’s get you a new-”

But before she can put her plan into action, clearly Drew has a different idea and before Azzi can stop it from happening, the little boy is grabbing another piping bag -this one with green icing- and aiming it straight at Jose. There’s a split second of silence as the green icing arcs through the air, almost in slow motion, before landing with a splat on Jose’s newly bought t-shirt. And then the room bursts into chaos as Drew immediately dives behind Azzi’s legs, Paige and Jon continue to lose their minds laughing and José lets out a loud scream. 

“WHAT THE FU-”

“José language,” both Paige and Azzi reprimand immediately and José glares at them but corrects himself anyways. 

“What the fudge dude,” José scowls at Drew, “this is a brand new shirt.”

For his part, the little boy shrugs, “I thought you liked eating icing off of shirts. I figured I’d make it easier and let you eat it off of your own shirt. 

If it’s possible this somehow makes Jon and Paige laugh harder and instead of focusing his wrath on Drew who’s still nestled behind Azzi’s legs, José turns on the two of them instead. 

“You guys think this is SO funny don’t you,” he says menacingly, grabbing for two more piping bags. 

“José no,” Paige is the first one to recover as she tries to turn away from the mess but it’s too late, and just as she’s trying to bolt out the door, she’s stopped by a glob of pink icing landing with a splat on the back of her plain white shirt. 

“Oh you’re so dead,” Paige whispers angrily as she turns around, grabbing another bag of icing and aiming it directly at José’s face. 

And then there’s no stopping anyone as Azzi watches as all the beautiful icing she’d painstakingly made and dyed into different colors begins to be thrown all over the kitchen, a rainbow painting itself all over the walls and floors. Drew darts out from behind her legs, joining into the mayhem as he starts to pelt Jon with all sorts of colors. 

Seeing them all distracted and knowing it’s only a matter of time before she gets sucked into all of it, Azzi slowly tiptoes backwards, wanting nothing to do with the mess, and she’s just about to turn around and run up the stairs when a low voice echoes behind her. 

“And where do you think you’re going,” because of course Paige had noticed her trying to escape; Paige always noticed when it came to Azzi. 

“Paige,” Azzi warns slowly, trying to move away from the other girl, her eyes fixated on the purple icing in the blonde’s hands, “please.”

Paige smirks as she takes another step towards Azzi, “this is a little unfair isn’t it?”

“Hey I didn’t start any of this,” Azzi puts her hands up in surrender, choosing to back away from the stairs and towards the living room instead, “go fight the people who did.”

Paige shakes her head as she takes another step, “I already got ‘em all. Amateurs,” she says cockily, “they think they can beat me in a food fight.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, “is there anything you’re not arrogant about?”

“Can’t help that I’m good at everything,” Paige shrugs and Azzi’s about to come up with a snarky retort when the blonde’s eyes soften, “except I guess- I guess I’m not too great at apologizing.”

Gone is the air of overconfidence that had surrounded the older girl just a second before and in her place is that soft, vulnerable Paige that Azzi is so desperately in love with and she can’t help but take a step towards the blonde. 

“We should both probably apologize huh,” she says quietly, “think we both said some petty shit we didn’t mean.” 

It’s true; they’d known each other so long and so deeply that they knew exactly how to push each other’s buttons, how to say the exact wrong thing to rile each other up when they were frustrated. The fight had been inevitable; an explosion of all the angst that existed between two athletes who were both fighting injuries and watching their team struggle without them. It had started with something little that Azzi can’t quite remember but then they were yelling about other things -Paige’s grievances about how Azzi had an irritating habit of hovering and Azzi’s issues with Paige’s tendency to close herself off- and it had ended with both of them near tears as they’d frustratedly stomped into their rooms. 

“I’m sorry,” Paige says it first, as she loops her arm around Azzi’s waist, bringing the younger girl as close to her as she can, “I love you. I miss you.”

Azzi smiles, her hands finding their rightful place around Paige’s neck, not caring that the other girl is still covered in sticky icing,  “don’t gotta miss me baby. I’m right here,” she says softly, resting her forehead against the blonde’s, “I’m sorry too. I love you so much.”

“Look up,” Paige says softly, as she strokes Azzi’s cheek and the younger girl does as she’s told, laughing when she notices the mistletoe hanging above them. 

“Kissing under the mistletoe? You’re so cliché Bueckers.”

“Clichés are clichés for a reason Az,” Paige hums faintly before she’s pulling Azzi into a searing kiss, holding her as tightly as she physically can. 

And yet Azzi still finds a way to tug her closer, trying to find a way to meld their bodies into one as she presses herself as close to Paige as possible. She’s just about to suggest they take this upstairs -because god has she missed being with Paige- when instead she feels the older girl pull away and before she can even react, she’s being hit in the face with a stream of bright purple icing. 

“PAIGE WHAT THE FUCK,”

“Sorry baby. Just couldn’t help myself,” Paige grins as she steps back into Azzi’s space, gently attaching her lips to Azzi’s cheeks as her tongue languidly licks away at the icing and this time the younger girl doesn’t even try to hide the way her body reacts to it, “I promise I’ll clean you up though.”

3. I’ll be home (for Christmas)

“I’m good I swear,” Azzi’s voice is raw and hoarse like it often gets when she’s been crying and despite the younger girl’s best efforts to put on a brave front, Paige can hear right through it. 

She cocks an eyebrow, shifting from her back onto her elbows and placing her phone -with the facetime call- against the headboard, “then why won’t you let me see your face?”

“It’s not me. Something’s up with my camera. I don’t know what,” and if it was anyone else, even someone else who also knew that Azzi had literally just gotten a new phone, maybe the attempted sincerity in the brunette’s voice would be enough to convince them that she was telling the truth. 

But Paige has every line of the Azzi Fudd façade memorized, knows exactly how to discern the little cadences in her girlfriend’s voice and read between the lines. She knows Azzi’s purposely refusing to show her face; knows that it’s probably because it would take Paige one glance at said beautiful, gorgeous, stunning face to know that there had been tears running down it just a little bit ago. 

The blonde sighs, choosing to let the lie go and instead focus on the precious few minutes she’s got to speak to her girlfriend in peace. This is the first time Paige and Azzi have truly been apart for an extended amount of time since the latter had gotten to UConn and somehow the past few weeks have felt worse than when they’d spent months and months apart. With Paige trying to lead an injury-riddled team and Azzi rehabbing another torn ACL, the opportunities to indulge in a proper facetimes call had been few and far between. And when they did finally find the team, it wasn’t just that they were physically tired; they were both emotionally drained too. It was hard recharging when their batteries -each other- were so far away and every call felt hollow; like something was missing. 

“I miss you,” Paige says finally, feet digging into her bed as she musters up a soft smile, wishing that she could see Azzi return it with one of her own instead of staring at a black screen with only her own face in the corner. 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the younger girl says lightly and something uncomfortable churns in Paige’s stomach. 

“You uh- you haven’t said it back in a while,” she says slowly, trying to keep her voice casual. 

“Said what?”

Paige gulps, “that you miss me,” she gives Azzi a second to respond before her nerves have her speaking a mile per minute, “I mean not that you- not that you have to say it back or anything it’s just- you usually do- or like you always did and you just- you just haven’t said it back. And I mean I don’t say I miss you just so you’ll say it back or anything. I mean I do- you know- miss you and so that why I say it- because- because I miss you- I miss you so fucking much baby and I just- I just want you to know that but you haven’t- you haven’t said it back in a little bit and I just- Azzi,” her voice cracks as she tries not to let the tears slip through, “you do miss me don’t you?”

The other girl is quiet for so long that Paige thinks maybe she’s said too much; her mind rushes to the worst possibilities because what if Azzi really doesn’t miss her? What if her insecurities are right and the time apart has made Azzi realize that she wants something other than Paige?

“Of course I miss you Paige,” Azzi’s voice is thick with tears and all of Paige’s previous fears are replaced with worry instead, “god baby I miss you so fucking much. I miss you all the time and I’m sorry, fuck Paige, I’m sorry if I ever made you think I didn’t but baby- I-,” she’s heaving through her tears and Paige wishes she was with her; wishes she could wipe away her tears and hold her forever. 

“Azzi-”

“I haven’t been saying it back because- because-” Azzi pushes on, still struggling to speak but determined to say her piece, “I can’t okay? I can’t keep saying it Paige- I can’t keep telling you I miss you and hearing that you miss me when we can’t do anything about it. And I get it- okay- I get it. I get that you have to be with the team and I have to be here and do my rehab and we can’t- we can’t be together right but fuck- I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Azzi,” Paige says again helplessly. 

She hates it too; hates that it’s so close to Christmas, so close to Azzi’s favorite holiday and her girlfriend is sobbing. 

“Shit. I’m being a terrible girlfriend aren’t I? You have a game in a couple of hours and here I am being a fucking selfish wet wipe instead of wishing you luck. Fucking hell,” Azzi curses and Paige can picture her frantically pulling herself together as she tries to change her tone. 

“You could never be a terrible girlfriend,” Paige reassures softly. 

Azzi ignores her, “besides, we’ll see each other soon right? You’re gonna fly home from Toronto to Connecticut tomorrow and then come home to me after right? Just a couple more days,” and it sounds like she’s saying it more to herself than Paige, “just a few more days- few more hours really. We can do this.”

“Yeah,” Paige agrees but she can’t help but feel like even that’s too long and there’s a plan starting to form in her mind; a good use of all that NIL money she’s been earning. 

“I love you P,” Azzi says softly, and despite the heaviness from before, Paige can hear the smile in her voice, “see you soon baby.”

“I love you too Az. I’ll be home soon,” Paige replies, a large grin settling onto her face as she gets ready to bring her idea to fruition; knowing that for now, their soons don’t quite mean the same thing. 

***

Azzi thinks her parents and brother must have the patience of a saint. She’s acutely aware that she’s been a miserable grinch to be around; either ignoring them or answering them with tight one-word sentences. Since she’d come down to Virginia for her rehab, she’s kept herself holed down in her room, only coming out when absolutely necessary. The worst part of it, is that it’s her favorite time of the year and Azzi’s barely participated in all the little Christmas traditions -half of which had really been created by her- that she’d normally be excited to indulge in. 

She sighs, burrowing herself further into her pillows to block out the chatter of her family upstairs. In a couple of minutes, she’s sure one of them will come rushing downstairs, pleading for her to come join them as they make Christmas themed pancakes. And she’ll refuse -just as she has with every other fun little activity- and all though whoever’s been tasked with getting her out of her cave will persist a little longer, eventually they’ll give up, that awful look, tinged in both disappointment and pity, on their face as they go back upstairs with a promise to bring her a plate in a little bit. It’s a terrible routine that’s been on rinse and repeat and Azzi thinks she’d really like to break herself out of it, but it feels like she’s drowning in it instead, and there’s not a lifeboat in sight to pull her out of her misery. 

Turning on her side, Azzi reaches for her phone, flipping to Paige’s contact and her heart aches from their last conversation last night. God she’d been so selfish, venting like that knowing her girlfriend had a game in a couple of hours; knowing how stressful each game -no matter how easy the opponent- was with an injury-riddled team. But Paige had sounded so miserable when asking if Azzi still missed her that in a way it had been infectious and suddenly Azzi found herself letting her own hurt waterfall out of her lips. 

She scrunches her nose, eyebrows crinkling in confusion when she realizes that the last text she’d sent Paige before going to sleep  -a simple you did really good today baby, i’m proud of you right after the game- had gone unanswered. Azzi frowns, looking down at her phone as if her staring harder at it might just conjure up a message from her girlfriend. She’d fallen asleep almost right after sending it and it was unlike Paige to not have answered her by the time she woke up. Azzi rattles her brain, trying to remember if the blonde had mentioned any other plans -beyond a dinner with Aaliyah’s parents that wouldn’t have kept her from her phone- but she can’t remember anything. Briefly glancing at the time and knowing that Paige’s flight to Connectcut wasn’t supposed to leave for at least another three hours, Azzi hastily texts her girlfriend again, crossing her fingers behind her back in anticipation of a quick reply. 

Good morning Paigey <3 

She gives it exactly three minutes, stomach churning when she doesn’t get a reply. 

I miss you baby. 

Another four minutes and still no reply and Azzi starts to feel her head getting heavy with that familiar weight of over thinking. What if she’d overstepped last night? What if it was too much? What if Paige had decided that she couldn’t deal with Azzi and her crap anymore?

She can hear someone starting to hurry down the steps, the quickness making her think it’s probably one of her brother’s who’s been tasked with getting her out of her room this time. But Azzi keeps her focus on her phone, ready to reject whatever offer is about to be made. The door creaks open and she doesn’t look up, typing another message instead. 

I love you Paige. 

“I love you too Azzi.”

Azzi freezes at the sound of the oh so familiar voice, her gaze moving from her phone to the doorway in slow-motion. She blinks in disbelief, mouth falling open as she stares at the figure in her doorway, taking in the sight of a disheveled blonde ponytail, the custom UConn sweats draped on a body that’s radiating exhaustion but more than anything her eyes fixates on that smile, the one that’s always been just for her. 

“Paige,” she breathes out slowly, almost as if she’s scared that saying it will make the girl in front of her disappear like a dream. 

“Hi baby,” Paige says softly, casually pointing to her phone, “I got your message.”

“You’re here,” Azzi chokes out and then, louder, “you’re here oh my god, you’re really here,” she repeats, rushing to get out of bed, desperate to wrap her arms around Paige, to hold her and be held in return. 

“Hey, hey, hey wait baby careful,” Paige chides, her focus immediately on Azzi’s knee, “stay where you are-”

“What? Why?” Azzi pouts and that elicits a little laugh from Paige as she walks over to the brunette. 

“Because,” the older girl says quietly, as she crawls onto the bed and pulls Azzi onto her lap so the younger girl is straddling Paige’s hips, “I’m here.”

Azzi looks at her in awe, hand tracing the curves of Paige’s face like she still can’t quite believe this is real, “yeah,” she whispers, “you’re here.”

And then she’s kissing every inch of Paige’s skin that she can, memorizing the way it feels soft and smooth under her lips, trying to make up for all the lost time of the past few weeks and perhaps even for when she knows they’ll inevitably have to be separated again. Paige’s grip on her waist is tight, fingers gripping her like they’re scared to let go as she shivers under Azzi’s featherlight touch. 

“I’m here,” Paige repeats again before she guides Azzi’s lips onto her own into a feverish kiss that has both of them letting out a long-kept sigh of relief. 

It starts off innocent enough, the two of them savoring the moment, savoring the feeling of finally being in each other’s arms. But then Paige’s tongue is licking into Azzi’s mouth and the younger girl is grinding her hips in the way she knows will drive the blonde a little insane as Paige’s own hands find themselves roaming underneath Azzi’s pajama shirt, rubbing circles dangerously close to the edge of her sleep shorts. 

“Missed you- missed you so fucking much,” Azzi babbles as Paige’s mouth moves away from her lips to trail a series of kisses down her jaw, to her neck before nipping at her collarbone. 

“Me too- me fucking too,” Paige mutters between kisses as she soothes her tongue over the mark she’d just tattooed into Azzi’s skin with her teeth, eyes glazing over when it elicits a barely-concealed moan from the brunette’s lips. 

“Missed this,” Azzi groans, continuing to roll her body against Paige’s, and she thinks she could fall off the edge just like this, untouched and fully clothed. 

“I know, baby. I know,” Paige pants as she continues her assault on the young girl’s skin, “gonna take care of you. I swear. Gonna make up for everything tonight-”

“No now,” Azzi whines, hands tangling in Paige’s hair and pulling in a way that has the older girl groaning into the crook of her neck, “I need you now. I’ll be quiet, I swear. Paige please.”

“Fuck baby don’t say that. You know I can’t say no to you.”

“Then don’t say no to me,” Azzi responds with a smirk, one hand trailing down to gently flick against Paige’s nipples causing the blonde to let out a conflicted noise somewhere between pure arousal and reluctant protest. 

“I can’t,” she says finally, resting her head against Azzi’s shoulder as she purposefully grips the younger girl’s waist to keep her still. 

Azzi pouts, “why not?”

When Paige finally looks up at her, there’s a sheepish look on her face, “I made a bet with your brothers.”

“What?” 

“They said they hadn’t been able to get you out of your room and I said I could do it in ten minutes and they said it would take me a lot longer,” Paige says, hands moving animatedly and Azzi can’t help the fond smile that flitters onto her face. 

“So let me get this straight,” she says slowly, “we haven’t seen each other in weeks, haven’t fucked,” she purposefully grinds her hips down onto the other girl, “in weeks and you wanna delay it longer because you wanna win a bet against my brothers?”

Paige has the decency to look at least a little ashamed as she nods before giving Azzi a goofy grin, “yes? I love you?”

Azzi rolls her eyes as she slips off of Paige’s lap, already missing the warmth of being on top of the other girl, “can’t believe you’d rather win a bet than fuck me.”

“Nah,” Paige smirks as she stands up, her hands immediately inching themselves around Azzi’s waist, “I’d rather win a bet, use that money to get us a hotel tonight and then fuck you.”

“You’ve really thought this through haven’t you?” Azzi shakes her head, trying to hide her excitement at the idea of being in a hotel room -being alone, just the two of them- with Paige tonight. 

“Ten steps ahead always baby,” Paige grins as she presses her lips against Azzi’s, ending it quicker than either of them would like, “now hurry up so I can win this bet.”

But Azzi doesn’t move, instead she pulls Paige back into her, resting their foreheads together as she breathes in the scent of her girlfriend. 

“I’m really glad you’re home P,” she whispers and Paige smiles, gently rubbing her back, “didn’t feel like Christmas season without you.”

4. You’re all I need (underneath the tree) 

Azzi’s just putting on the finishing touches to her outfit -dangly gold hoops that Paige had gotten her just because- when she feels a pair of arms wrap around her middle, a warm body being pressed against her chest. She smiles, letting herself melt into her wife’s -God she loves being able to say that- touch, leaning her head back against Paige’s shoulder. 

“You look so pretty in that dress,” the older woman whispers into her ear as she runs her hands up and down the velvety red material covering Azzi’s body, “but you sure we have to go to your parents’ right now? Cause I think you’d look even better out of it.”

Azzi giggles; they’ve been together for almost nine years -known each other for even longer-  and yet every time Paige gives her a compliment, she feels her insides swooning, cheeks going red like she’s still a teenager whose crush is flirting with her. And she thinks this feeling will never go away, that the halo-like glow Paige’s mere presence casts around her will never fade because this love -this all-consuming sense of you’re it for me between them- is going to last forever. She’s sure of it. 

“Do you ever think of anything but sex?” Azzi rolls her eyes as she turns around in Paige’s arms, fingers immediately reaching up to fix the collar of Paige’s matching red shirt. 

Paige grins, “nah cause I’m always thinking about you and so by default I’m always thinking about sex.”

“You’re insatiable,” Azzi shakes her head. 

“Can you blame me when my wife looks like that?” Paige makes a show of looking up and down Azzi’s body, letting out a low appreciative whistle at the way the dress hugs her figure, the neckline dipping just low enough to stay respectable yet sexy. 

“You look pretty good yourself Bueckers,” Azzi hums as she grazes her teeth lightly against Paige’s neck, making the older woman shudder. 

“Careful Az,” Paige warns, the sultry lilt in her voice saying the exact opposite, “I might start getting the wrong idea.”

Azzi shrugs cheekily, “and what idea would that be?”

Paige smirks, gently tugging at Azzi’s dress to expose a shoulder before she’s attaching her lips to the newly uncovered patch of skin, “that maybe you want us to be late. Or better yet, maybe you don’t want us to go at all.”

Keening under the softness of Paige’s touch, Azzi reluctantly pushes the older woman away, and that might be worse because now she can see her eyes and the lust swimming in them makes her want to give into temptation. But they’re already running late and she has no desire to give their brother’s any teasing material, so she settles on stealing another kiss from Paige’s lips. 

“Go warm up the car,” she mutters against the blonde’s lips, gently squeezing her waist before she detaches from Paige and starts to fix her dress, “I’mma just do a quick double check and then be out.”

“Yes your highness,” Paige teases with a slight roll of her eyes before she’s grabbing both her and Azzi’s packed overnight bags and heading towards the car.  

Azzi smiles as she watches her go. As much as they joked about not going at all, both of them loved spending Christmas with their families, especially considering how the Fudds, Bueckers and everything in between had melded into one big one. Despite the fact that living in the DMV now meant that they saw at least someone in their family once a week, the idea of having everyone under the same roof was still thrilling nonetheless. 

Life had a funny way of working out. The plan had been set in motion since Azzi had been drafted to DC and although Paige had been tempted to stay in Minnesota -after all being the hometown hero picked with the no.1 pick had served her and the. team well for her first four rookie years, considering she’d helped them return to their former championship glory- they had ultimately decided that with most of their family in the DMV area, it made more sense for Paige to ask for a trade to DC than it did for Azzi to move to Minnesota. It hadn’t been the smoothest transition -they’d had their fair share of fights while making the decision and then adjusting to it- but they’d figure it out. They always did. Because as good as Paige and Azzi were at fighting with each other, they were even better at fighting for each other. 

Quickly going through the to-do-list in her brain, Azzi nods to herself as she silently checks off everything. She does a quick glance of her room, making sure that they’re not leaving anything they’d need, before reaching to grab her phone, just to text her parents that they were on their own way. Instead her eyes catch on an email notification, her heart beating erratically when she reads the name of the sender. 

Fingers fidgeting with the heart necklace Paige had gotten her years ago, Azzi slowly clicks on the notification as anticipation burns throughout her whole body. She tries to steady her breathing as she scans through it, reading each line carefully and she almost drops her phone, large hot tears dripping down her cheeks as she reaches the end of it. Her chest feels heavy with an unknown feeling and she knows she needs to get to Paige, but her feet are rooted to their spot. 

“Baby,” she hears her wife call out, followed by the sound of Paige’s footsteps climbing up the stairs, “you ready yet? The car’s already- oh my god baby what’s wrong?”

Azzi looks up from her phone to find Paige standing in the doorway. Concern floods the older woman’s sharp features as she rushes over to her, hands running all over Azzi’s body as she tries to figure out what’s wrong. 

“Az? Baby? What’s going on? What happened,” Paige asks urgently, “baby please you’re scaring me. What’s wrong,” her eyes drop to the phone in Azzi’s hands as her voice gets desperate, “did someone say something? Do I need to go kill somebody? Fuck baby please don’t cry. Tell me what’s wrong? I swear I’ll fix it but you gotta tell me baby. Please.”

Wordlessly, Azzi hands over her phone. Paige’s expression is confused and apprehensive -maybe even a little preemptively angry- as she takes the device from her wife’s hand. Azzi watches as recognition dawn of the blonde’s face when she spots the familiar e-mail address; watches as her wife goes through the same emotions she had reading through the email. When Paige finally looks back at her, her own eyes are brimming with tears. 

“Baby,” she says breathlessly, “this- I- we-,” she chokes back a sob, her voice so quiet in comparison to the loud enigma that is Paige Bueckers-Fudd, “we’re gonna be Moms?”

Azzi nods, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks as she finally manages to open her mouth, “yeah- yeah we are. Paige, we’re gonna have a baby. No two,” she corrects herself, remembering the exact words of the e-mail, “we’re gonna have two babies. Twins.”

And it’s unclear who moves first -it doesn’t really matter- but then they’re in each other’s arms, trying to hold each other as tightly as physically possible as their tears and smiles begin to blend into one. It had been a couple of months since they’d started the adoption process and they’d gone through every stage, slightly scared that something would go wrong. But they’d passed every background and family and personality check rather easily and it was this last part, the wait to hear about a child -well children- that needed them that had been the hardest of it. And now here it was, the last brushstroke that would complete the picture they’d started painting when they were fifteen. Two babies that would complete them. 

“You’re gonna be such a good Mom,” Paige mutters against Azzi’s hair, “god Azzi, baby I can’t wait to see you with our babies -fuck- our babies. Fuck baby I don’t know what you got me but I’m afraid it’s gonna have to be second best Christmas present I’m getting this year. 

Azzi laughs breathlessly, her face still buried in Paige’s neck, “think it’s gonna be the best Christmas present ever,” she slowly lifts her head so she can brush away the tears from under her wife’s eyes, “I love you. I wouldn’t wanna do this with anyone but you.”

Paige presses her lips against Azzi’s forehead, “me too baby. I love you so fucking much. You, me and our babies. It’s all I’m ever gonna want, all I’m ever gonna need.”

5. All I want (for Christmas is you) 

There’s a lot going on in her house right now -the chatter of family and friends mingling with the sounds of Christmas Carols blaring from the speakers, the mixed aroma of a well-cooked meal and freshly baked desserts, the twinkly lights strung all around the house blinking in different colors- but Paige’s entire attention is across the room where both of her two children are hanging off of her wife like baubles on a Christmas tree. Miles is situated on her lap, his head buried in his favorite place, between Azzi’s neck and shoulder. Sienna, always slightly more independent, has one hand wrapped around her mother’s ankle while she sits on the floor, her focus squarely on a princess coloring book. It’s a sight that will never stop making Paige’s heart swell with pride and happiness, her wife with their kids. 

Slowly excusing herself from the conversation she’d been having with a relative, Paige makes her way over to her family -to her whole world- with a soft smile on her face. She sits down next to her wife, placing a kiss to her temple that makes Azzi smile, before pressing one to her son’s forehead over the younger woman’s shoulder, before finally picking her daughter off the floor onto her lap and giving Sienna a kiss on her cheek. 

“Hi family,” she whispers and she thinks that if she could choose to have one picture ingrained in her mind forever, it would be a picture of the three smiles she gets in return. Miles’s is sleepy yet so sincere, Sienna’s is toothy and wide and Azzi’s- we’ll Azzi’s is exactly like it’s been since they were fifteen. It’s her Paige smile, one that is bright and beautiful and magnificent and filled with the promise of i’ll love you forever. 

“Mama look,” Sienna coos, shoving her picture in front of Paige’s face, “I color a p-incess.”

“It’s beautiful Si-Si,” Paige says warmly, “I think it should probably go on the fridge once everybody’s gone home yeah?”

Azzi snorts, her voice dropping so only her wife can hear, “baby, I don’t think there’s any more space left on the fridge considering you’ve been putting up every single thing they’ve ever colored or made.”

“I’ll make space,” Paige says haughtily, “everything they make is fridge-worthy.”

Azzi shakes her head fondly but Paige knows that despite her words, she’ll be right there by her side tonight to help her make space on their rather cluttered fridge so that they could hang Sienna’s new masterpiece somewhere on it. 

“Mi’s close to falling asleep,” Azzi gestures to the little boy in her arms who’s clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, “I think we should probably let them open their Christmas Eve presents now.”

Despite Azzi trying to keep her tone to a whisper, Sienna’s ears perk up at the word “present” and she turns on Paige’s lap to face her Moms with large, hopeful eyes, “it’s pwesent time?”

“Yeah sweetheart. It's present time, but only one okay?” Paige taps Sienna’s nose gently, laughing when the little girl nods diligently and then squeals with excitement, rushing off of her mother’s lap so she can tell anyone within earshot that it’s time to open presents. 

“I was gonna tell you to get everybody but I think she’s got it. She’s got your vocal chords for sure,” Azzi nudges Paige’s shoulder teasingly before coaxing Miles’ head out her neck, “you ready to open a present Mi?”

Miles yawns and Paige can’t help but coo at how cute he looks as he stretches in his mother’s arms. It fascinates her, how despite being twins, Miles and Sienna sometimes feel like they’re years apart. And she knows they're only 3 years old, and she knows that they’ll both change over time but Paige thinks that the difference in their personalities makes them fit together even more beautifully. Sienna had a protective streak, always ready to shield her demure brother and Miles had a knack from calming Sienna down, always ready to comfort his boisterous sister. 

“MI,” Sienna yells as she tugs on her twin brother’s arm, having somehow already gathered their family into the living room, “wake up Mi. Time to open a Ch-istmas Eve pwesent.”

“I coming Si-Si,” Miles says softly as he finally waddles off of Azzi’s lap, tiredly rubbing his eyes as he follows his sister towards the barrage of Christmas presents underneath the tree. Their mothers scooch off of the couch to stand closer to the tree, Paige wrapping her arms around Azzi from behind as she hooks her chin over her wife’s shoulder. 

“Alright Si-Si,” Tim says, his eyes twinkling as he looks down at his granddaughter, “remember, you should always pick the biggest present to open on Christmas Eve!”

Sienna’s eyes widen as she takes in her grandfather’s words before her gaze drifts towards the presents, scouting for the biggest one of them all. Paige drinks in the joy on her daughter’s face when she finally spots a large box that might just be taller than she is. 

“That one!” Sienna says gleefully as she practically climbs over the rest of the gifts to get to her chosen one. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out, her voice laced with hints of worry as she watches her daughter try to pick up the present that’s clearly heavier than she is. 

“Uncle Drew,” Sienna croaks out, turning to Paige’s brother as she realizes just how big the present she’d chosen is, “help me pease!”

Drew laughs, wading through the sea of presents to get to his niece as he sedulously sits down to help her unwrap the gift. Paige tightens her grip around Azzi in anticipation as she watches for her daughter’s reaction. The twins are old enough this year to really understand their gifts and even though Paige is sure she knows them well enough -they’re her babies for fuck’s sake- to have gotten them present they’d love, she’s still a little scared they wouldn’t.

“Relax baby,” Azzi leans her head back to whisper into the blonde’s ear, having noticed the way Paige is fidgeting with the sleeve of the brunette’s sweater, “she’s gonna love it. She’s our daughter. We know her.”

Paige presses a delicate kiss against the back of her wife’s neck, “you always say the right thing.”

“Because I know you,” Azzi says softly, eyes crinkling in the corner as she smiles at Paige.

They’re broken out of their reverie by their daughter screaming in excitement as she finally uncovers her present -a barbie basketball court-, and just like Azzi had predicted she would, she says, “I love it, I love it, I love it. Thank you Mama, thank you Mommy!”

Paige and Azzi laugh, opening their arms in tandem for Sienna to rush into, “we’re glad you like it Si-Si.”

“I love it,” Sienna corrects as she gives each of them a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

“My turn now?” a meek voice cuts in and everyone's eyes fall onto Miles, who cowers slightly at having everyone’s attention. 

“Yeah it is,” Paige grins at her son, tickling him lightly in the stomach before pushing him towards the presents, “pick whichever one you want to open Mi.”

Miles chews at his bottom lip, cautiously observing the huge pile of presents before turning to his Mothers’ with a way expression and Paige has to hide her grin, knowing exactly what he’s about to ask. 

“Too many,” Miles says, bouncing nervously on his tiny little feet, “you help me pick pease Mama.”

Paige laughs as she gathers the little boy in her arms but not before she’s whispering in Azzi’s ear, “think he might be more indecisive than you baby,” which earns her a slight elbow to the stomach before she nods at her son, “of course I’ll help you pick sweetheart.”

She pretends to make a big show of searching for the right present, observing her son’s facial expression before she sees his eyes light up a little when she grabs a medium-sized blue one. 

“Aha!” Paige yells triumphantly, causing all the adults in the room to snicker at her antiques, “think you should open this one Mi.”

Miles grins as he makes grabby hands towards the present in his mother’s hand. It takes him approximately four and a half seconds to rip off all the wrapping paper and his eyes marvel at the gift in his hands. 

“Teddy,” Miles says in awe as he clutches the cuddly stuffed toy to his chest. 

“Yeah it is baby,” Azzi nods as she kneels down next to the little boy, “here,” she points towards the blue heart on his chest, “how about you squeeze it?”

Miles does as he is told, squeezing the teddy-bear’s heart as tightly as he can and it starts to glow. Paige and Azzi’s voices ring out through the room, singing -slightly off-key- Miles’s favorite lullaby. The little boy’s eyes widen when he realizes the sound isn’t coming from his Mothers', both of whom have their mouths closed, but from the teddy-bear’s heart. 

“Now, whenever you’re scared at night in your big boy bed, you can just squeeze teddy and it’ll be like Mommy and Mama are already there with you,” Azzi says softly as she brushes her hands through her son’s hair, “you like it Mi?”

“I’m gonna call it MoMa,” Miles says in lieu of an answer as he beams up at Paige and Azzi, “like Mommy and Mama but MoMa.”

Paige laughs, her eyes suddenly starting to feel a little wet, as she wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist, watching her children fawn over the presents they’d just opened. There’s plenty more left and she’s excited to watch their reaction to opening the others but the first ones are always just a little more special. And whether it was giving Sienna a basketball court, or giving Miles a version of their voices, through these gifts they’d tried to give their children a part of themselves. 

“Hey,” Azzi snaps Paige out of her trance, her hand reaching down to intertwine with Paige’s as she begins to pull her away from their family, “come with me for a second.”

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her chest, smirking as she follows her wife upstairs, “are you sneaking me into our bedroom to have a quickie? While our family and our children are right downstairs?”

Azzi  turns to her with a cheeky grin as they enter their bedroom, tracing a finger down Paige’s arm, “would you object if I was?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. Let’s do it,” Paige waggles her eyebrows, pulling Azzi into her chest but the younger woman immediately shrugs herself out of it as she goes into their closet instead, “oh okay then, leave me high and dry on fucking Christmas Eve.”

“Shut up,” Azzi chides, still rummaging through drawers before she finally emerges from the mahogany doors with a small silver box, walking back to Paige with a small smile on her face, “I figured you should get to open a present tonight too.”

“Well the present I was hoping to unwrap was you-” her joke is cut off by Azzi laughing. 

“Baby please, you are way too old to be saying that shit.”

“Hey,” Paige says with mock offense, “first of all, I’m not that old and second of all, you’re never too old to be flirting with your wife.”

“First of all, it’s okay that you’re old baby, I like them a little older,” Azzi smirks, “and second of all, you are if the flirting's that corny and third of all,” she gives Paige a pointed look when the other woman open her mouth to counter, “shut up and open your present.”

“Still so bossy aren’t you princess?” Paige shakes her head but she does as she told, delicately removing the lid from the box and gasping when she sees the necklace inside, “baby, it’s beautiful.”

The necklace is similar to the engagement ring she’d gotten for Azzi, not the one from the fair all those years ago, but the real one. It’s a simple enough chain with a heart shaped diamond-encrusted locket, except on either side of the heart, the chain is looped into two infinity symbols. 

“Open it,” Azzi says softly. 

“What?” Paige asks, still staring dazedly at the dainty jewelry in her hands. 

“The heart,” Azzi points to the locket, “it opens.”

Paige does as she’s told, delicately using her nails to pull apart the locket and a fresh set of tears brim in her eyes when she sees what’s inside. On one side of the heart is a picture of Miles and Sienna, the twins grinning at the camera and Paige remembers the exact moment she’d taken it. On the other side, is a picture of Paige and Azzi; specifically a picture of their kiss at their wedding. 

“Baby,” Paige says again, uncannily lost for words. 

“You’re really fucking hard to shop for you know that?” Azzi says slowly, her own eyes glistening with moisture  “like what do you even get someone who basically has everything because you know- like you always say- we’re your everything -all you could ever want is me, Miles and Sienna- and we’re already yours, just like you’re already ours. And so I figured I’d just give you a reminder of it, something you can always keep with you so you always know.” 

“It’s perfect,” Paige breathes out as she holds the locker out towards Azzi, “put it on me?”

Azzi grins as Paige turns around and the blonde watches through the mirror as the chain is placed carefully around her neck and her wife firmly clasps it together before placing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. 

“I love you,” Azzi whispers when Paige turns back around, “for eternity.”

“I love you,” Paige whispers back, pulling her wife flush against her chest, the locket with her world hanging between them, “to eternity and beyond.”

[w1w2]

Bored

Part 1 - Paradise on Venus | Part 2 | Part 3

Ningning x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 9k

Synopsis: At university, Y/N’s world is turned upside down when she meets Ningning, a magnetic musician with a reputation for breaking hearts.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The campus buzzed with life as the late afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed quad. Students shuffled between classes and study groups, the muffled hum of conversation blending with the rustling of autumn leaves. In the heart of the engineering building, where the faint scent of solder and oil clung to the air, Y/N sat at her workstation.

The lab was a chaotic symphony of whirring machines and scattered blueprints. Y/N leaned over her desk, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully adjusted the wires on a small circuit board. A faint smile tugged at her lips as the LED light flickered to life, signaling her success. “Finally,” she murmured to herself, tucking a loose strand of her natural brown hair behind her ear. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, streaked with faint smudges of graphite from an earlier sketch. She had always thought of herself as more practical than glamorous, but her bright smile and soft, heart-shaped face had a way of catching people off guard.

“Y/N, you’re a miracle worker,” said Chaewon, sliding onto a stool beside her. Chaewon’s clipboard was crammed with notes, and her sharp, focused expression softened with a grin. “I’ve been staring at that thing for three days, and I still don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s just practice,” Y/N replied with a modest shrug, her tone light and teasing. “And maybe a little caffeine.”

Chaewon smirked. “A little? That thermos of yours could fuel an entire marathon.”

Y/N grinned and took a sip of her coffee, the warm liquid fueling her for the hours of work still ahead. Despite her cheerful demeanor, she had a focused intensity when it came to her projects, a quality that had earned her respect among her peers. Yet outside her small circle of friends, Y/N often felt a bit shy, preferring the quiet comfort of her lab over the bustling chaos of campus life.

The lab door swung open, and Yunjin sauntered in, carrying a half-empty bubble tea. Her caramel-colored hair was swept into a loose bun, and she looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had a project deadline looming. “What’s up, nerds?” she said, flopping onto a chair and kicking her feet up on the edge of Chaewon’s desk.

“Yunjin, if you spill that tea on anything, I swear—” Chaewon began, her voice laced with exasperation.

“Relax, boss,” Yunjin interrupted with a playful grin. “I’m just here to deliver the latest campus gossip. Did you hear about Ningning?”

Chaewon rolled her eyes, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What about her?”

Yunjin leaned in conspiratorially, her tone dripping with drama. “She’s already moved on from that junior in drama. Apparently, they lasted all of two weeks. I heard she dumped them during their coffee date. Brutal.”

Y/N didn’t look up from her work, but she felt Chaewon nudge her with an elbow. “You’ve heard about Ningning, right?” Chaewon asked, lowering her voice. “The ‘heartbreaker’?”

“I think everyone has,” Y/N replied, her tone dismissive. “It’s hard not to when people won’t stop talking about her.”

Yunjin snickered. “Well, it’s not like she doesn’t deserve the title. Ningning’s a legend. Boys, girls, it doesn’t matter. She charms them all, and then poof, she’s onto the next.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Y/N said, tightening a screw on her circuit board.

“She’s not all bad,” Yunjin added with a shrug. “I mean, she’s gorgeous, and have you heard her sing? It’s like.. wow. I’d let her break my heart just for the experience.”

Chaewon groaned. “Please. You’d fall for anyone with a guitar.”

“True,” Yunjin said with a laugh. “But Ningning’s different. She’s like...irresistible, you know?”

Y/N finally glanced up, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Are we done with the Ningning fan club meeting? Some of us are trying to work.”

Yunjin held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Don’t get all grumpy. But seriously, Y/N, if she ever sets her sights on you, good luck. She’s like a black hole. No escape.”

Chaewon chuckled but quickly sobered. “Honestly, though, it’s better to stay out of her orbit. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone coming out of a thing with her unscathed.”

Y/N shrugged, her attention back on her project. “Not my problem. I’m not interested in distractions.”

“That’s the spirit,” Chaewon said with a small smile. “Engineering comes first.”

But even as Y/N joked, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder about the girl everyone seemed so fascinated by. Who was Ningning, really? Was she as shallow and fickle as the rumors claimed, or was there more to her than met the eye? The thoughts were fleeting, though, easily dismissed as Y/N immersed herself in her work.

The sun outside had dipped below the horizon by the time Y/N packed up her tools and slung her bag over her shoulder. The lab had emptied out, save for a few die-hard students hunched over their desks. As she stepped outside, the crisp evening air nipped at her cheeks, and the distant sound of laughter floated through the campus. For a moment, she paused to take it all in, the golden glow of streetlights, the murmured hum of conversations, the faint notes of music from a nearby dorm window.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from her reverie. It was Chaewon, already texting about their group project for the next week. Y/N smiled and typed out a quick reply, her thoughts shifting back to the familiar rhythm of deadlines and diagrams. She had no time for campus drama, and certainly no time for girls like Ningning.

As Y/N made her way back to her dorm, she couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation from passing students. Ningning’s name seemed to crop up everywhere, a casual remark here, a whispered comment there. It was as if the girl was woven into the very fabric of campus life. But Y/N shook her head, brushing the thoughts away. Whatever allure Ningning held for others, it wasn’t something she planned to get tangled in.

By the time Y/N reached her room, the campus was quiet, the night settling in like a soft blanket. She set her bag down, stretched, and let out a contented sigh. Her world was simple, structured, and predictable, just the way she liked it.

The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of cups filled the cozy coffee shop tucked away in a quiet corner of campus. Its warm, amber lighting and mismatched furniture gave it a charming, lived-in feel, a favorite spot for students seeking a moment of peace amidst their hectic schedules. Y/N had claimed a corner table near the window, a cup of steaming coffee by her side as she thumbed through her notebook, sketching ideas for her next project.

Outside, the late autumn sun filtered through the glass, casting golden streaks across her notebook. She absentmindedly tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear, her focus entirely on the intricate lines forming on the page. It was one of the rare moments where she could block out the noise of the world and lose herself in her work.

Ningning had originally come in for a quick espresso to recharge between classes, but her attention snagged the moment she spotted Y/N by the window. She paused mid-step, her espresso order forgotten. Y/N’s quiet focus and natural beauty, framed by the warm glow of sunlight, were magnetic. Ningning tilted her head, her curiosity piqued.

The infamous heartbreaker was no stranger to attention, she thrived in it, danced in it, but there was something about Y/N that felt different. Ningning wasn’t used to people who radiated warmth but still seemed just out of reach, like sunlight on a cold day. Intrigued, she smoothed down her sweater and made her way over.

“Hey there,” Ningning said, leaning slightly against Y/N’s table with a casual confidence that turned heads. Her voice was light, playful, but with an unmistakable undercurrent of interest. “Mind if I join you?”

Y/N blinked, momentarily startled out of her thoughts. She glanced up, her eyes locking with Ningning’s. The other girl was striking, her dark hair framing her round face and her full lips curved into a disarming smile. It took Y/N a beat longer than she’d like to process the question.

“Oh, uh...” Y/N’s gaze flicked to the empty seat opposite her, then back to Ningning. “Sure?”

Ningning slipped into the seat, her movements as smooth as silk. “Thanks. I promise I’m not here to interrupt your work. You just seemed... interesting.”

Y/N arched a brow, her caution immediately flaring. “Interesting?”

“Yeah,” Ningning said, resting her chin on her hand as she studied Y/N openly. “You’ve got this whole focused but 'lost in your own world' vibe going on. It’s refreshing.”

Y/N wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so she simply offered a polite smile and closed her notebook. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“We haven’t,” Ningning said, extending a hand across the table. “I’m Ningning. But you can call me Ning. Everyone does.”

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking her hand. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Ningning repeated, her lips curling around the name like it was something to savor. “Cute name. It suits you.”

Y/N felt a faint heat rise to her cheeks and quickly looked down at her coffee. “Thanks.”

“So, what are you working on?” Ningning asked, gesturing to the notebook.

“Just some ideas for a project,” Y/N replied, keeping her answer deliberately vague. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to share the details of her engineering concepts with a stranger, even one as charming as Ningning.

Ningning, however, didn’t seem deterred by the lack of information. If anything, it seemed to amuse her. “Ah, the mysterious type,” she teased, her tone light. “I like that.”

Y/N glanced at her, trying to gauge her intentions. Ningning’s reputation echoed in her mind like a warning bell, but her demeanor, bright, playful, and somehow sincere, was disarming. Still, Y/N wasn’t about to let her guard down so easily.

“Not mysterious,” Y/N said, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Just focused.”

“Focused is good,” Ningning said, leaning back in her chair. “Focused means you’ve got your priorities straight. Let me guess.. engineering major?”

Y/N blinked. “How did you—?”

“It’s the vibe,” Ningning said with a grin. “The notebook, the intense concentration, the... thermos of coffee that could probably wake the dead. Am I right?”

Y/N chuckled softly despite herself. “You’re not wrong.”

“I knew it,” Ningning said, looking genuinely pleased with herself. “What kind of project? Robots? Cool gadgets? Something to save the world?”

“Something like that,” Y/N replied, her smile lingering. There was an ease to Ningning’s presence that was hard to ignore, even as her logical mind screamed at her to be cautious.

“So, what’s an engineering genius like you doing in a coffee shop? Don’t you have, like, a secret lair with lasers and blueprints or something?” Ningning’s tone was teasing, but her eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity.

Y/N shook her head, a laugh escaping her. “Even geniuses need coffee breaks.”

“Well, I’m glad you took one,” Ningning said, her voice softening just enough to make Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Y/N felt her caution flare again. She straightened in her seat, the faint smile slipping from her face. “You seem pretty good at this,” she said, her tone measured.

Ningning tilted her head. “At what?”

“Talking,” Y/N said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Making people feel like the center of the universe. Charming them.”

Ningning’s smile widened, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her gaze, respect, perhaps, or maybe just intrigue. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I guess it depends on your intentions,” Y/N replied, her voice steady.

Ningning leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting to one of playful challenge. “And what do you think my intentions are?”

Y/N met her gaze evenly. “I don’t know. But I’m not exactly interested in finding out.”

Ningning chuckled, a low, melodic sound that made Y/N’s resolve waver just a little. “Fair enough. But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“Oh?” Y/N said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not good at talking,” Ningning said, her smile taking on a mischievous edge. “I’m just good at finding interesting people. And you, Y/N... you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a while.”

Y/N wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or wary, so she settled for a polite nod. “Thanks, I guess.”

Ningning stood, her movements as fluid as when she’d arrived. “I should let you get back to your work. But I’m glad I came over.”

Y/N watched as she slid her chair back into place, her heart still beating a little faster than she’d like. “Thanks for stopping by,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

Ningning lingered for a moment, her gaze flickering over Y/N one last time. “I’ll see you around, Y/N,” she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m sure of it.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Y/N staring after her, a mix of curiosity and unease swirling in her chest. She shook her head, trying to focus on her notebook, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Ningning’s parting smile. Something about it told her this wasn’t the last time their paths would cross.

The days that followed their first encounter were, at first, unremarkable. Y/N busied herself with projects, classes, and her usual routine, convincing herself that the brief moment with Ningning was a one-off, a random meeting with no deeper implications. But she should have known better.

The first “coincidence” happened the next morning. Y/N had just found a seat in the campus library when Ningning appeared at the end of the aisle, a book in hand and a curious smile on her lips.

“Engineering, huh?” Ningning said, holding up the title. Fundamentals of Robotics.

Y/N blinked, then glanced at her own open textbook. “Let me guess.. you’re expanding your horizons?”

Ningning chuckled, slipping into the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. “Something like that. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a faint smile despite herself. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Always,” Ningning said, setting the book down. “So, how’s the genius project coming along?”

Y/N hesitated but found herself answering. “Still in the planning phase. It’s nothing exciting yet.”

“Everything you do seems exciting,” Ningning said, resting her chin on her hand.

Y/N shook her head, trying to fight the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet,” Ningning replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

The encounters continued. A few days later, Y/N opened her notebook after a lecture, ready to jot down a few ideas that had struck her during class. As she flipped the pages, a small, folded note fluttered out and landed on her desk.

She picked it up, her brow furrowing in confusion. The handwriting was neat but playful, the letters looping elegantly across the page.

Y/N,

Don’t work too hard, save some time for coffee with me.

-Ning

Y/N stared at the note, her heart doing an uncomfortable flip. She turned it over, half-expecting to find more, but there was nothing except a phone number scrawled at the bottom.

She glanced around the lecture hall, half-expecting to see Ningning watching her from the doorway or the back of the room, but there was no sign of her. When had Ningning slipped this into her notebook?

The thought made her stomach flutter, though she quickly shook her head, dismissing the feeling.

For the rest of the day, the note lingered in her thoughts. Every time she opened her notebook, the looping letters seemed to taunt her. She told herself it was ridiculous to even consider texting Ningning. What would she say? And wasn’t this exactly the kind of thing she was trying to avoid?

But by the time she was back in her dorm room, the curiosity had become unbearable. Against her better judgment, she typed out a quick message and hit send.

So, when exactly did you sneak this into my notebook?

The reply came almost instantly, and Y/N’s pulse quickened as she read the response.

Let’s just say I have my ways. Don’t worry, your friends approve.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress a small smile. She could practically hear Ningning’s teasing tone through the words on the screen.

I’m busy, she typed back, hoping the simple response would end the conversation before it could begin.

Ningning’s reply was quick and disarmingly bold Then I’ll wait until you’re not.

Y/N stared at her phone, unsure whether to laugh or groan. The sheer audacity of the girl was both infuriating and, admittedly, a little charming. She didn’t reply, but as she set her phone aside, she realized her lips had quirked into an involuntary smile.

It wasn’t long before Ningning escalated her efforts. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to know where Y/N would be.

One day, Y/N stopped by the campus café for a quick lunch between classes. The place was crowded, and she barely managed to snag a small table near the corner. As she unwrapped her sandwich, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Mind if I join you?”

Y/N looked up to see Ningning standing there with a tray, her easygoing grin as disarming as ever.

“Do I have a choice?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Ningning said cheerfully, sliding into the seat opposite her before Y/N could protest.

Y/N sighed but didn’t object. “Do you always invite yourself to people’s tables?”

“Only when the company is worth it,” Ningning replied, taking a sip of her iced coffee.

Despite herself, Y/N chuckled softly. Ningning’s confidence was relentless, but there was something about her energy that was hard to resist.

Over the next few weeks, the “coincidences” multiplied. Ningning appeared at the library while Y/N studied, waved to her across the quad, and once even “accidentally” ended up on the same bench as Y/N during a quiet moment by the campus fountain.

But sometimes, Ningning’s efforts weren’t subtle at all.

Y/N was midway through demonstrating her prototype at an engineering open house when she spotted Ningning at the back of the crowd. Dressed casually but effortlessly chic, Ningning stood out among the sea of students and faculty, her confident stance and bright expression impossible to miss.

Y/N’s hand faltered on her pointer, and she almost dropped it. Her heart raced as Ningning caught her eye, offering a small thumbs-up and a supportive smile.

Somehow, Y/N made it through the demonstration without completely losing her composure. As the crowd dispersed, she packed up her materials, only to find Ningning approaching her with that same infuriatingly charming grin.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Ningning said, her admiration evident.

Y/N sighed, trying to hide her flustered state. “What are you doing here, Ning?”

“Supporting a friend,” Ningning replied, her tone playful but her gaze sincere.

“We’re not friends,” Y/N said, though the conviction in her voice was notably weak.

“Not yet,” Ningning shot back, her persistence unwavering.

Y/N shook her head, unsure whether to feel annoyed or flattered. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I see something worth chasing,” Ningning replied, her smile softening.

The words lingered between them, and for a moment, Y/N wasn’t sure how to respond. There was something undeniably genuine in the way Ningning looked at her, like she wasn’t just chasing a thrill, but something deeper.

But the thought only made Y/N’s guard go up. She wasn’t about to be another name on Ningning’s list, no matter how charming the girl was.

Still, as Ningning waved goodbye and disappeared into the crowd, Y/N couldn’t help but feel that strange, persistent flutter in her chest.

As the days went on, Y/N found herself reluctantly softening. It was hard to remain indifferent in the face of Ningning’s unwavering attention. She wasn’t just charming, she was thoughtful in a way Y/N hadn’t expected, always finding small ways to brighten her day.

One rainy afternoon, Y/N was hunched over her laptop in the library, attempting to meet a looming project deadline. She barely noticed the pattering of the rain against the windows until a familiar figure slid into the chair across from her.

“Do you ever take a break?” Ningning asked, setting down a steaming cup of coffee in front of Y/N.

Y/N looked up, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t overwork yourself,” Ningning said simply, flashing a grin as she pushed the cup closer. “Black, just how you like it. And don’t tell me you’re too busy to drink it.”

Y/N hesitated but wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. “Thanks,” she said softly, her defenses cracking just a little more.

Moments like these became routine. A text to check in, a random gift of coffee, a casual conversation that managed to feel disarmingly intimate. Ningning had a way of slipping past Y/N’s walls without forcing her way in.

One day, Ningning invited her to a quiet café just off campus. “I’ll buy,” she offered, waving a hand at the menu.

Y/N hesitated. “You don’t have to keep buying me coffee, you know.”

“But I like spoiling you,” Ningning replied with a wink.

Y/N sighed but eventually agreed, telling herself it was just coffee.

The café was warm and inviting, its walls lined with mismatched bookshelves and vintage posters. They found a table by the window, and as they settled in, the conversation flowed with surprising ease.

Over steaming mugs, Ningning opened up about her love of music. She shared stories of late nights spent writing lyrics, the thrill of performing on stage, and the bittersweet moments of fame.

“It’s like chasing a high,” Ningning said, her voice softer than usual as she traced the rim of her mug with her fingertip. “Every time I finish a song or get on stage, it feels like nothing else matters. But sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever find something that lasts.”

The vulnerability in her words caught Y/N off guard. For a moment, the infamous heartbreaker seemed achingly human.

Y/N tilted her head, studying Ningning’s expression. “Why do you think that?”

Ningning smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe because nothing ever has. It’s always temporary, people, places, even feelings. Like they’re just waiting to fade.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She wanted to ask more, to probe deeper into the guarded part of Ningning’s heart, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she offered her own honesty.

“What about you?” Ningning asked, her gaze steady. “What do you want out of all this? School, life, everything?”

Y/N paused, caught off guard by the question. “I guess... I just want to create something meaningful,” she admitted. “Something that makes a difference.”

Ningning’s eyes softened, and for once, her smile wasn’t teasing. “I think you will,” she said simply, and the sincerity in her voice left Y/N momentarily speechless.

Despite her better judgment, Y/N began to let her guard down. Ningning’s presence became a constant. A text in the morning, a casual greeting between classes, an unexpected but welcome companion during study sessions.

Y/N started to look forward to their encounters, even if she wouldn’t admit it aloud. Ningning had a way of making her laugh, of drawing her out of her shell with effortless charm. But even as Y/N grew to appreciate Ningning’s wit, humor, and surprising depth, a part of her remained cautious.

The stories lingered in the back of her mind, a whispered warning she couldn’t quite ignore. She’d heard them all. The trail of broken hearts, the fleeting connections, the people left wondering if they’d ever really known Ningning at all.

One evening, as Y/N lay in bed scrolling through her phone, a message lit up her screen.

You’re still awake, right?

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. What makes you think that? she typed back.

You’re too much of a workaholic to sleep early.

Y/N laughed softly to herself, shaking her head. Guilty.

Good. Meet me tomorrow after class?

Y/N hesitated. She’d avoided labeling whatever was happening between them, but Ningning’s persistence was wearing down her defenses.

Okay, she finally replied.

The next day, Ningning greeted her outside the lecture hall with her signature grin and a coffee in hand, black, just the way Y/N liked it.

“See?” Ningning said, handing it over. “I’m learning.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like it,” Ningning shot back, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Y/N shook her head, but her smile lingered. “Maybe a little.”

Their conversation meandered as they walked across campus together. Ningning pointed out little details Y/N had never noticed before, a graffiti heart etched onto a lamppost, the way the sunlight hit the clock tower just right at this time of day.

“You look like you’re always in your head,” Ningning said at one point, glancing at her. “I like pulling you out of it.”

Y/N paused, caught off guard by the comment. “Why?”

“Because I think there’s more to you than you let people see,” Ningning replied, her voice unusually soft. “And I want to know all of it.”

The words left Y/N speechless, her chest tightening in a way she didn’t fully understand. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she settled for a simple, quiet, “Maybe someday.”

Ningning’s smile widened, but she didn’t push further. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel tangled in Ningning’s orbit. The girl was a paradox. Effortlessly confident yet disarmingly vulnerable, playful one moment and achingly sincere the next. Y/N found herself watching for Ningning in places she hadn’t before, her presence sparking a warmth that was hard to ignore.

Still, the uncertainty lingered. Late at night, when the world was still and her thoughts had nowhere to hide, Y/N’s doubts crept in. She’d heard the stories, the whispers of people who had been swept up in Ningning’s charm, only to be left wondering if they’d ever meant anything at all.

Was she just another chapter in the same story? A fleeting thrill for someone who never stayed?

The question weighed heavy, but Ningning’s pull was undeniable. Every smile, every shared laugh, every fleeting touch sent a quiet hum through Y/N’s chest.

And no matter how cautious she tried to be, a small, stubborn hope flickered inside her. Maybe, just maybe, this time was different.

Over the next few weeks, Ningning’s presence shifted from surprising to familiar, her gestures taking on a quiet intimacy that Y/N couldn’t ignore.

One afternoon, Ningning showed up outside Y/N’s lecture hall with a guitar slung over her shoulder. Y/N frowned as she approached, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s with the guitar?” Y/N asked, falling into step beside her.

“You’ll see,” Ningning said cryptically, leading her toward the quad. They stopped under a large oak tree, the branches casting dappled shadows over the grass. Ningning sat down and patted the spot beside her.

Curious, Y/N followed, tucking her legs beneath her. Ningning adjusted the guitar on her lap and strummed a few chords, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

“I wrote something for you,” Ningning said, glancing at Y/N with a small, almost shy smile.

“For me?” Y/N’s voice wavered, caught between disbelief and something deeper she didn’t want to name yet.

“Of course,” Ningning replied, her gaze steady. “You’re my muse.”

Before Y/N could process the words, Ningning began to play. The melody was soft and tender, her voice weaving through the notes like a thread of silk. The lyrics spoke of discovery and quiet moments, of finding something real and unexpected in a world that often felt fleeting.

By the time Ningning finished, Y/N’s chest felt impossibly tight. She blinked, suddenly aware of the tears threatening to spill.

“What did you think?” Ningning asked, her tone casual, though her eyes searched Y/N’s face for a reaction.

“It was...” Y/N paused, swallowing hard. “Beautiful.”

“Good.” Ningning grinned, setting the guitar aside. “That’s what I was going for.”

The song was just one of many gestures that left Y/N feeling both flustered and deeply touched. Ningning had a way of making her feel seen, of finding little ways to show she cared.

One evening, Ningning led Y/N to a quiet spot on campus she claimed as her own—a secluded garden hidden behind the art building.

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Ningning explained, guiding Y/N through the overgrown path.

The garden was small but enchanting, with wildflowers growing in vibrant clusters and fairy lights strung between the trees. A small bench sat beneath a willow tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/N said, her voice soft.

“It is,” Ningning agreed, though her eyes were fixed on Y/N rather than the garden.

They spent hours there, talking about everything and nothing. Y/N found herself sharing pieces of her life she rarely offered to others—her dreams, her insecurities, the moments that had shaped her.

And slowly, without realizing it, Y/N’s guardedness began to melt away.

The shift in Y/N’s feelings was subtle at first, a flicker of warmth that spread through her chest whenever Ningning smiled. It wasn’t something Y/N could name or even admit to herself in the beginning. It was in the quiet moments. The way her heart skipped when she saw Ningning’s name light up her phone screen, the way her eyes instinctively sought her out in a crowded room.

But as the days passed, that flicker grew into something undeniable. The moments they shared, the laughter, the gentle teasing, Ningning had a way of drawing Y/N out of her shell without ever forcing it.

Y/N found herself looking forward to their time together. She’d scan the hallways for Ningning’s familiar figure, her heart leaping at every casual greeting or unexpected meeting. The thought of seeing Ningning became a quiet anchor in her day, something she never realized she needed.

It wasn’t just the grand gestures that moved her, it was the small, thoughtful moments that Ningning seemed to weave effortlessly into their growing connection. The way she always remembered how Y/N liked her coffee: black, no sugar, no cream. “Bitter, just like your soul,” Ningning had teased once, earning a reluctant laugh from Y/N.

The way Ningning noticed when Y/N was stressed, slipping in a joke or a funny story to lighten the mood. Like the time Y/N was buried in her project, her notes spread chaotically across a library table. Ningning had appeared out of nowhere, balancing two cups of coffee and a paper bag. “Emergency donuts,” she announced, plopping the bag in front of Y/N. “One bite, and all your worries disappear.”

“You’re impossible,” Y/N had muttered, but the fond smile on her lips betrayed her words.

And then there was the way Ningning looked at her, like she was the only person in the world who mattered. It was a gaze that lingered, warm and steady, making Y/N feel seen in a way she hadn’t in years.

Her guarded heart began to soften. The walls she’d spent so long building felt less like protection and more like barriers she was ready to let go of.

But with that openness came vulnerability. At night, when the campus was quiet and her thoughts refused to settle, Y/N often found herself turning over every moment in her mind. What was it about Ningning that made her feel this way? Was it safe to trust her? Was she just another fleeting conquest for the girl whose reputation preceded her?

And yet, despite her fears, Y/N couldn’t deny the pull. She began to crave Ningning’s company, her laughter, her presence.

One evening, as they walked back from another impromptu coffee run, Ningning nudged Y/N’s shoulder playfully. “You’re always so serious,” she said with a grin. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

Y/N hesitated, her thoughts a swirling mix of affection and uncertainty. She glanced at Ningning, her heart clenching at the way the streetlights illuminated her face, softening her sharp edges.

“I guess I’m just... thinking,” Y/N replied, her voice quiet.

“About what?” Ningning asked, her tone light but her gaze steady.

Y/N shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You ask too many questions.”

“Only when I care about the answers,” Ningning said, her voice softening.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away.

And one night, under a sky full of stars, Y/N couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

Ningning had insisted on taking Y/N to the rooftop of the performing arts building, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she practically dragged Y/N along.

“It’s the best view on campus,” Ningning said, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

As they reached the base of a narrow metal ladder leading to the roof, Y/N hesitated. “This is definitely not an authorized spot,” she said, crossing her arms.

“It’s a little risky,” Ningning admitted, flashing a mischievous grin. “But isn’t that what makes it fun? Come on, I’ve got you.”

Y/N sighed but followed Ningning up the ladder, her heart pounding, not from fear of heights, but from the fact that Ningning’s hand hovered close to hers, ready to catch her if she slipped. When they reached the top, Ningning helped her step onto the flat expanse of the rooftop.

Y/N gasped. The rooftop offered an unobstructed view of the entire campus, the lights of the buildings below twinkling like stars against the dark expanse of the night. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves and the distant hum of life below.

“This is incredible,” Y/N said, her voice filled with wonder. She walked to the edge, feeling the world open up around her.

“I told you,” Ningning replied, watching her with a satisfied smile as she spread out a thick blanket she’d brought along. She plopped down onto it, patting the spot beside her. “Come on, the show’s up there.”

Y/N joined her, sitting cross-legged as her eyes turned to the sky. The stars stretched endlessly above them, their light crisp and steady against the deep velvet of the night.

For a while, they simply sat there, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around them like a cocoon. Ningning pointed out constellations, her voice soft and unhurried. “See that one?” she said, gesturing with her finger. “That’s Cassiopeia. And over there—Orion’s Belt.”

Y/N tilted her head, trying to follow Ningning’s gestures. “I never really learned constellations,” she admitted.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Ningning said, her tone teasing but fond.

As Ningning explained, their conversation drifted, flowing seamlessly from constellations to childhood memories to silly campus stories. Y/N found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, her usual guardedness slipping away under the stars.

But as the minutes stretched into hours, the laughter faded, leaving a warm silence in its wake. Ningning turned to look at Y/N, her eyes reflecting the faint light of the stars.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Ningning said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s breath caught. The words were so simple, yet they felt like they carried the weight of something far greater. “Ning...”

Ningning leaned closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as if giving Y/N every chance to pull away. But Y/N didn’t move. She couldn’t.

Their lips met softly, tentatively at first, as though testing the waters. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the warmth of Ningning’s touch and the steady hum of the night around them.

When they pulled back, Ningning rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her lips curving into a small, tender smile.

“Ning,” Y/N began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ningning turned her head to look at her, her expression soft and expectant. “Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket beneath her. She took a deep breath, the cool night air filling her lungs. “I think... I’m starting to fall for you.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Y/N’s breath caught as she waited for Ningning’s reaction. She felt the weight of the moment, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure Ningning could hear it.

For a moment, Ningning didn’t say anything. Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, a small, almost bittersweet smile curved her lips.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Ningning said finally, her voice warm but tinged with something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

Y/N’s chest tightened at the response, a quiet ache settling over her. She wanted to ask what Ningning meant, to press for something more, but the vulnerability of the moment left her frozen.

Instead, she nodded, offering a small, tentative smile in return. “Thanks.”

Ningning’s gaze lingered on her, searching her face as though she wanted to say more but chose not to. Finally, she lay back down, her eyes returning to the stars.

They sat in silence after that, the stars above them casting a gentle glow over the rooftop. Y/N leaned back on her hands, her heart heavy yet strangely light. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of something more, even if it was fragile, even if it was fleeting.

The days that followed felt like a dream. Ningning’s texts came in as bright and warm as ever, and their stolen moments on campus carried the same spark that had first drawn Y/N to her. But something lingered in the corners of Y/N’s mind—a faint echo of uncertainty, of the bittersweet smile Ningning had given her that night.

At first, she dismissed it, telling herself she was overthinking. She threw herself into their time together, savoring the way Ningning seemed to light up her world. But as the days turned into weeks, that faint echo grew louder, a nagging doubt she couldn’t quite silence.

And then, almost imperceptibly, things began to shift.

The change was subtle at first. A missed text here, a rescheduled coffee date there. Y/N brushed it off as coincidence, after all, everyone got busy sometimes. But as the days turned into a week, and then another, Ningning’s absence became harder to ignore.

“Sorry, can’t make it today,” Ningning’s message read, the fifth time she’d canceled on Y/N in the past two weeks. Next time, I promise.

Y/N stared at her phone, her stomach twisting. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, the excitement she’d felt earlier that morning now a dull ache.

Ningning had always been vibrant and full of energy, but lately, her texts felt clipped, her smiles less frequent. Even when they did manage to meet, there was a distance in her gaze that hadn’t been there before.

At first, Y/N tried to rationalize it. Maybe Ningning was just overwhelmed with school or her music. Maybe she needed space. But even as Y/N told herself those things, her mind kept drifting back to the kiss.

It had been soft and tentative, yet it lingered in Y/N’s thoughts like a ghost, the warmth of Ningning’s lips pressed against hers. She could still feel the way Ningning had rested her forehead against hers, the whispered words that had felt so impossibly sincere in the moment.

The weight of uncertainty grew unbearable, pressing down on her like a heavy fog. Y/N found herself replaying their moments together, searching for answers in the smallest details. Had she said something wrong? Was it the confession on the rooftop? She could still hear her own voice trembling as she admitted her feelings, the raw vulnerability of the moment leaving her exposed.

Ningning’s response echoed in her mind like a broken record, not rejection, but not acceptance, either. The bittersweet smile, the way she’d deflected with a compliment instead of reciprocating... Had that been the beginning of the end?

Late at night, Y/N would lie awake, staring at the ceiling as her phone sat on the pillow beside her. She’d scroll through their old texts, rereading conversations that once made her heart race. There were photos, too, moments frozen in time. Ningning grinning with her guitar, Y/N laughing mid-sip of coffee, the two of them sitting side by side on the bench in the hidden garden.

Each image brought a pang of longing, followed by a sharp twist of pain. How had Ningning gone from being her source of light to feeling like a shadow slipping further and further away?

One evening, as Y/N sat in her dorm room, her laptop open but untouched, Chaewon leaned against the bedframe, watching her with concern. “You’ve been like this for days,” Chaewon said, crossing her arms.

Y/N didn’t look up. She was fidgeting with the edge of her blanket, her fingers twisting the fabric into knots. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Chaewon replied, her tone gentle but firm. “What’s going on with Ningning? Have you talked to her about it?”

Y/N sighed, her chest tightening as she pulled the blanket closer. “I don’t even know what to say,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if... what if she’s over it? Over me?”

Chaewon’s expression softened. “Y/N...”

Yunjin, who had been sprawled on the floor with her headphones around her neck, chimed in, her voice unusually gentle. “Then you deserve to know. Sitting here torturing yourself isn’t going to help.”

Y/N finally looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What if I ruin everything?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Ruin what?” Yunjin asked, sitting up and leaning forward. “She’s already pulling away. If you don’t say anything, you’re just going to keep feeling like this. And honestly? That’s worse than knowing the truth.”

Chaewon nodded in agreement. “You’ve been overthinking this for days. The only way to figure out what’s going on is to ask her.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her chest aching with the weight of their words. Deep down, she knew they were right. But the thought of confronting Ningning, of putting her heart on the line again, filled her with dread.

“What if she doesn’t care?” Y/N asked, her voice barely audible.

Chaewon reached over, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Then you’ll know, and you can start moving on. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself, Y/N.”

The room fell silent, the weight of their words settling over her. Y/N stared down at her lap, her thoughts racing. Confronting Ningning felt like stepping off a cliff, the fear of falling overwhelming.

But the alternative, this endless uncertainty, was unbearable.

“I’ll think about it,” Y/N said finally, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Good,” Yunjin said, a small, encouraging smile tugging at her lips. “And when you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

The opportunity came a few days later, when Ningning unexpectedly showed up outside the engineering building. Y/N had just finished her last lecture of the day and was packing up her bag when she spotted Ningning leaning casually against a nearby lamppost.

For a fleeting moment, Y/N’s heart skipped at the sight of her, her emotions caught between relief and longing. She couldn’t help but remember the rooftop, the way Ningning’s lips had met hers, soft and deliberate, as if the kiss had meant something to her too. But now, the usual warmth in Ningning’s expression, the playful spark that always seemed to light her eyes, was missing.

“Hey,” Ningning said as Y/N approached. Her tone was casual, almost detached, and it hit Y/N like a cold gust of wind.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. Her chest ached with the weight of unspoken fears. “What’s up?”

“I thought we could talk,” Ningning said, motioning toward a bench nearby.

Y/N hesitated, her stomach twisting into knots. The weight in Ningning’s voice made her chest feel heavy, but she nodded and followed.

They sat down, the bench cold beneath them, the late afternoon air thick with tension. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them charged with unspoken words. Y/N stared at her hands, her heart pounding. Finally, she forced herself to break the silence.

“Ning, is something wrong?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady. “You’ve been... distant.”

Ningning sighed, leaning back against the bench. Her gaze drifted toward the ground, her expression unreadable. “I’ve just been busy,” she said, her tone evasive. “You know how it is.”

“No,” Y/N said, her voice firmer now. She turned to face Ningning, her eyes searching for something, anything, in her expression that might make this make sense. The memory of the kiss burned in her mind, the way Ningning had held her gaze afterward, her soft smile that had felt like a promise. “I don’t. This isn’t like you. You’ve been canceling plans, avoiding me... Did I do something wrong?”

Ningning’s jaw tightened, and she looked away. The silence stretched, growing heavier with each passing second. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and strained. “It’s not about you, Y/N. I just... I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

Y/N frowned, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “What does that even mean?” she asked, her tone sharper now.

Ningning stood abruptly, running a hand through her hair in a gesture that betrayed her own agitation. “It means you’re getting too attached!” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I didn’t sign up for this, Y/N. I’m not... I’m not looking for something serious.”

The words hung in the air, stark and unrelenting. Y/N’s breath caught, her chest tightening as the meaning sank in.

“You could have told me that from the start,” Y/N said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “Instead of making me feel like this meant something.” Her voice cracked on the last word, the memory of the rooftop twisting in her chest like a knife.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ningning said, her tone softer now but no less cutting. She sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging as though the weight of the conversation was bearing down on her. “You knew what this was, Y/N. Don’t act like I promised you forever.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from Y/N’s lungs. She stared at Ningning, her vision blurring with the tears she refused to let fall. She thought of the rooftop again, the kiss, the way Ningning had looked at her, the tenderness that had felt so real.

“Wow,” Y/N said, her voice breaking as a bitter laugh escaped her. “I guess I was stupid for thinking you were different.”

Ningning’s expression faltered, a flicker of regret crossing her face. For a moment, it looked like she might say something, anything, to take the sting out of her words. But she didn’t.

The silence between them was deafening, the sound of distant footsteps and murmured conversations on campus fading into the background.

After what felt like an eternity, Ningning took a step back, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, though the words felt hollow, lacking the sincerity Y/N so desperately needed.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving Y/N sitting alone on the bench, her heart in pieces.

Y/N stared after her, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. The ache in her chest was overwhelming, a crushing weight that made it hard to breathe. She replayed Ningning’s words over and over in her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

She had let herself hope, had let herself believe in the possibility of something real. But now, all she could feel was the sharp sting of her own naivety.

Y/N sat there long after Ningning disappeared from view, the cool air biting at her skin. And when she finally rose to her feet, her legs shaky beneath her, she felt like a stranger to herself, an empty shell of the person Ningning had made her believe she could be.

That night, Y/N sat in her dorm room, staring blankly at the wall. The ache in her chest felt unbearable, like a weight she couldn’t escape.

Chaewon and Yunjin tried to comfort her, but their words barely registered. All Y/N could think about was the way Ningning had smiled at her, the way she had made her feel like the most important person in the world, only to tear it all away.

For days, Y/N went through the motions, a shadow of herself. The ache in her chest was constant, her thoughts circling the same unanswerable questions. She avoided crowded spaces and clung to the solitude of the library or her dorm room, trying to outrun the memories that haunted her.

But it was impossible to avoid Ningning completely. The whispers started small, fleeting remarks overheard between classes. By the next day, they had grown louder, until her name was everywhere again.

Ningning had released a new song, and by midday, it was all anyone could talk about.

The excitement was palpable. Groups of students huddled around phones, earbuds shared between friends as they leaned in to listen. The name Ningning was on everyone’s lips, and the whispers grew louder with each passing hour.

Y/N didn’t need to ask what all the fuss was about. The ripple of energy in the air, the knowing glances from her peers, and the snippets of lyrics she caught in passing were enough to tell her everything she needed to know.

“Have you heard it?” Yunjin asked as she leaned against Y/N’s desk that afternoon, her voice hesitant.

Y/N froze, her pen stilling mid-note. She didn’t look up. “No,” she said flatly, her fingers tightening around the pen until her knuckles turned white.

Yunjin shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward Chaewon, who was perched cross-legged on Y/N’s bed. “It’s... good,” Yunjin ventured cautiously, as if trying to test the waters.

“I don’t care,” Y/N replied, sharper than she intended.

The words hung in the air for a moment, tense and unyielding. Chaewon cleared her throat. “It’s called Bored,” she said softly.

The name sent a jolt through Y/N, her stomach twisting into knots. She clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay calm, but the rush of emotions was almost too much to contain.

Chaewon glanced at Yunjin before speaking again. “It’s... everywhere,” she said carefully. “People are talking about it nonstop. I thought you’d want to—”

“I don’t,” Y/N interrupted, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Yunjin flinched slightly, while Chaewon’s expression softened with concern. Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples as guilt tugged at her chest. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I just... I can’t.”

Her friends exchanged a look but didn’t press further. “Okay,” Yunjin said, her voice quieter now. “We get it.”

They backed off, changing the subject to something mundane, but the damage was done. The seed had been planted, and as the hours dragged on, it grew roots, wrapping itself around Y/N’s thoughts and refusing to let go.

By the time evening settled in, the buzz on campus had faded into the background, leaving Y/N alone with the silence of her dorm room. She tried to study, burying herself in equations and diagrams, but her mind kept drifting back to Ningning.

What had she written? Were the lyrics inspired by their time together?

Y/N shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface. She didn’t want to care. She didn’t want to think about Ningning, didn’t want to give her the power to hurt her again. But the more she tried to push it away, the stronger her curiosity became.

By midnight, she couldn’t resist any longer. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, headphones in hand, she stared at her phone. The screen glowed faintly in the dark, the song queued up and ready to play.

Her heart pounded as she hesitated, her finger hovering over the play button. What if this only made it worse? What if the lyrics confirmed everything she’d been afraid of?

She exhaled shakily, trying to steady herself. Then, with a deep breath, she pressed play.

The opening chords were slow and deliberate, the melody haunting. Ningning’s voice poured through the headphones, smooth and rich, carrying an edge of something unspoken.

I’m so pretty in your head, boy, yeah

Picking flowers, put ’em right behind my ear

The first verse hit like a wave, crashing over Y/N with its familiar imagery. She could see it—Ningning’s playful smirk, the way she tucked a flower behind her ear during one of their walks across campus.

Eyes catch you daydreamin’

Look at the signs, love as advertised

The lyrics dragged Y/N back to the rooftop, to the moment when Ningning had leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper: “You’re beautiful, you know that?” The memory of the kiss rose unbidden, a bittersweet pang twisting in her chest.

Am I messing with you

When falling for you, falling for you?

But I'm not the one to keep

She could still feel it, the warmth of Ningning’s lips, the way the world had fallen away in those brief seconds. But now, under the weight of the song, that memory felt hollow, as if it had never truly belonged to her. Her chest tightened. The words echoed her own uncertainty during those weeks, when she’d questioned every touch, every glance, every word Ningning had spoken.

But then the chorus hit, the upbeat rhythm masking the sharpness of the words.

Takin’ up a good rush, don’t try to fight it

Paradise on Venus in your eyes

I always come in hardcore

And love you ’til the day I’m bored

The weight of the lyrics settled over Y/N like a lead blanket. Her throat tightened, the meaning slicing through her defenses. The sweet gestures, the stolen moments, the vulnerability Ningning had coaxed from her, it all felt hollow now, reduced to a fleeting rush.

As the song continued, vivid memories flooded Y/N’s mind:

Ningning surprising her with coffee on a rainy afternoon. The garden hidden behind the art building, where Ningning had whispered secrets under the moonlight. The rooftop, the stars, her trembling confession.

And then the confrontation. The way Ningning had looked at her, the words she’d spoken “You knew what this was, Y/N. Don’t act like I promised you forever.”

The music swelled, Ningning’s voice rising with it, each lyric cutting deeper than the last.

Turning your hellos into goodbyes

I always come in hardcore

Love ’til the end of the road, then I tend to get bored

Y/N felt the tears spilling over before she even realized she was crying. She clenched her fists, trying to push the emotions back down, but the song didn’t relent. It was raw and unapologetic, a mirror held up to the whirlwind of emotions Ningning had left behind.

By the time the final chorus faded into the soft hum of the outro, Y/N was trembling. The last line echoed in her ears, a whisper laced with finality:

Yeah, maybe it’s on me,

I should’ve said it before

But I tend to get bored.

Y/N pulled off her headphones, letting them fall onto the bed beside her. The room felt impossibly quiet, the absence of Ningning’s voice almost as unbearable as the song itself.

She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling as tears streaked down her face. Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, doubts, and memories she couldn’t shake.

Had any of it been real? The chase, the laughter, the moments that had felt so genuine, had Ningning felt them too? Or had Y/N been just another fleeting “rush” for someone who never stayed?

The ache in her chest felt unbearable, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate Ningning. Not completely.

And as she lay there, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts, one question lingered above all the others:

If it was just a rush for her... why did it feel like so much more to me?

The ceiling blurred as tears filled her eyes again, her heart heavy with emotions she didn’t know how to name.

And somewhere in the silence, Y/N wondered if she’d ever have the courage to ask Ningning the questions that still haunted her.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ stick with me ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. kang sae-byeok x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ finding out you’re also participating in the games & staying by your side throughout┊1.6k words

contains: mentions of canon-typical violence, open ending, season one spoilers, headcanons mainly, established relationship, sunshine (& kinda naive) x grumpy trope, sae-byeok being protective & the best gf, all of this is a little rambly like word vomit i hope you don’t mind

➤ author's note: squid game felt so empty without her like i adore all of the new women in season two but i missed her so much T-T

╰₊✧ even if she doesn’t show it through her expressions, she’s really upset to find you in this situation— not because she’s mad at you, but because she’s mad at herself. she wonders what kind of awful girlfriend she must be not to have noticed you were struggling through debt like she was. now that she thinks about it, she realizes how painfully obvious it was with your strange behavior when it came to working any freelance job you saw a sign of (you weren’t a pickpocket like her, you would never commit any crime intentionally), and being overall stingy when it came to spending money on yourself. she might unintentionally give you the silent treatment for the first few hours simply because she feels terrible about it all but still doesn’t want you to leave her side despite that.

“are you mad at me because i didn’t tell you?” you whined, sticking by her side like a baby duckling with its mama and gently holding on to her arm because she wasn’t looking at you. “sae-byeok… i just didn’t want you to worry about me when you already had so much on your plate…”

she merely blinked in response, stone-faced like usual, making it impossible to determine what was going through her mind. there was a sinking feeling in her chest, the feeling of failing one of the few people she cared about.

“it’s okay… i get it… i’ll give you some space— just come look for me when you wanna talk, i’m going to talk with some of the other people here…” 

she suddenly grabbed you by the hand and dragged you back before you could move away, wrapping her arm around your waist in a protective manner, “no, i’m not mad at you, i promise. just stick with me, okay? i wouldn’t trust anyone here if i were you.” yes, the majority of people here seemed to be middle-aged people who were simply down on their luck. no, she didn’t believe there weren’t any bad ones who would easily take advantage of your kindness in such a large group of people.

you didn’t seem to quite understand what she meant in the last part, but you still cheerfully pulled her in for an embrace once she confirmed she wasn’t upset as you always did when a miscommunication was cleared up. (you didn’t see it, but she cracked a little smile when she hugged you back.)

╰₊✧ pushes you away the second she spots deok-su and quickly tells you to stay away while he confronts her about a past you didn’t know much about, making a scene in front of everyone and progressively getting more aggressive towards her. of course, once he makes his first swing, you immediately run in and start yelling at him to leave her alone when there were clearly more pressing issues at hand. when gi-hun interrupts because he wants to also confront her about something, you had to restrain yourself from pushing him away because you were a pacifist at heart and had been taught to respect your elders no matter what all your life. 

╰₊✧ later when you two join the little alliance gi-hun formed, she makes them keep an eye on you if she has to part from you for any reason. she knows that bastard would make a beeline for you the second he sees you alone, and that bastard isn’t above playing dirty by hurting you or holding you hostage to get leverage on her. the guys find this to be so goddamn adorable and frequently tease sae-byeok for her obvious soft spot towards her girlfriend because they can tell she’s flustered despite how indifferent she may look. listening to you talk about her reminds them that she’s just another young woman who is trying to care for her loved ones and not the shady thief who works with gangsters they once thought she was. they also defend you guys from anyone being homophobic and swear that they will attend your wedding once they get out alive, noting they likely won’t have money for gifts after all the reward money goes toward paying off debt, but you tell them you would appreciate their presence anyway!

╰₊✧ after the first game when they vote all go home, she wants to make you swear on your life that you don’t ever go back to that dangerous place, but she knows how unrealistic that is. she now knows about the crippling debt you both have and it wouldn’t be long before the loan sharks will hunt you down to force you to do terrible things to pay it back. so on the last day of staying on the korean mainland, she coughs up the money to pay for a nice last date before the two of you willingly enter what you believe to be the closest thing earth has to hell.

╰₊✧ instead of the dangerous, loner vibe she has in the original, when she has you by her side, she has the aura of a mama bear— which is fitting considering you’re like a little cub. she’s very protective of you and gives everyone a look that says “hurt her and i’ll kill you” to shut down any possible schemes before they start and helps you out during all of the games because she doesn’t want to risk anything happening to you. it might feel a bit infantilizing to you, but she’s just so terrified at the concept of you getting injured or worse.

red light, green light - keeps you behind her at all times, verbally reminding you not to panic even though she can sense you freaking out. might even hold your hand and guide you through it all, telling you to close your eyes and ignore the sound of bullets as she pulls you through the finish line. 

sugar honeycombs - tells ali to keep you company while she goes into the bathroom to sneak around the vents (he’s your best friend, by the way, the energy is immaculate) and immediately has you pick the triangle shape when lining up (there isn’t too much she needs to do because it’s one of the easier games for you to do).

special game (night of murder) - wants you to hide under the bunkbeds at first, a good idea until people started tipping them over. it’s difficult to find you with the lights flickering and with deok-su after her, so she has you met up with everyone else at gi-huns bed to protect each other. this battle is also likely the first time you cause bodily harm to someone else in self-defense, which will probably fuck you up especially if they are found dead later on. you’ll have some minor injuries, maybe a fractured rib or some cuts, but you’re still alive and that’s all that matters to sae-byeok.

tug of war - might look annoyed at your optimism to win with all the women and the old man on your team, but trust me, she really appreciates it since she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if you suddenly shut down and because you seem to keep their heads ups with your infectious smile. there’s not much she could do to help you out here as it’s a team effort, but she was half-tempted to bribe you into a team with all men just in case (and also because you looked like you were about to start a fight with sang-woo over him insisting that they needed more men and wanting to kick ji-yeong off the team) yet ultimately decided against it which turned out to be the best decision. 

╰₊✧ the games strengthen your relationship through all of the blood and trauma, sticking together through it all and taking care of each other in the lowest moments. you two often share food and sometimes even sleep in the same bed if the other needs comfort, which would be very cute if your hands weren’t constantly trembling from fear and your skin didn’t have little specks of dried blood all over. sae-byeok is tough and has seen her share of violence, but it was all things she was trying to hide from you and keep you safe from ever since she entered this relationship with you. no matter how much you try to assure her that you can handle it, the sinking feeling of failure never leaves her.

“i’m… i’m really scared…” you sighed, cuddling yourself into her side. the barracks were so quiet you could hear a pin drop, yet there was the almost suffocating looming fear of death haunting the place knowing so many souls died within these walls. it always felt so cold even under the blankets with the powerful air-conditioning, but the warmth radiating off of sae-byeok’s body felt like a sanctuary. 

“i know, i know,” she assured. there was a part of her that wanted to admit that she was scared too as she rubbed circles into your back to ease you to sleep, she didn’t dare to even think of her biggest fear in case it manifested into reality. she wouldn’t know what to do with herself in case it came true, so she chose to bury the thought of it deep down where she prayed it would never show itself again.

she dreams of winning these games with you, using the money to pay off all your debts, helping her mother escape north korea, to go towards her brother’s future, to helping the both of you start new lives where you both were accepted— all things she thinks of to push back all of the dark thoughts and help her sleep in your arms, forever by your side.

request was [ Please could you do something about saebyeok x gf!reader? where they both went to the games 😪😪]

[theglassesgirl]

The Ithaca Saga: What IS a Monster, how it’s presented, and when fictional S.A is integral to the plot.

So -

This was originally a response to @ / anniflamma which you can still find on my page unedited. But with the new discourse surrounding the suitors, I figured I could retool it as a standalone essay to express a topic I’ve been trying to pin down for a while now; What exactly does the mean when they call a character a monster? What do they do, do the reasons matter, and how does the subject of rape affect how the fandom consider some monsters more unforgivable than others? When IS rape in fiction “necessary” and why such questions defeat the purpose of exploratory creative works.

In this post we will discuss all the major antagonists of the Epic Musical, Penelope’s agency, the label of Monster and the types of moralizing one might do when faced with uncomfortable subjects in fiction and how to prevent these feelings from blinding is about what a story is trying to say.

For those who read my original response; there’s new content to read here and posts that will be referred to, if you’d like to give it another gander!

Thank you,

Let’s begin;

I think making the threat of rape explicit was very much needed, actually.

It’s come to my attention that there are people here and on tiktok who are so uncomfortable with the subject matter in this CENTURIES old tale that they’re both refusing to accept that it plays an important part in the original poem and musical, AND are bizarrely insisting that Jorge should have magically done away with it to make more palatable.

This is beyond juvenile - it’s a clear sign of media illiteracy.

What, if I may ask, do you think it means when you say that the suitors are going to force Penelope to choose one of them to marry.

You may respond that they want to take over Ithaca. That they want to be king. But take a moment to consider what forcing a woman to marry one of them will entail. I wonder if you think that one can divorce the idea of sexual violence in this plot.

It would be…unfathomably difficult to do so. Because you CANT. There is an implicit threat of Penelope’s will breaking and having to have unwilling and reluctant sex with any one of them in the event she just gave up and picked one.

This isn’t a storyline that depicts Penelope of being willing to marry any of the suitors. She is WAITING for her husband’s return. Even if he doesn’t, she doesn’t WANT to marry someone else. Her consent is being violated by the very merit of them being in her palace, eating her food, and threatening her son.

They’re doing ALL OF THIS in order to bend her will in the HOPES of raping her as a bonus to becoming king of Ithaca.

My contention is the use of “unnecessary” when it comes to this trope in media - though themes of rape can be uncomfortable, to call them unnecessary HAVE to meet certain criteria. Which this specific instance doesn’t.

By observing various responses, it’s clear that the threat of rape went completely over many’s head in this instance of the story. So I very must appreciate Jorge making it SO clear that it’s upsetting.

This part of the odyssey, and the musical, is very much about Penelope suffering under the threat of assault for YEARS. In the same way Odysseus was (a thing I touched upon in my calypso essay, in terms of his ambiguous situation in the musical) - it’s a parallel that works as both Antinous and Calypso were introduced (regardless on your personal interpretation of what Calypso did or did not do, but that’s neither here nor there).

It has taken an emotional and psychological toll of either spouse. And the kicker is that neither of them are freed of this situation on their own - they are both rescued by outside forces. Athena/Hermes helps free Odysseus; Athena/Odysseus will help free Penelope.

The looming threat of rape is SO necessary that it helps the catharsis factor we feel toward PENELOPE’s story - it’s nothing to do w Odysseus who by now is a force of nature as big as Poseidon, his actions happen TO her, and it’s up to her to decide (per “would you love me” ) what she feels about that. She can very well reject him! She’s suffered under male violence for YEARS. Odysseus’s violence and those of the suitors toward her are basis enough for the comparison.

Do all men, including her husband, become violent? Does she want to put up with that? We know from her song snippets that she is NOT a woman that simply succumbs to the Rape Rescue trope as suggested by ignorant consumers of media - and I call it ignorance and consumerism because there’s a clear lack of engaging with the material in an intuitive way. It’s just blind consumption - as if one bites into a burger and find a pickle, which you personally don’t like, and having it removed - you can’t treat ART that way .

Penelope is a very intuitive and emotionally intelligent queen. Stop infantilizing her. Her own husband suggests that like the suitors, his actions make him just as bad as they are and presents his hope as being understanding if she rejects him on those grounds. But those ARENT her grounds. She has full autonomy and can make a distinction FOR HERSELF whether she considers her husband equal to the monsters who have harmed her.

So let’s talk about the “Monster” label as it is presented on the entire musical.

Some have erroneously suggested that Odysseus has been given an out to commit cruel and ruthless deeds with out “good justification” - he does it for his family,, after all!

Which is a misunderstanding of everything every antagonist of each saga has done.

Let’s start with the Troy Saga: Odysseus has killed a BABY. He made the choice to put his family over this child. Everything he has done and lost would be for literally NOTHING if he hadn’t, as even if he had killed the suitors and regained everything - the GODS themselves would make sure that child would come to an aged Odysseus and slaughter him, Penelope, Telemachus and his entire kingdom when he came of age.

Odysseus STARTS as a monster. We have been rooting for the man who laid Troy and its children asunder. As such, the label of a monster is NOT so much a morally subjective label - it simply a thing that IS. Or rather. It is what ALL the antagonists ARE, but it’s hardly a condemnation of any of them.

(Peep that one of the first lines Ody says refers back to in the Vengeance Saga is what he did to Troy - he STILL views his actions over there as unforgivable, so not even HE will ever see himself otherwise, the problem was that he felt so guilty over it that he became a detriment (a different kind of monster) to his friends and family when they were all guilty of the same thing and trying to get home.)

ALL of the antagonists have a “good reason” to kill ALL the soldiers (who again, have looted and slaughtered the Trojans) Odysseus and his close friends included. Whether your AGREE is almost irrelevant…because the story itself proposes that it’s irrelevant.

The next saga introduces the cyclops: his motivation is primarily that his FRIENDS the sheep have been slaughtered. You can argue in the scope of things, you can’t empathize with this but it’s his good reason. He’s the son of a god, and these sheep are all he has. His friends, who matter to him as much as Polites does to Ody, are being taken and slain, he is being drugged, attacked and maimed. VERY much was Ody goes through in the final saga. And even so.

The Cyclops is antagonistic to the party, he’s a monster who feels justified killing to avenge his killed sheep. A monster is a thing he IS.

As Poseidon’s son, he asks his father to kill the 600 men who have ransacked his home and beat on him. He doesn’t view his father as being wrong for this. In the same ways Ody and Telemachus don’t waste any time addressing the slain suitors later on. Poseidon is a monster of a god - it’s just a thing he is. Not even being stabbed 100 times is enough to repay the harm he’s done - to most everyone, not just Ody, but we are not asked to quantify that. Just live with it.

Circe has killed NUMEROUS men over the years. HER “good reason” is that something bad happened to her nymphs when she let a stranger in her islands. She doesn’t even promise that she WONT kill in the future - her song ends w the suggestion that the world may continue to need her to puppeteer! Because she does not exist to be “redeemed” - she is somewhat more reasonable and capable of empathy than even the likes Athena, who being a greater and more powerful god, does not have the one on one affection to her follows as Circe does. She’s a monster! It’s a label, a thing she IS.

So here we begin to ask; is it LOVE that gives people the capacity to do monstrous things? Because the cyclops loved his sheep friends, Poseidon loves his son, Circe loves her nymphs.

And by now you’re saying now wait a minute didn’t the Underworld Saga go over this? Why yes it did! And Odysseus decides to “become the monster” - he already IS one by the standards of the cyclops, Poseidon, Troy - they all see him as a monstrous being. But he accepts that, after being one in Troy, he held back and ruined the lives of his men, making him a monster to THEM. His “good reason” for being so!

He attempts very hard to be the General he was in Troy and prioritize them going home, sparing no sympathy towards his enemies - but in the Thunder Saga we see the gods further push him to be completely self-serving like they are. The sun gods cows are harmed, he sends Zeus in relation - his “good reason” being his friend were personally harmed.

Odysseus’s “good reason” is ultimately decided to be the same good reason he had to slaughter the Trojans - to get back home to his wife and son.

Like with the Cyclops sheep, Circe’s nymphs, The Sun gods cows, and Poseidons son, WE are shocked and made to feel some type of way about Odyseuss’s reasoning. Surely HIS personal suffering shouldn’t cost the lives of “innocent” men…but it does! It surely does.

He is a monster. It’s just a thing he IS.

Now, Odysseus spends the next seven years under the thumb of ANOTHER monster. And through calypso own reasoning, despite her tragic backstory, her “good reason” she IS a monster. She’s incapable of understanding why she wasn’t reciprocated. Incapable of empathizing with a human because as a god who has spent eternity alone, it stands to reason she, like all the other monsters mentioned before, prioritizes HER personal suffering over everyone else’s. In some versions she either kills herself or does spend the rest of eternity alone. She’s a monster. This is a thing she IS.

Now what the HELL does all this have to do with the suitors?

Odysseus started the musical a MONSTER. He’s worn different hats, but it is what he IS. It’s a label, not a moral critique.

ALL of the antagonists of every saga have a “good reason” NONE of them are ruthless for ruthlessness sake! It’s immaterial whether you agree with them or not, but to understand them for what they are.

Odysseus is the antagonist of the ithica saga, md while the suitors are the antagonist to him and his family, we see their fate form THEIR POV

The suitors could not have been depicted as “rude youthful men” like Telemachus. That Odysseus killing them should be shocking - a frightening condemnation of everything he’s done and became. But I ask once again - in what world are the suitors not implicitly set up as monsters?

Because again. They aren’t being rude for rudeness’s sake! They aren’t JUST eating Penelope’s food and sleeping in HER house. Them threatening Telemachus, as you propose, isn’t “enough” of a reason because they didn’t wake up one day beefing w this boy. Everything they do is for the express purpose of sexual violence towards the Queen of Ithaca, who upon assaulting, will make it so any one of them will be King.

You can’t separate the one from the other. You get a nonsense scenario. The whole REASON they’re there in the first place.

Even if you create a fanfic where 108 men wake up one day and raid the palace to slaughter the royal family with no intent of sexually assaulting either (because remember Telemachus is also the subject of Hold Em Down) and then fight amongst themselves to be the next king, but then isn’t that STILL a “good reason” for Odysseus to slaughter them?

Now I hear what you may be asking: but if all the monsters of the sagas, Odysseus included, have a “good reason” even though we might not agree with it, what kind of monsters does that make the suitors? Surely and clearly THEY aren’t doing what they’re doing for noble reasons.

I consider them akin to the 600 men who died under their captains command.

Because, as stated before. Odysseus views his actions in a Troy as his start of monstrosity. He did all that to finish the war and do back home. He ruined the lives of all Trojans.

So did his soldiers.

The only moment in time (even in the deleted songs) that the bulk of them repent about the war is in terms that it left them without food.

But glasses! They were just following orders!

Which is what one of the suitors suggest in song 38. Their serpents head is dead, THEY were just going with Antinous’ flow, they are innocent.

Like the 600 soldiers, the 108 suitors sacked a home that wasn’t theirs and harmed a wife and child - does them being the queen and prince pale in comparison to the hundreds of wives and children slain in Troy? Homer is a genius to ask us to see these parallels for what it is.

The suitors ARE monsters. That is simply what all 108 of them are. In the context of the story itself, their intent is to break Penelope’s will, commit martial rape, and become king of Ithaca. They aren’t there for kicks, they aren’t ignorant boys, they’re socially accepted adults abusing the hospitality rule with an express purpose.

So a GROUP of monsters are slaughtered by ANOTHER monster, and though in this instance we can argue it’s morally justifiable, it doesn’t take away from Odysseus’s fear of being rejected by his family. He has ruined the lives of the Trojans, his men, AND multiple gods! To get to this point. He IS a monster. And the story asks US, through Penelope, if he is still worth loving.

Seeing Penelope as merely his reward is so backwards and bizarre. It’s very clear that bad faith interpretations of her are based on objectifying her erroneously, when the narrative presents her as a fully developed character.

In the story both in the poem and the musical that the suitors ARE NOT her guests. She is being sequestered against her will.

In what world could the suitors be “just” murderers and not….very clearly rapists? It’s BUILT into their motivation. You would have to change the very FOUNDATION of the Ithaca plot line and Penelope herself??? To say nothing of Telemachus’s role!

What’s the proposal here? That Penelope invited these suitors? That’s she’s actively looking for a replacement husband? Okay, again, that changes literally SO MUCH of the story, but wouldn’t that put Telemachus in a position where he too has to change? Does he resent his mother for doing this? Is he helping his dad out of spite or because he wants him back? How are we meant to view Penelope in this radically new and hip Epic the Musical? Is she savvy and in her right to choose a new boo? Okay…okay, so then….you want Odysseus to be the only one unchanged and go axe crazy because….hes jealous? He kills these upstanding men….curtain call. That’s all folks!

Absurdity at its finest. You throw Penelope’s agency out the window. Her weaving and unweaving her loom is meaningless or simply doesn’t happen. Or maybe it’s that she wakes up one day and goes hey yknow what I WILL consider marrying one of these guys with no sense of dread and fear. Oh wait Oddy has killed then all! Never mind me feeling unsafe a week ago, he’s done a Bad.

Crazy.

It’s just…not going to end up making Penelope look like a well written female character if Jorge has done what you wanted! THAT would make her a mindless prop. You seem to think she is one, and that’s not the case. Historically, in fact!

She is a whole person in the poem and musical whether you understand it or not. You would have to argue so thoroughly why she sucks and let me assure you - there are entire DISSERTATIONs on why you’d be incorrect.

So, no.

No, you CANT take away the rape in Penelope’s storyline. It matters ALOT. It’s the ROOT of the matter! Could old school vegetales make something up that’s more to your sensibilities? Maybe at its peak but god, I couldn’t possibly come up with a draft that could reflect that. I won’t even try.

The rape aspect of the Ithica Saga isn’t unnecessary - it’s INTEGRAL to the plot. It can make you uncomfortable, but it’s BUILT into the royal family’s suffering whether it’s explicit or not! And it SHOULD be explicit! Because you seem to think because it usually isn’t, that the rape aspect isn’t there!

I cannot imagine coming to this kind of conclusion.

They are not random men going on a siege of the palace one day - you cannot “sanitize” the SUITORS because by the very merit of them calling each other THE SUITORS there is an implicit threat of sexual violence. Because Penelope doesn’t WANT suitors. She rejects them. They’re already violating her consent.

How the FUCK to do you censor the rape when it’s in every action they take? And I know what you’re saying: but didn’t Jorge censor the rape aspect that both Circe and Calypso commit towards him?

Further reading: suggests that ALLUDING to it is not the same as censoring, that it still FITS the PURPOSE of these characters in regards to Odysseus’s suffering under them. That after ambiguity, it is NECESSARY to make the rape aspect CLEAR in order to create both catharsis and MEANING at the end of the narrative. The THEME is still respected and present, it is not REMOVED. Please consider reading the linked follow up that answers this question.

In short.

It’s truly a matter of using one’s goddamn head when it comes to view fictional depictions of rape as “necessary” - because though some depictions can be presented BADLY, to suggest they should not EXISTS lends itself to rape culture. It silences the voices of victims. Its representation denied. Don’t talk about it, don’t even suggest it, because rape is bad.

It’s an action that happens to people. It’s a crime in civilized society. It’s a physical and psychological trauma that has always been. It happens daily, in fact. Though epic the musical is a source of entertainment for you, it doesnt exist solely for that purpose.

When Homer included it within his original oral story, he did so as a storyteller trying to get his audience to philosophize, not simply have fun.

I think we’ve come to some abysmal conclusion that men can’t write about these topics when we have historical evidence of at least one man knowing what the hell he’s talking about. And Jorge has done a phenomenal job even when he hadn’t depicted blatantly.

If you’re uncomfortable to the point of not wanting to see it at all, that is entirely on you, art and creative works allow us to explore these topics safely. Whether it’s from the POV of the assailant or one of the victims commenting on it, fiction is one of the only places we can talk about it and learn about ourselves in a way it doesn’t harm real people.

I don’t even want to BEGIN discussing all the losers who are still harassing Antinous fans or people who genuinely enjoy his song despite/BECAUSE of the subject matter. Its purpose in the story matters more than you policing how it’s presented and how it’s consumed. No amount of people enjoying themselves will take away the foundational POINT of the character and song. It’s perfect the way it is.

Like with the chaos that calypso discourse wrought, you cannot control how people treat a NOT REAL CHARACTER or the songs they sing - if it bothers you that one type of fictional villian is treated one way or another, it is on you to find likeminded people instead of going into others faces and pretending to be a self-righteous prick. You can throw whatever buzzwords you want, the CONTEXT these characters live in has nothing to do with how others want to play with them. If you don’t understand the difference between the two instances, fandom is certainly not for you and will not be changed to suit your sensibilities.

To end this post, I want to thank those who further asked me questions and bounced ideas off with me, and wow, what a phenomenal ending to a grandiose musical. I hope I can see it live, animated, streamed, developed into a game etc whatever form it takes now that the concept albums are published

Thank you all for engaging w my work💖

[parkerslatte]

The Purest Kind of Love || Part Two

Azriel x Fem!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

Summary: The morning after the bond snaps between Y/N and Eris, Eris goes to talk to Y/N but can’t seem to have a genuine conversation. Azriel works through his frustration.

The Purest Kind of Love Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

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•••

The High Lord of Autumn paced outside of the large double doors into the room where the one who had turned his life upside down resided. The citrus scent he remembered from the previous night invaded his senses. It must have been nearly an hour since Eris left his own chambers early that morning to make the walk through the Forest House to where he knew the people of the Inner Circle were residing. 

Despite the five separate rooms each housing members of the Inner Circle, Eris somehow knew exactly which one Y/N resided in. It was the grandest one and previously Eris’s own bedroom when he was a child. The small burn mark on the door was still present from where he singed it out of anger when his powers were just developing. 

No matter how much Eris tried to distract himself, his palms sweat as he took one more shaky step towards the door. The citrus scent made his heartbeat increase as he slowly raised his fist and knocked on the door. It echoed through the empty corridor and Eris looked around, he didn’t want to be seen.

A faint reply croaked from the other side of the door. “Come in.”

Once his hand was on the handle, Eris pushed open the door. It creaked loudly and he internally groaned. When Eris fully stood inside of the room, the citrus scent mixed with a cedar and…salt. The door closed behind Eris as his eyes fixated on Y/N.

“Oh,” she said with a hint of disappointment. “I thought you would be someone else.”

From the scent alone, Eris guessed who she hoped it might have been. He didn’t say anything. 

The room fell into complete silence as Eris took small calculated steps closer to Y/N. The salty smell grew the closer he got to her. The streaks on her face was a clear indication of the tears she must have shed.

“Did you sleep well?” Eris asked, already knowing the answer.

“I haven’t slept,” Y/N replied.

“I thought as much,” Eris said. “If it brings you any peace; I haven’t slept either.”

“Funnily enough it doesn’t,” Y/N snapped.

“My, my, there’s no need to bite my head off,” Eris said, his voice calm. 

Y/N’s eyes met his for the first time and the bond hummed to life between them. It made Eris want to step closer to her– it was as if a rope was tied around his waist and was pulling taunt, beckoning him in her direction. 

“You seem nice enough, Eris, perhaps a little full of yourself, but I am clearly not in the mood now,” Y/N stated.

Eris held his hands up in defence. “I didn’t come here to fight you. If you must know, my original intention was to ask if you were okay.” A flicker of surprise flashed across Y/N’s eyes but it was gone as quick as it arrived. “But you seem to have already answered that question already.”

A long sigh passed Y/N’s lips. “No, I am not okay. How could I be?”

“A mating bond snapping was not what I expected to feel last night,” said Eris, holding his hands behind his back and fiddled with a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. 

“You are not the only one surprised by that news,” Y/N said. “Now, will you please leave me alone. I don’t feel like talking right now.”

Eris nodded. “As you wish.”

As he turned his back, he tried to ignore the small sigh of relief slipping from Y/N’s lips. As his hand touched the cool metal of the door handle, Eris inclined his head to Y/N. 

“Just so you know, I am finding this news just as surprising and as hard as you,” Eris muttered. “I may not show it, but I am terrified.”

Eris didn’t wait around to hear if Y/N would respond. The door flung open and he stepped into the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in her room. 

When he was back in the corridor, Eris wiped his palms on his jacket and groaned. He hadn’t meant to come across so condescending, he had every intention of being genuine and asking her if she needed anything, if there was anything he could do. But the moment he found himself slipping into that vulnerability, his defences rose and were harder than steel. 

“That is a sight I wasn’t expecting,” the irksome voice of Rhysand spoke.

“This is my home in case you forgot, Rhysand,” Eris drawled, already irritated to spend time Rhysand’s presence. 

“A home that I helped you claim,” Rhysand replied. 

“Did you? You and I seem to be remembering differently,” said Eris, his voice dripping in annoyance. “I seem to recall that your two lap dogs, Azriel and Cassian, doing most of the work while you eye fucked your High Lady.”

A threatening growl emitted from Rhys. “Careful, Eris. You just claimed your title as High Lord. It would be a shame to pass it along so quickly.”

“Exactly, I just became High Lord. My powers have increased, Rhysand. I could incinerate you where you stand and I wouldn’t need to even move an inch,” Eris stated, folding his arms across his chest, looking down his nose at the High Lord of Night. 

“What were you doing in Y/N’s room?” Rhysand asked. 

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Eris commented. “This is my house, I can go where I like.”

“Stay away from her, Eris,” Rhysand sneered.

“Or what? Your shadowsinger will take me to his torture chamber?” Eris questions. “I don’t see how checking on someone after they have been crying the whole night is a valid reason to be tortured but I guess that is just how the Night Court works.”

“She was crying?” Rhysand asked, eyes darting to the closed door. 

“Sobbing her heart out,” Eris said. “It was only when I comforted her did she stop.”

Rhysand glared at Eris. “Stay away from her.”

“Why? I seem to have done more than her friends did,” Eris retorted.

“I won’t warn you again, Eris,” Rhysand threatened. 

A low chuckle slipped past Eris’s lips. “You seem to forget who you are talking to, Rhysand. I am the High Lord of this court. If you lay a finger on me, I am within my right to declare war against Night. And right now as it stands, the Autumn Court has more allies than the Night Court.” Eris took a step back and straightened his jacket. “I want you out of my court by midday. Y/N and Nesta are allowed to stay if they desire. They are the only two of your court I can abide having a conversation with.”

Eris turned on his heel and walked down the hallway just as Rhysand knocked on Y/N’s door. A faint ‘Go away’ was heard from the other side. Eris was not sure why but it made a smile tug at his lips. 

***

Blood covered his hands and the dummy he had beat to a pulp. It was the third one Azriel had battered. The first two were thrown into the corner of the room haphazardly. There wasn’t a fourth one to use so Azriel immediately picked up the sharpest knives that were in the training room. 

The ache in his chest hadn’t eased and it wasn’t because of the bargain. Something was lost in the Autumn Court; his hope. He had thought that his hope had been shattered beyond repair before. First with Mor and the next time with Gwyn. At least when he was with Elain, he never needed to cling to the hope of her being his mate. 

As the first blade cut through the air, Azriel let out a long sigh. It was foolish to believe he would find his mate in Y/N. And Azriel did truly believe it for a time. There was no one else in the world that made him feel the way Y/N did. Even their transition from friendship into a relationship had been easy. He had always trusted her, confided in her, bonded with her. Azriel knew that his hope was shattered– for good this time. He couldn’t imagine a world where there would be someone better matched for him than Y/N.

Azriel threw the final blade in his hand and he watched as it missed the target completely and embedded itself into the stone pillar behind. 

“Not only did you crack a glass, you now decide to begin destroying my home,” Cassian commented as he walked into the training room. 

Azriel spared Cassian a quick glance before turning his back to him to grab bandages for his hands. 

“You weren’t with us when we all came back from Autumn,” Cassian said. “Y/N said you left early.”

At the mention of her name, Azriel stiffened. “I came back last night.”

“Without Y/N?” Cassian questions.

Another person entered the room and the shadows around Azriel began to grow restless. He couldn’t handle any more questions.

“It seems as if you don’t know where your lover is either, Azriel,” Rhys commented. “I was wondering where she went after we arrived back here this morning. I was hoping she was with you.”

“If anything she is most likely at her cottage,” Azriel answered. His heart stung. Only hours ago he would have been calling it home. Their home.

“And do tell me that if she is there, why are you here?” Rhys questioned with a raised eyebrow. “You have a day off, typically we rarely see you.”

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me,” Azriel growled as he wrapped his hands up. 

Behind him, Cassian frowned, stepping closer to the shadowsinger, his eyes widening once he noticed his bloodied hands. “What happened to your hands?” Cassian asked. 

Rhys inclined his head to the heap of training dummies in the corner of the room. “I assume Az is letting out some anger.”

“I’m not angry,” Azriel stated. 

“Tell that to the dummies I now need to replace,” Cassian groaned. 

Azriel turned his body to face his brothers, eyes cast down to the floor. “I will be returning to my room here. Only if that is okay with you, Cass.”

Cassian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Of course. But why? You’ve been living with Y/N for nearly four years.”

“There won’t be any more,” Azriel responded. 

The High Lord glanced at the open doors of the training room. “I see. I hope that this doesn’t affect the work the two of you occasionally do together.”

“I can be professional,” Azriel snapped, pulling on the end of the bandage too tight. 

“Why did the two of you split up?” Cassian questioned, still looking utterly confused.

“I’d actually like to know that myself,” Rhys added. 

“It’s none of your business,” Azriel retorted. “But you will pry regardless of what I say. All you need to know is that we were not compatible.”

Cassian snorted. “Not compatible my ass! Az, I’ve seen the way you look at her. You look at her like she is the centre of your universe, as if she was a goddess herself.”

“And how did she look at me?” Azriel asked, honestly curious. Though Cassian was rather talented at overexerting the truth, he wanted to know the way Y/N looked at him when he wasn’t looking. Did she look at him the same way? Or did she look at him the way many others did…in pity.

“I never really noticed a difference in the way she looked at you,” Cassian replied. “But she was… touchier with you than anyone else.”

Azriel deflated at Cassian’s answer. Did Y/N never look at him any other way but neutrally? Was he wrong about the connection they had the whole time?

“I see,” Azriel voiced.

Rhys’s gaze still bore into Azriel as if he were trying to read his body language but Azriel had gotten used to hiding how he feels so he was an expert in deception. There was a presence in his mind and Azriel knew that Rhys was lurking, just waiting for him to lower his walls to find out the true story. The walls in his mind remained impenetrable. 

“I still don’t understand why your relationship ended,” Cassian wondered aloud. “You have been happier than you have in years.”

“Can you just leave it alone, Cassian!” Azriel snapped. “I do not want to talk about it anymore. Our relationship ended because of our incompatibility, that is all. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Of course he told a lie, he had to. Azriel didn’t want to admit to his two happily mated brothers that the female who had lit up his life was mated to another– destined for a life of fiery love with a High Lord; it was what she deserved. He remembered the pity in their eyes when Gwyn had told him she had found her mate and Azriel never wished to be looked on like that again by anyone. 

Once again, Cassian’s mouth opened as if to argue back but after quickly looking at Rhys, Cassian closed his mouth. Rhys’s orders were most likely whispered into his mind. Azriel was grateful. 

“If you don’t mind, I need to go and collect my things,” Azriel stated, making his way towards the door. 

Only after a few steps, however, it was as if the world was mocking him as Y/N appeared in the threshold. Azriel’s whole body went rigid as he looked at her. She looked exhausted. 

“Az,” Y/N whispered. 

For a split second, Azriel wanted to run back into her arms and pretend as if he were her mate instead. He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and bury her head into her neck, breathing in her sweet intoxicating scent. They would return home and everything would be as it should. 

After that second was up, Azriel’s face washed over with one made of stone. His expression didn’t change. Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a habit Azriel knew all too well. It indicated that she was nervous or uncomfortable. By the tension in the air, Azriel knew that she was feeling the latter. 

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Azriel walked towards the open doorway, aiming to leave without a fuss. Y/N watched him the whole way, her eyebrows knitted together. His intention was to leave without a fuss but as Azriel walked past Y/N, his arm knocked her shoulder, causing her to stumble the smallest amount. 

Azriel closed his eyes and continued his stride. He hadn’t meant to knock her. He was too focused on leaving that room that nothing else really mattered. But Azriel didn’t look back,  he couldn’t– because the moment he did, he knew he would run back to her and beg on his knees for her to take him back. 

Once Azriel was far enough away, he stopped and let his wings scrape on the floor, not having the energy to hold them up anymore. He looked down at his bandaged hands to find the blood soaking through the white fabric. With a clench of his fists, Azriel continued down the hall, trying to scrub any thought of Y/N from his mind. 

***

Neither Rhys’s nor Cassian said anything as they stood motionless in the training room. Y/N didn’t have anything to say either as she took a small hesitant step inside. Did Azriel tell them? She thought. Though if she had to admit to herself, she didn’t want anyone knowing of her bond with Eris yet. She knew that nobody would take kindly to the news. 

“What did you do to him, Y/N?” Cassian asked. 

“I–” Y/N failed to find the words as she replayed Cassian’s question in her head. What did I do? 

“Why do you assume I did something?” she questioned. 

“You saw him,” said Cassian, gesturing to where Azriel disappeared. “I have never seen him that angry before.”

“Again,” Y/N repeated. “Why do you assume that I did something?”

“I don’t see you looking too upset,” Cassian scoffed. 

Y/N frowned. “How do you know what I feel? Just because I am not punching and beating things up doesn’t mean that I am not upset.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten us and tell us why your relationship with Azriel ended,” Rhys chimed in. “Azriel is reluctant to tell us.”

“It is none of your business,” Y/N snapped. “It is private between Azriel and I.”

“And Eris,” Rhys added.

“What?” Y/N questioned. 

“I watched him slip out of your room this morning,” Rhys commented, picking a piece of lint from his clothes. 

“After he tried to comfort me after Azriel left me alone after the celebration,” Y/N explained, getting more irritated by the second. “If you dare to think anything else, Rhysand, mother help you.”

Rhys shrugged. “I wasn’t implying anything.”

Cassian who had silently stood beside Rhys spoke up. “Why don’t you go home, Y/N? Azriel is staying here and it doesn’t seem like he wants to see you.”

Y/N scoffed. “So if Azriel is upset then you don’t want me around? Why haven’t you assumed that I also want to be around my family? Or does that sentiment only extend to Azriel for the both of you? After all, I was never invited to family dinners by the both of you, that was always Feyre, Mor or Azriel’s job. It seems like I was only your family once Azriel and I were in a relationship, despite the fact that I have known you for around five hundred years.”

“Y/N–”

Cassian was cut off by Y/N’s hand. “No, it’s fine. I now know exactly where I stand.”

“You know we think of you as family,” Rhys cut in. 

Saoire shook her head. “No, Rhys, you don’t. I see that clearly now.”

Neither Rhys nor Cassian had the chance to respond as Y/N quickly left the room. She didn’t exactly know where she was going but all she knew was that she wanted to be alone. As she walked down the corridor, she could faintly smell the familiar scent of Azriel and Y/N’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She knew that there was no way to convince him to stay with her. Her soul was tied to someone else, the male she was fated to be with. 

Eris Vanserra was someone Y/N had never met personally; only heard stories about– and most of the stories were not positive. Yet, when she danced with him last night, even if she wasn’t leaning into his fake flirtations, she had an amazing time dancing with him. Even this morning when he checked up on her after their mating bond snapped, he didn’t need to do that. And left the room when she asked him to. It was the bare minimum but they didn’t align with the stories of the cruel, evil, wicked High Lord that the Inner Circle had spoken about for many years. 

Y/N shook her head, hoping to rid herself of thoughts about Eris and continued down the hallway. No destination in mind, all that she wanted to do was be alone and dive into her own research– anything to distract her from her reality. 

Taglist:

@22hilda @lazypostfandomer @inkedinshadows @awkardnerd @azysmate @therealmoonstone @lets-talk-about-xyz @starryevermore @babypeapoddd @tothestarsandwhateverend @batboyrhyrhy @callsigns-haze @wildflowermooon @wildfloweroutlaw @acourtofbatboydreams @bookandtealover @queenoffeysand @the-sweet-psycho @the-starlight-way @curiosandcourioser @cheekym8s @honk4emoboyz @paleidiot @buckystevelove @that-girl-reading @readinggeeklmao @hextech-bros @scarsandallaz @paige0103 @k8r123-blog @asweetblueberry2 @bloodicka @eddsthemunson @fourthwing4ever @crypticme @that-one-bibliophole @lilah-asteria @sassybluebird @ninthcircleofprythian @imma-too-many-fandoms @happyt0exist @spiritualmooshroom @phoenix666stuff @imagoddessinmystories @sveretrice @stormieandateacup @impossibelle @opium-den

[cognitiveoverload]

Craving (Aaron Hotchner x reader? Does it count?)

summary: Hotch shows up in your hotel room after the events of 2x19.

note: Kinda pathetic!Hotch if you ask me. Wants to be with reader despite still being married, but she says no.

After emotionally draining cases you’re usually a heavy sleeper, so no wonder you only wake up when the mattress dips in the hotel room you’re staying in. You jolt awake, eyes snapping open to see who got in the bed on the empty side next to you, and you’re shocked to see the man who wraps an arm around you as if it was the most natural thing, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Hotch, what are you doing here?” you ask, fighting the urge to bury your fingers into his hair to soothe him.

Because he’s clearly under the weather, and his warm breath smells like whisky as he rests his chin on your collar bone to look at you. “I don’t want to be alone,” he mutters.

There has always been tension between you, but he’s married, there was no way you would ever even think of giving into that feeling. Having him here, though, makes you wonder just how deep are his feelings for you. He’s not blackout drunk, he probably only drank like two glasses, but thanks to the vulnerable state of mind he was in earlier, it’s no surprise that it got the best of him.

“How did you even get in?” 

He lets out a sigh, then a small smile appears on his lips. “I have my methods,” he replies.

This sentence is followed by a soft sigh, but he remains silent for a minute or two, as if he’s contemplating how to say what’s on his mind. His thumb is rubbing circles into your arm, and while your brain knows you should stop him, you simply can’t get yourself to send him away. He doesn’t want to be alone, and there’s something he wants to talk about.

So, you wait. Rushing him wouldn’t help, and he’s stubborn enough to take his time opening up. Sometimes you wonder if he ever tells Haley about work stuff, or if he keeps it to himself since she has a lot on her plate already because of Jack. Either way, what happened earlier today definitely hit him where it hurt the most.

“It’s my fault,” he finally speaks up, his voice unusually quiet. You tilt your head to the side, urging him to explain. “I should have known, I should have gone there to see if I could help, now there’s a kid without a father and—”

You shook your head without thinking, a hand moving up to push his hair back. “It’s not your fault. You’re not a mind reader, Hotch, you couldn’t have known what he was planning,” you try.

“Aaron.” You let out a questioning hum, but he doesn’t answer, instead he moves a little to place a featherlight kiss on your exposed skin, followed by another, and another at an agonizingly slow pace. “Call me Aaron. I hate it that you call me Hotch too,” he mumbles against your skin.

“You’re my boss, I’m not calling you Aaron,” you point out.

“But we could be so much more than that. You mean so much more to me.” 

Before you can say anything, he moves just enough to be able to kiss you—a gentle, soft kiss that feels so good, but also forbidden. You cup his face, pushing him away just enough to look into his eyes. There’s a mixture of sadness and lust in there, but you know you can’t give in, you can’t let him win this one. 

Deciding that this is your best chance to set boundaries, you move past him as you sit up, watching the way he turns on his back with a groan. “For one, you’re my boss. And second, you’re married. Keep that in mind,” you warn him.

He loosens his tie and props on his elbows. “Yeah, right, a marriage that’s falling apart,” he notes bitterly. When you give him a questioning look, he goes on. “It seems like no matter how hard I try, I can’t be the husband she wants. This job is demanding, sure, but… I don’t know.”

“You need to sleep,” you tell him kindly, not having the heart to be harsh after what he just told you. 

This confession explains the phone calls that always left him grim, but you don’t feel like prying for more details. You know that he loves his family, what he just told you must have come from the desperation caused by the trouble at home and this recent case you just closed. It can’t be more than that.

Hotch opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything for now, he just watches you with an unreadable expression. “I’ll have to return to give the letter to Abby’s son. That’s the least I can do,” he suddenly says, lying back down, but he faces you. “Come with me.”

You take a deep breath as you watch him, but then you pick up your phone from the nightstand and put on the robe you left on the foot of the bed. “I’ll beg JJ to let me sleep in her room. Or I’ll take yours since you’re clearly planning to stay here,” you tell him. “I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

“Okay, fine,” he mumbles, his face already buried into the pillow your head rested on a few minutes ago.

[mommyownsmee]

About Ovulation and Breeding Kink

It's cruel, really.

This body, mine—so strong, so commanding, so utterly bent to my will-betrays me for a few days each month.

My control slips, replaced by this primal ache, this animal need to bury my fingers in soft flesh and pull cries from a throat that knows only how to obey.

I ovulate, and the world becomes a torture chamber. Every scent, every thought, every image is her-imaginary, of course, because she's not here. No submissive, no pliant little thing to ruin until she's nothing but a puddle of yes, Mommy and please, Mommy and don't stop, Mommy.

I press my thighs together, useless. My hands are empty when they should be gripping her hips, guiding her onto me, showing her how perfectly she fits against the heat of my skin. My teeth ache to mark her, my nails to carve a map into her—territory, mine, claimed forever.

But there's no one to pin down, no one to fuck until she can't remember her name, no one to whimper "thank you" when I let her come.

It's pathetic, really. A Domme with no one to dominate, writhing in her own unsated desire. Ovulation is a sick joke. Nature, taunting me for not having a leash to tug, a toy to break, a good girl to destroy until she forgets how to breathe without permission.

It’s so maddening, this ache.

My body really betrays me, ovulation clawing at my control, filling my head with feral, obscene need. The kind of need that turns my mind into a constant reel of her—my submissive, my perfect little bunny—on her knees, begging me to take her, to ruin her.

I can almost see it, the way she’d look up at me with wide, needy eyes, knowing exactly what I’d do to her. Knowing she doesn’t get a choice. She’s mine. Her body, her mind, her pleasure—every part of her belongs to me. And I’d take it. Oh, I’d take it all.

I’d start slow, teasing her, watching her squirm, her thighs slick and trembling as she tries to hold still for me. I’d pin her wrists above her head, my [strap] cock grinding against her soaking cunt, not giving her what she wants just yet. She’d whimper, her lips parting to beg, and I’d shush her with a smirk, whispering how she’ll take every inch of me when I’m ready.

And when I finally slide into her, stretching her open, her moan would be a symphony, echoing through the room. I’d fuck her deep, my hips meeting hers with every thrust, filling her over and over until she’s a mess beneath me, tears streaking her pretty face as she sobs for more. My hands would grip her hips, pulling her closer, harder, until her body molds to me, made for me, made to take everything I give her.

I’d fill her pretty little cunt with my cum—so much of it she’d swear it’s real. Thick, hot, spilling out of her as I keep thrusting, pushing it deeper, watching her writhe as she feels it drip down her thighs.

I’d watch her walk naked through the house, her face burning with the humiliation of knowing she’s still leaking me, that no matter where she goes, she’s mine, marked and claimed. To let my cum run down her legs, painting her in evidence of who owns her. I’d follow her, watching the way her thighs quiver, the way her cunt clenches and leaks, desperate for me to fill her again.

In the kitchen, I’d bend her over the counter, her breasts pressing against the cold surface as I take her from behind. My cock driving into her soaked cunt, her moans turning to screams as I grip her hair and pull her back onto me, harder, deeper. She’d cry out my name, her voice breaking as she begs for more, her body shaking with the force of my thrusts.

And then, when she’s nothing but a trembling, fucked-out mess, I’d make her kneel. Her lips would part, her tongue flicking out to taste me as I guide my cock into her mouth. I’d thrust slowly at first, savoring the way her lips stretch around me, her throat swallowing me down. But I wouldn’t stay gentle. Not when she’s so eager, so desperate to please. I’d fuck her mouth until she’s choking, tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes glazed with submission as she takes it all.

When I’m done, I’d throw her back onto the bed, her body pliant, her mind wrecked. But I wouldn’t stop. I’d push my cock inside her again, deep and unrelenting, filling her until her cries are incoherent, until she’s shaking and pleading and losing herself completely to me. I’d tell her I’m breeding her, that every time I fuck her, I’m filling her up so deeply she’ll swear she feels it in her womb.

She’d cling to me, her nails scratching at my back, her voice breaking as she screams, “Please, Mommy, don’t stop! I need it, I need you!” And I’d give it to her, over and over, filling her again and again until her stomach feels heavy with me, until she’s convinced her body is mine to claim, to use, to own.

I’d take her to the brink of insanity, fucking her until all she knows is me. My cock, my cum, my voice commanding her. She’d beg to be filled again, tears streaming down her face as she sobs that she feels empty without me inside her. That she’s useless without my cock, without my cum dripping from her.

And I’d keep going. Because she’s mine. Her body, her mind, her soul—all of it belongs to me. And I’d make sure she never forgets it.

But instead, I’m here. Alone. Writhing in my own desperation, the fantasies burning so brightly they almost feel real. I am feral and furious, and wonder how long it will take until the craving fades. Until I can look at my bed and not feel the phantom weight of her body bent to my will.

Ovulation is a cruel joke—a reminder that I don’t have her here beneath me, crying for me, begging for me. A reminder of the leash I don’t get to tug. The perfect submissive I don’t get to fuck senseless until she’s mine in every way.

And I’m left to ache, my body burning with a need that only she could satisfy. My hands are empty. My bed is cold. And my fantasies are all I have.

I could cry. But that‘s not my role.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x latina!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

“i need to learn spanish,” logan says out of the blue as you’re carefully doing your makeup. he likes to watch you get ready in the mornings, and though you don’t understand his fascination with the process you’ve been doing for years, it’s nice to have him around.

“is there a reason for this?” you ask, trying not to allow the conversation to distract you from the task at hand. you’ve gotten good at this, at both getting ready and talking to him, having conversations about everything and nothing, the kind of conversations he would never have with anyone else.

you met logan a few months ago, when he accompanied a group of mutant kids to canada, almost dying in the process to save them. he’d been on the verge of death when you found him, skin sallow and pale from the intense blood loss, breathing ragged. it hits you sometimes how lucky you are to have found him in time, to have been able to bring him back to his daughter - every day you’re infinitely grateful.

he’s struggled to adapt to life here. eden, a sanctuary for mutants that reminds him a bit too much of the x-mansion, the place where everything in his life went wrong. where he’d let his guard down little by little, letting people see past his mask, making relationships only to watch them all die. he could do nothing to save them.

so he hardly interacts with anyone other than you and laura kinney, his daughter, though lately she’s decided she wants everyone to call her laura howlett. the look on logan’s face when he told you was one you’d never forget: joy and fear and confusion, adoration for his little girl tinged with the anxiety of knowing that anyone close to him usually suffered terribly.

“laura,” he grumbles, which is the answer you expected. despite living in mexico for quite a few years, he didn’t pick up much spanish, and certainly not enough to understand laura’s rapid-fire quips. “she always says shit in spanish when she doesn’t want me to know what she’s sayin’.”

you laugh. laura’s a bright kid, and it’s true that she enjoys insulting logan in spanish, but only at the same frequency as her english insults towards him. most of the time her spanish comments are neither good nor bad, just stream of consciousness comments. she enjoys logan’s frustration at not being able to understand her, so really it doesn’t matter what she says, just that he hears it.

“i can try to teach you,” you reply, “but i’ve never taught anyone a language before, so be warned i may not be good at it.”

“a lot of people here speak spanish. i didn’t ask them.” logan says, “you’re the only person i can stand bein’ around for more than a few minutes, so you got a better shot than anyone else.”

you feel a rush of giddy excitement flow through you in response to his words. it’s not a secret that you find logan horribly, unbearably attractive with his salt-and-pepper hair and his beard and his deep eyes and his arms and honestly you could spend hours listing every one of his attractive features.

the point is, you want to kiss him stupid, and with the way he lingers around you in moments like these, makeup half-done and your bedsheets still rumpled from sleep, makes you hope that he might feel the same. maybe spending more time together is just what you need to figure it out.

“we can start tomorrow.” you agree.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

latina reader: @naggywaggy @mami-veracruz @spencerswh0r3 @taextannie @gl1ndathegoodwitch @uncertified-doc

[rhiannonsknife]

⋆₊❅. — have yourself a merry little christmas

angst & hurt/comfort. secret relationship. gn!reader.

you find shauna by the windowsill, the bright morning light filtering through the frost-covered glass casting soft shadows across her face. her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze distant as she stares out at the snow-covered woods that surround the cabin. the place is unusually quiet, with most of the others still asleep, their breaths mingling in the cold air.

for a moment, you hesitate. she looks so oddly small, so lost that it stirs something deep inside you: memories of the life you shared back home. you were hers once, in secret: shared kisses in the backseat of her car, fingers brushing during practice, the quiet nights when it was just the two of you. you hadn’t officially ended things when the plane went down, the wilderness had done it for you. between the secrets, the fear, and everything else this place demanded, you’d drifted apart without a word without ever talking things through.

“shauna,” you say softly before you can overthink it, slowly stepping closer. she doesn’t flinch and her eyes flicker toward you.

you sit down beside her, careful to keep enough distance so she doesn’t feel cornered, but close enough that she knows you’re there. “it’s christmas,” you tell her gently, your breath visible in the chill of the cabin as you get straight to the point, half expecting shauna to barely acknowledge it at all.

instead, her brows knit together, a flash of confusion crossing her face. “what?”

“today,” you say again. “it’s december 25th. christmas day!”

shauna blinks, her lips parting slightly as if she’s about to say something, but no words come. “i’ve been keeping track,” you explain, pulling a small, makeshift calendar from your pocket. the paper is torn from scraps you’ve found over the months, but the marks are precise, each day carefully counted. “i didn’t want us to forget. birthdays, holidays, anything important. i just…thought maybe it would help, you know?”

for all the time you’ve spent together back home, shauna feels like a stranger now, just the ghost of the girl you fell in love with.

“you’ve been doing this the whole time?” she asks then, her voice barely above a whisper.

you nod, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the paper. “yeah. i thought it mattered. especially today.”

“christmas,” shauna repeats, the word sounding almost foreign on her tongue, like it belongs to another world entirely.

“it’s still christmas,” you tell her softly, bracing to be met with her usual rejection. “even here,”

to your surprise, shauna turns toward you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “it doesn’t feel like it,” she admits, her voice trembling. “nothing feels like it used to…”

you heart aches at her words. you remember the way things used to be: the way she’d sneak out to meet you, the way her hand would linger on yours just a second too long when no one was watching too closely. you wonder if she ever thinks about it, or if the wilderness has swallowed those memories whole, the same way it has taken so much else from you both.

“it doesn’t,” you agree quietly, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “but maybe it can still mean something? even if it’s not the same?”

shauna looks down at your hand before she slowly intertwines her fingers with yours. her grip is hesitant at first, but it tightens after a moment.

“we used to talk about christmas,” she says after a long pause. it’s the first time she brings up the way things used to be. you could listen to her for hours if she’d speak of it more often, curl up in the warmth of her voice and the memories of what was before. “back home. what it would be like when…when we didn’t have to sneak around anymore,”

“i remember,” you say quietly. “i remember everything.”

her breath hitches, and for the first time, the walls she’s been holding up seem to crumble. without warning, she leans into you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body trembling with barely restrained sobs. instinctively, likes she’s never left your arms at all, you pull her into your embrace.

“i miss her,” shauna whispers. “i miss jackie i miss home. i miss…everything”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just wrap your arm around her, holding her closer as her tears soak into your shirt. “i know,” you murmur, your hand gently stroking her hair. “i miss it all too.”

after a moment, shauna pulls back just enough to look up at you, her cheeks flushed and tear streaked. there’s a moment of hesitation, a question lingering, before she finally leans in and presses a trembling kiss to your lips. it’s hesitant at first, but deepens, once you fall back into the way things used to be.

when she pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “thank you,” she whispers. “for remembering. for being here”

“always” you promise when shauna falls back into your arms, allowing you to hold her while the others sleep.

i wrote this while being overstimulated at the christmas function, so enjoy 🤗🤗

[loverslantern]

Mirror- Dean Winchester x f! reader oneshot

Description: Reader doesn’t feel pretty so Dean tries to show her what he sees in the way he knows best: praise.

Warnings: It’s hot and heavy in here, inherently sexual but nothing happens, manhandling?, praise

Word count: 2k

Note: This is not only my first time writing something like this but also my first time writing something not related to The Hunter and The Witch series so please leave feedback!

  I catch my reflection on the screen of my laptop and groan. My face looks weird today. It’s just one of those days where I just couldn’t feel…pretty or nice or any other adjective. It shouldn’t matter now when I’m alone in my motel room and researching for the next hunt. There’s no one to impress in the desolate room other than the four beige walls and a creaky bed. 

  It shouldn’t matter. To be fair it shouldn’t matter in general when beauty is an objective concept, and yet it does. I do not know the psychology behind it, maybe it’s a biological thing as animals would choose the mate that’s more appealing or strong to have offspring that can survive. I shake my head, ridding myself of the thought. This would just spiral into a psychological analysis that would only make me think of it further rather than ignore it. 

  It’s an obsessive thing, isn’t it?

  Either way, I don’t like the way I look today. I couldn’t get my hair to look just right this morning and I tried so many up-do’s that my arms got sore. It still didn’t look right, so I left it down. 

  And my face just looks wrong. Maybe my eyes are too big or too small in proportion to the rest of my face. Or, maybe my jawline is too soft, perhaps I’m not rough enough. Perhaps I’m too rough. Somehow, every possible thing feels true. 

  I groan again, leaning my head back against the headboard of the bed, and squeeze my eyes shut as if it will get rid of it all. I’m meant to be focused on research. It was supposed to help. But stupid screens and their stupid reflections.

  The jingle of keys forces my eyes open, my eyes landing on my door as it clicks open. “Hey, sweetheart,” Dean greets, casually inviting himself in. 

  “Hi,” I breathe. I suppose the consequence of giving someone a spare key is that they will use said key. But, I’m not that bad of a thing considering it’s Dean who’s walking in. “I’m gonna head to a bar, you in?”

  “Eh,” I answer. “You go ahead. ‘Not feeling it tonight.”

  He eyes me for a moment, squinting just slightly. “Not even as an excuse to dress up and listen to music?” he pushes. “‘My treat.” Of course, his treat meant a fake card or money he got from hustling. But, god the way he smiles and holds his hands up as he tries to convince me is cuter than it should be. “Sorry, Dean,” I say despite the sight, “Just not feeling it.”

  His shoulders and smile drop, “Come on I’ll buy you as much (favorite drink) as you want.”

  “You can go without me you know?” I point out as he saunters over to the bed and plops himself down. “We both know you’re gonna be leaving with some random girl anyway.” 

  He rolls his eyes as he leans back on his elbows, his black shirt flexing against his muscles. He knows I’m right. “I thought Sam was the nerd,” he comments, ignoring what I said by lifting my laptop off my lap and discarding it in the empty space next to him. “Why don’t you wanna go out? ‘You feeling okay?” he asks and for a moment as his eyes scan my face, I can see the concern pass through them. 

  “Oh, I’m fine,” I insist, trying to be as convincing as possible. Yet, he sees right through me, giving me a pointed look. He’s hard to lie to. I break, shaking my head, “Fine. I just…I don’t feel pretty today so I don’t really wanna go out.”

  His eyebrows raise, his lips parting a bit as if that’s the last thing he expected me to say. “You?”

  My eyebrows furrow, head tilting in confusion, “….Yeah….” Who else?

  He studies my face again and I worry he’ll see what I’m seeing. He’ll see I’m not pretty. His features soften regardless. “Come with me,” he announces, gesturing a hand to follow as he gets up from the bed. I don’t listen, giving him a confused and cautious look. “Come on,” he insists, his voice firm. 

  I hold back my sigh as I stand from the bed. I almost didn’t want to know what he had in store. But, he doesn’t leave me with much choice but to turn back as he takes hold of my hand. His hand is big and warm as it envelopes mine, butterflies erupting in my gut at the simple touch.

  He leads me into the bathroom, his hand leaving mine to travel up my arms and to my shoulders, positioning me in front of the mirror. My hips press against the sink, his hands on my upper arms and his body close behind mine. He nearly looms over me with his tall stature, his head and eyes tilted a little down as he uses the mirror to meet my eyes. “Don’t look at me. Look at yourself,” he directs. But my eyes linger on him, on his pretty green eyes, sharp sculptured jaw, and his straight nose. His fingers tap against the skin of my upper arm, “Come on,” he encourages, his voice a little gravely. 

  I give in. He makes it so easy to give in. I pull my eyes from him and land on myself. A frown pulls on my lips as my eyes jump around my features, even my frown looks wrong. He squeezes my arms, gaining my attention back in the same second my gut lurches. “Uh-uh,” he hums. “Eyes back on you, baby.”

  Jesus. 

  Again, I force my eyes away and I can feel his burning gaze on me. “What do you see?” he asks. I scuff and roll my eyes, “Dean, I’m not—“

  His hands rub up and down my upper arms. “Just—what do you see?”

  I bite on my bottom lip. I look unamused. That’s what I’m seeing. I sigh, trying to humor him. “Myself,” I answer plainly.

  He tuts, “Not what I meant, sweetheart. What do you see that you don’t like?”

  Everything. That seems like an appropriate answer. But I can’t just say that and I don’t. I hardly want to share what I feel when it’s hard to put words to it. “How about this?” he says, his head dipping down to occupy the space by my neck, putting himself closer to my level than far above me. “I like your smile,” he admits, his voice so soft it’s like a rough whisper. “I like when you smile at me…” he squeezes my arms, “like I’m damn important.”

  “You ar—“

  “Uh-uh,” he hums again. “This is about you, baby.” 

  One of his hands drifts upwards, the muscles in his forearm flexing. The sight is nearly intoxicating as I watch it move in the mirror, resting at the base of my neck as he stands to his height again. His thumb brushes back and forth against my collarbone, his eyes downturned to his movements. “Keep watching yourself,” he reminds me. I hadn’t realized I was watching him but could you blame me?

  He presses me back against him, his body solid and warm. I wonder if he can feel the increase in my heart rate. “And your skin…always so smooth. Hardly any scars.” He presses down on the base of my neck, encouraging my head to lean back against his chest. My breath hitches.

  “Shows how careful you are, yeah?” I can almost feel his warm breath as clearly as I can feel my heart beating against my ribs. “You a careful girl?” His gaze is burning as it travels down me. “Yeah…” he drawls, eyes traveling back up. “You are.” His thumb taps once against my collarbone, reminding me to keep my eyes on myself which seems like an impossible feat now. “There you go,” he praises, his voice low. 

My skin feels warm. My everything feels warm as if I am a furnace with the sole purpose of burning and he stokes the fire, poking at it, adding wood to keep it going. 

“Those eyes,” he mumbles, and I can feel the rumble in his chest as the words protrude from his lips. “‘Damn pretty eyes. Then you give me that look…fuck.”

  My eyes flick to his, something burning deep within my gut. He doesn’t scorn me for looking away from myself. “Yeah…” he whispers, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “That look right there. Eyes all big, your lips parted just a little.” His hand drifts up from my neck, gracing my jaw. His thumb presses on my bottom lip. “So pretty…” he mumbles. “‘Don’t know what you aren’t seeing. Can you look at yourself again baby?” 

  I do as told and my knees feel wobbly with the heat that pools within. It’s the sight of him rather than me. The sight of him practically playing with me. “Want you to know how pretty you are,” he mumbles. “How good you are. God, you’re so good.”

  His thumb is a little wet as it slips from my lip onto my chin and my neck. His lidded eyes watch the slight mess he makes, his breath a little shallower. He hums, his chest rumbling with it. “Do you know what I think?” he asks.

  “What?” I answer the single word sounding like a sigh. My eyes drop to my lips in the mirror, my bottom lip coated in a thin layer of my own saliva like a coat of lip gloss. My breasts press against my tank top, seemingly wanting to spill over with each shallow breath. The soft swells of skin peeking from the neckline. His hands drop to my hips, pushing me forward until they’re pressing into the sink with a force that knocks me forward a little, a gasp escaping my lips. I grip the sides of the sink to catch myself. His fingers press into my hips as he holds me firmly. His body looms over me as his eyes take in my bent-over form. Those stunning green eyes that usually resemble the greenery of a forest when the sun is shining through the canopy of leaves just right, now a darkened green like the parts of the forest the sun can’t reach. 

  His hands massage my hips roughly, pushing them forward before drawing them back. His eyes are downturned to the movement, his mouth parted a little in the same manner mine is. My breath is quicker, and my heart is pounding in my chest like it’s trying to escape the space behind my ribs. “What’d I say about keeping your eyes on yourself?” He says roughly despite his own distraction. I swallow roughly, forcing my eyes back on myself for the umpteenth time.   

  He continues his actions, eyes burning into my hips and my ass like nothing else matters. “I think…” he starts, circling back to answer the question he asked me before, one I forgot about. “I think it should be sinful,” the word is like a purr coming from his lips, “to look this good. To be so fucking pretty.” It should be ironic coming from him but why would he go through all this trouble, all this guiding, pushing, pressing to convince me of something he didn’t believe in? And I can see it. I can see it, through the fog of a bad day, exactly what he’s seeing, or at least part of it. 

  “Are you seeing it?” he asks in a low voice as if he saw the change in my eyes. “Yeah,” I breathe, nodding, “Yes, I see it.”

  “Good,” he answers firmly, and yet I can hear the cocky smile that no doubt threatens his lips. Then, his hand circles around the back of my neck, tangling into my hair. He squeezes just once before he’s guiding me up, straightening me out ‘till I’m standing straight again. I spin in his hold, his large hands immediately going to my hips to keep me pressed into the sink. His eyes meet mine, something written in his irises that I can’t decipher. Then, they drop to my lips and then to my chest, that cocky smile finally making its appearance as his eyes drag back up to my lips. “Where’d you learn that?” I ask.

  His smile widens as he answers, “You don’t wanna know.”

[baronessblixen]

Asking For Miracles

Merry Christmas, @katebeckets! I'm your PoangPal Secret Santa, and as I am mostly a writer, you're getting a fic 😁 You said you were enraged that we didn't get to see Mulder and Scully reunite at the end of "Redux II" (same, btw). So I wrote a scene where Scully tells him that she's in remission. It's angsty - but of course, it has a happy end. I hope you like it!

(Here's the AO3 Link)

@poangsecretsanta @today-in-fic

“Mulder, I know it’s late, but I- I need to see you.”

The words Scully left on his answering machine still ring in his ears, even half an hour after he first heard them. By the time Mulder arrives at the hospital, his legs are like lead and feel as if he’s just finished a marathon. Every step he takes is pure agony; if only he could turn around and run. That, of course, is not an option. Not when Scully asked for him. 

Mulder enters the hospital lobby, the place as familiar as his own home by now. He nods at Jeff, the doorman, and he nods back at him. Maybe he recognizes Mulder, or he has compassion for every sad soul that passes by.

He stops in front of the elevator, his fingers fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket. An elderly woman standing next to him eyes him wearily when he presses the elevator button twice more. He’s grateful she’s not making conversation as they step inside. His thoughts are loud, screaming at him. They have been ever since Scully’s phone call - another one he missed. The sound of her suppressed tears is too familiar; it already haunts his nightmares.

It’s late. The hospital is deserted – save for the elderly woman, who’s clinging to her purse, staying with him on the elevator until they reach the oncology ward. They share a silent look, pain evident in their movements as they set out in opposite directions. 

A phone call late at night is never good news. Scully must have called him just after 9 p.m. He grabbed his jacket as soon as he heard it, not even caring if it – or he – smelled bad. Scully is all that matters. 

Yet, now that he’s here, he slows down. The closer he gets to her room, the smaller and heavier his steps become. As long as he’s out here, and as long as he hasn’t looked into her eyes, and heard what she has to say, he can pretend. He can pretend the disease isn’t taking her life, cutting it way too short.

He passes room after room, getting closer to the truth. For once, Mulder doesn’t want it. He wants the miracle, the fantasy. From somewhere he hears music. Or maybe that’s just his imagination. It’s an older song, melancholic. A woman singing about wishing she had a river she could skate away on. Mulder thinks it’s a Christmas song. Who plays Christmas music in the middle of the year? He considers telling Scully about it, hoping it will make her smile. 

It’s no surprise that he hates hospitals. He’s hated them long before Scully got sick, but not always. The first time he remembers being in one was when he was a toddler, just about three years old. On his first visit, he was apprehensive. He knew the concept of hospitals from books; big, white rooms with doctors looking like angels, sometimes healing, sometimes taking people to heaven. That’s how his grandmother Mulder had described it to him when he’d asked. 

The angels, his grandmother had explained, too, had taken good care of his mother and his sister. As a new big brother, he had to know these things. It was his time to be brave. Just like now, he thinks, as his shoes squeak against the linoleum. Back then, his much smaller feet had shuffled along, trying to keep up with his father, who was holding his hand in his large, steady grip. Before that day, Mulder can’t remember his father ever holding his hand.

The room Mulder remembers is filled with a sunny warmth, despite it being November. What are the chances of it having been a sunny day? But that’s how he remembers it. Just like he remembers the soft smile on his mother’s face and the way he had to stand on tiptoe to see Samantha and her squishy face. Seeing her cemented his fate; he was a big brother and he would look after her forever. Only that forever had been taken away from them. Much like last night when he lost her again. No matter what he does, he keeps losing.

The memory ends there. In the following years, hospital walls became tainted. There was blood and screaming. Samantha broke her collarbone and Mulder broke his arm. His grandmother died; the angels she’d believed in taking her away. The memories are strung together like a pearl necklace in his mind; one painful memory after another. An endless circle. Now, there is another memory to add.

He stops in front of Scully’s hospital room. All is quiet. The music has stopped. His heart, however, hasn’t. It’s thumping steadily, loudly. So loud in fact that he wonders if Scully can hear it through the closed door. He closes his eyes and knocks.

“Come in,” Scully’s muffled voice says and so, finally, he does. His eyes find hers the second he steps inside. Her face is puffy - puffier than he’s seen it in weeks. The hollowness for once hidden. How many tears has she cried without him here? She throws him a small, shaky smile. A laugh falls from her lips that sounds more like a hiccup.

“I came as quickly as I could,” Mulder says, flinching when he realizes that’s a lie. He may have driven to the hospital as fast as he could, but he took his time arriving. 

“I thought you should hear it first,” she says, sniffing. She grabs a tissue out of a half-empty box and blows her nose. “This is ridiculous,” she adds, avoiding his eyes. “I just- I called you first when I- and you… you were the first person I wanted to call when I found out.”

Blood rushes in his ears, his temples throb; this is the last moment before he knows. Once she says it - once the words are out there - they can’t be taken back. It will be real.

“They did more tests. I- the last PET scan showed no improvement and I-,” she trails off and Mulder’s knees buckle. No improvement. There’s no cure for this cancer, just like Scully said months ago when she asked him to come to the hospital for the first time. No cure, no improvement. There’s only one way this can end. He wants to cover his ears; it can’t be true if he doesn’t hear it, or see it. 

“I wasn’t ready to accept that,” she goes on, her voice steady. She glances at him as if waiting for him to say something. It’s not like him to remain quiet, but what is there to say? He wants to get on his knees and pray to a God he doesn’t believe in. “So I asked for more tests. When you’re dying, doctors will do whatever you ask of them.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” Mulder mumbles and Scully cracks a smile.

“We did another PET scan, among other things, and Mulder- I don’t know why is this so difficult to say.” Another hollow laugh from her and he can no longer keep his hurt in. It expels from his mouth as his lips begin to quiver. Scully’s eyes open wide.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, reaching out her hand and he’s too weak to deny her, to deny himself. Her skin is as soft as ever, her touch as assuring as it’s always been. He’s crying openly now, weeping. The tears are blurring his vision, but he sees what’s important: her in the hospital bed, smiling up at him.

“You shouldn’t have to comfort me,” he says with a sob, trying to compose himself. He thinks of his father, of the way he watched him dismissively the night his grandmother died. When Mulder, at ten years old, had wiped his tears away with the sleeve of this sweater, he had asked his father why he wasn’t crying. Wasn’t he sad? His father hadn’t replied and only stared at him before he’d wandered off.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, Mulder,” she says, tugging at his hand. “Sit down.” When he doesn’t, she tugs more strongly. “Sit. Please.” He does, his hands folded in his lap as if waiting to start a prayer.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she says softly.

“You’re a mind reader now?”

“I don’t have to be. I should have started with the most important news,” she says, waiting. He knows she wants him to look at her. He braces himself before he lifts his eyes to hers. Hers are brimming with tears, just like his own.

“My cancer has gone into remission.”

Mulder stares at her, not understanding. These are the words he wants to hear. Remission. Cured. Yet, he can’t believe them.

“You believe everything but not this?” she teases, her voice shaky.

“You’re- and the cancer? It’s- it’s.” He doesn’t know what to say. How do you describe a miracle? It just is.

“Like I’ve been trying to say, I couldn’t accept that there was no improvement. My mother… my mother and I prayed together and then I knew I couldn’t give up. I asked for another PET scan and more blood tests. Mulder, I don’t know what… something changed. Whatever it is, whether it’s the chip or, or-”

“You’re in remission,” he repeats, his brain finally catching up. She nods.

“I’m in remission. The PET scan shows great improvement. The tumor is shrinking.”

“I can’t- it’s shrinking? You’ll be fine?” He reaches for her other hand, needing to feel her. Again, she nods, smiling.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. Mulder stares at her, watches her, and sees his whole future. Their future. Together. His lips quiver again, but this time from joy. Scully nods, understanding him without a single word spoken.

“Come here,” he says, desperate. He lets go of her hands and engulfs her in his arms. Their positions on the bed are awkward, but they make it work. His heart thumps against her chest, and he feels hers, too. He doesn’t care if it was the chip or a miracle. For once, he doesn’t care about uncovering a secret truth. He just wants to hold her in his arms and have her by his side for as long as she wants to be.

“Will you stay?” she asks into his neck. Her lips are warm and wet and her touch brings him back into the here and now.

“I’ll stay,” he says. He’ll stay as long as she will endure him in her hospital room.

“I need to call my family,” she whispers and he loosens his grip on her. Her face is as wet as his own feels and he wipes at her eyes with his thumb. Her blue eyes are almost translucent and he’s in fear of losing himself in them. Instead, he finds himself nodding along, reaching for the cell phone on her bedside table and handing it to her.

“Tell them right away,” Mulder says. “Say you have good news.” He smiles sheepishly. She doesn’t need to know about what he’s gone through in between her call and her breaking the news to him. Still, he’d like Mrs. Scully and Bill Jr. to know what they’re in for so they won’t have to worry anymore. There’s been too much heartbreak already. Scully nods at him, new tears falling from her eyes.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Mulder muses and Scully’s eyebrows knit together.

“It’s not Christmas,” she says with a chuckle and he takes her hand into his, entwining their fingers. She lets him. He marvels at their laced hands, remembering the song from earlier. He hopes the woman found a river to skate away on. He hopes she found her happiness somewhere along the way. Or maybe what she was looking for was right in front of her eyes the whole time. He knows what’s that like. 

Mulder lifts his head and grins at her, falling deeper in love with her, allowing himself the full force of his emotions for once. The skepticism in her expression lets him know that she’s about to call him crazy. Or she would if this weren’t the exact moment her mother picks up the phone.

“Mom?” she says, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. Mulder squeezes her fingers to remind her he’s here with her. “I have something to tell you-…,” Scully goes on and looks at Mulder. There are so many things unspoken between them, and so many possibilities now for their future. 

“It’s good news.”

[witchygagirlwrites]

Baby's First Christmas

Jay Halstead x Reader

You and Jay have a 2 month old and its her first Christmas @allisonargent144

“Jay, baby she’s two months old. She’s not even going to remember it” you couldn’t help but laugh because your boyfriend was nothing shy of adorable. He wore your daughter Lilian across his chest in a baby sling and showed her every bulb and asked where she wanted to put it before placing it on the tree. 

He cut his eyes at you with a small smirk “I know this but we will and she’ll see pictures. I want her to know that we have always gone all out for her. That’s she’s been celebrated” you shook your head but snapped a photo nonetheless. Christmas was a little over a week away and this year was different for you and Jay considering you were parents now.

The most stressful day of your life was finding out you were pregnant. You’d caught two rounds to your vest and med wanted to do an xray to ensure nothing was broken but needed to do a urine test first as a precaution like they did on every woman to ensure they weren’t pregnant. The look on Will’s face when he’d come back into your room was something you would never forget.

“Repeat that one more time Will” you couldn’t believe what he was telling you. “Um you’re about six and a half weeks pregnant Y/N” you nodded slowly, holding your side where it was sore from the blow you’d caught “What about the slugs I caught in the vest? Did that hurt it?” he shook his head “We can do an ultrasound but by now you would be bleeding if anything was wrong besides with how far up you were shot it shouldn’t have affected anything. Am I safe in assuming it’s Jay’s?”

“No shit Halstead!” you hadn’t meant for your voice to get so shrill but between the dull ache in your side and now this you couldn’t help it. He grinned “Well then congrats, want me to go get him?” You nodded “Please”

You’d heard Jay long before he got to your room “If something is wrong with her and you’re out here with me instead of helping her you’re gonna need a doctor” the door to your room burst open and he stormed in, freezing when he saw the look on your face “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard and looked back at Will who nodded “I’ll give you two some privacy” once Will walked out you took a deep breath “Jay um they couldn’t do an xray. Will just had to physically check my ribs” his eyes scrunched up like they always did when he heard something he didn’t quite understand “What? Why?”

You shrugged one shoulder, a small smile on your face “You don’t xray a pregnant woman unless absolutely necessary” his eyes widened and he didn’t say anything for several long heartbeats then he was across the room, pulling you into his arms “You’re pregnant?” “And hurting from my ribs” you reminded and he loosened his grip.

You cut your eyes up at him, feeling the knot in your stomach loosen “You’re happy?” he nodded “Yeah, I mean..aren’t you?” you shrugged “We’ve only been together a little over a year Jay. Do you want a baby with me?” he sat down on the bed next to you, one hand gently cupping your cheek while the other slipped around your waist “It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together. I know I love you, I know this is it for me. I’d never want another woman to have my baby”

You felt tears spring to your eyes at his words “I love you too Jay” and he pulled you into his lap, being careful of your ribs as he whispered “I’m gonna be a dad,you’re gonna be a mom”

Jay was a dream your entire pregnancy. He was at your side for every appointment. Any time morning sickness got the best of you, he was holding your hair back then there with a warm rag and something to settle your stomach. Weird cravings? Even if it’s two am, you’re getting them.

Emotions getting the best of you? He’s figuring them out before you are and offering what you need. Back hurting? He’s rubbing it. He’s staying up at night just to talk to your growing stomach and draw patterns across it. If any man on earth was meant to be a dad it was Jay.

The day you found out it was a girl, a part of you had worried he’d be disappointed but no, he’d grinned at the ultrasound tech “Explains why she reacts to my voice so much. She’s already a daddy’s girl”

The day Lilian was born was a week before Halloween. Jay supported you so much during labor the nurses joked that he needed to teach other dads how it was done. If you hadn’t already been in love with him you would’ve fallen in love watching him with her. He was a natural at being a dad.

You were talking to Will next to his tree. Him and Nat had thrown a little get together Christmas eve so you and Jay came over. Jay was currently talking to Kim with Lilian secure across his chest in a baby sling, one hand at her tiny head and the other across her body.  

“He really is amazing at that isn’t he?” Will observed and you smiled proudly “He really is. You know he decorated the apartment with all the colors the pediatrician told us babies can see. He’s trying so hard to make sure when she gets older and looks back on photos that she doesn’t doubt for a moment that she’s always been loved” 

He smiled, “Did you take her to see Santa?” Santa this year was played by Mouch and you had indeed taken Lilian to see him. She’d cooed at him and the entire firehouse had fallen in love.  You pulled your phone out and clicked the photos to show him. He swiped through them “Those are too cute. Send them to me” 

You sent him a few then looked back over towards Jay and realized he was already looking at you, a small smile on his face. Where you originally worried your relationship was too new for a baby, if anything it made the love you had for each other grow even more.

Will cleared his throat and when you looked back at him he raised an eyebrow “So when are you getting upgraded to sister in law?” you felt your face warm and shoved playfully at his shoulder “Oh hush Halstead” he laughed “I’m serious! My little brother thinks the sun rises for you and Lilian. He needs to give you both the same last name”

You shook your head “I don’t need a ring to be Jay’s” he nodded “I know but still” you laughed “You sound like a mother hen Will”

You woke up slowly and realized you were alone in the bed. You sat up slowly, stretching as you did. You could hear Jay’s voice drifting in from the open door and knew he was talking to Lilian.

You swung your legs out of the bed and headed towards the living room. When you opened the door, your heart flipped at the sight that met you. Jay was sitting next to the tree, with the blinds open to show Lilian the snow falling. She was wearing her jumper that had rudolph and frosty all over it while Jay was wearing matching PJ pants. You were currently wearing a matching set.

He was talking low to her and while you couldn’t catch most of the words what you did catch was “Your first Christmas” “I love you and your mom more than anything” 

After a moment you stepped further out of the room and cleared your throat “Merry Christmas Lilian” Jay looked over at you, a broad smile slipping onto his face “Look! Mommy’s up!” you walked over to sit down next to them and leaned your head over on his shoulder “How long have you two been awake?”

He shrugged “About an hour. I wanted to let you sleep in” you pressed a kiss to his cheek “I love you” then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead “And I love you”   

You reached for her so he transferred her into your arms then kissed your temple “I’ll go grab her bottle and start coffee” you nodded, holding her to your chest as you ran a finger across her features. When he came back he sat behind you, pulling you back against his chest before handing you her bottle.

__________________

The two of you sat like this a lot of mornings. Just holding her and enjoying each other. He wrapped his arms around you while you fed her, his chin resting on your shoulder. “This is the best christmas I’ve ever had” you cut your eyes up at him with a grin “You just woke up an hour ago”

He nodded “I woke up to her making little babbling sounds over the monitor with you curled up on my chest. I woke up feeling complete. You and her were missing pieces I never knew I needed” “Jay, don’t make me cry while I’m feeding her” he laughed lightly “I’m sorry baby” and kissed your cheek.

____________

After Lilian was fed and had a diaper change it was time to open presents. You and Jay took turns “helping” her open her presents. Considering how young she was it was mainly new outfits or diapers but watching Jay hold her and show her everything as he unwrapped it like she was going to give her opinion was better than anything you could’ve received.

Once you were fairly certain there were no more presents he pulled Lilian up to his ear and acted like she was saying something “Is that right? Where did he put it?” 

You raised an eyebrow “What are you doing?” he winked at you before standing up with Lilian and heading towards your bedroom. A few minutes later he returned with her and was holding something in his hand but considering it was under her you couldn’t see. You did notice he put another outfit on her.

“Jay?” you asked and he smiled “Wanna see her onesie?” you shrugged and stood up to walk over to him. He transferred her to your arms and you read that her onesie said “Will you marry Daddy?”

You looked back at him and realized he was already on one knee and had a ring in his hand. “Y/N I loved you by the time we were together a couple months,when a year hit I knew this was it for me. Then when you told me you were pregnant? Everything just clicked. You and her are my everything. She’s already a Halstead so do you think you’d like to be one before next Christmas?”

You nodded, fighting back tears “I’d love to marry you Jay” he slipped the ring onto your finger then stood, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips “Merry Christmas Mrs Halstead” you smiled against his lips “Merry Christmas Mr Halstead”

Lilian made a cooing noise so Jay broke away from your lips to kiss her forehead “And Merry Christmas to you little Miss Halstead”

[rootedinrevisions]

A Holiday to Remember

SUMMARY: When plans with your family fall through, an unexpected invitation leads you to spending Christmas with Glen - and his lively, close-knit family. You find yourself swept up in the warmth of holiday traditions and the undeniable pull of a connection you never saw coming. Between stolen moments under twinkling lights and whispered confessions, the boundaries of friendship blur, leaving you to wonder if this Christmas could be the start of something extraordinary or just a fleeting holiday dream.

A/N: So I was hoping to have this out before or on Christmas but then I got writer's block and struggled to finish it. And then I got inspiration...maybe too much inspiration. I watched Anyone But You and then a couple Hallmark movies so this definitely has a rom-com/cheesy Hallmark vibe to it. That's also why this is so long because as I was watching those movies I got ideas for moments to add to the story. But hopefully you all enjoy this!

WARNINGS: Some light cursing, maybe? Otherwise I don't think there's any warnings. Just 17k words of cute fluffy wholesomeness.

WORD COUNT: 17.5k (I got a little carried away with this one.)

TAGS: In Comments

The warm glow of string lights hung delicately along the restaurant's windows, casting a cozy hue on the bustling Los Angeles sidewalk. You took a deep breath, smoothing your sweater as you stepped inside, the gentle hum of conversation and clinking glasses enveloping you.

Approaching the host stand, you offered a polite smile. "Hi, I’m here for Glen Powell’s reservation."

The host, a young woman with a sleek bob and a professional smile, glanced at her list before nodding. "Of course. Right this way." She grabbed a menu and gestured for you to follow her through the dimly lit dining room.

As you weaved between tables, your nerves fluttered faintly, though you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like this was anything new—just dinner with Glen. Something you’d done dozens of times.

The host led you to a table tucked in the back corner, offering a little more privacy from the busy main floor. Glen spotted you almost immediately. He set his phone down and stood up, his familiar, easy grin spreading across his face as he opened his arms.

“There she is,” he said warmly, pulling you into a hug as soon as you reached him. His cologne—a blend of something woodsy and clean—wrapped around you, as comforting as the embrace itself.

“Sorry I’m late,” you murmured against his shoulder before pulling back. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

He waved off your apology as you both sat down, his smile never faltering. “You’re in L.A.—isn’t traffic always a nightmare?” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. “Besides, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

The way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long made your stomach flutter, but you quickly pushed the feeling aside. It was Glen, your friend. Nothing more.

You picked up the menu and skimmed over the options, even though you weren’t really focusing on the words. Glen sat across from you, flipping his own menu open but still managing to glance your way every few moments.

“So,” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “How’s the movie coming along? Are you still filming, or are you finally getting some time to breathe?”

Glen chuckled softly, setting the menu down as he leaned back in his chair. “We wrapped a few days ago, actually. Post-production is in full swing now, so it’s out of my hands now. Now I can take a break and get some normalcy.”

“Normalcy,” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “For you, that probably means jetting off somewhere, doesn’t it?”

He smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Okay, maybe my version of ‘normal’ is a little skewed. But I’m just going back to Austin for a few days. Nothing too crazy. What about you? How’s work? Are they letting you off the hook at all this holiday season?”

You sighed, your eyes drifting back to the menu as you tried to keep your voice light. “It’s fine. Busy, as always. But I guess that’s better than having nothing to do, right?”

He frowned slightly, studying you with an intensity that made you squirm just a little. “You sure you’re doing okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m good. It’s just—work has been hectic, and I haven’t really had time to think about the holidays.”

His brow furrowed. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re not going home for Christmas.”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It’s just… complicated,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “My family’s so far away, and with work, I just couldn’t make the timing work. So, yeah, I’ll be here this year. But it’s not a big deal.”

Glen’s jaw tightened, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “You’re spending Christmas alone?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’ll survive.”

“No way,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “That’s not happening.”

You blinked, startled by his sudden intensity. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re coming with me,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “To Texas. You can’t spend Christmas alone—that’s just… wrong.”

“Glen,” you began, already shaking your head. “I can’t just crash your family’s holiday. That’s not fair to them—or to you.”

“They’d love you,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And it’s not crashing if you’re invited. Which you are. Officially. Come on, what’s holding you back?”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the way he was looking at you—earnest, determined, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer—made the words catch in your throat.

“It’s just a couple of days,” he added, his voice softening now. “And I promise, it’ll be fun. Think of it as an adventure.”

You hesitated, your resolve wavering under the weight of his sincerity. Maybe, just maybe, he was right.

“Glen, I can’t just pack up and leave,” you said, trying to keep your tone firm. “I only have a couple of days off for the holiday, and—”

“Perfect,” he interrupted with a grin. “I’m only staying three days anyway. We’ll head out the morning of the 23rd, and we’ll be back by the 26th.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s not that simple. Do you know how expensive last-minute flights are right now? Not to mention the hassle of even finding one—everything’s probably booked solid.”

His grin didn’t falter. “I’ll help you find a flight. Hell, I’ll even cover it if that’s what’s holding you back.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Glen, no. You’re not paying for my ticket.”

“Why not? Consider it my Christmas gift to you,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t just offered something outrageous.

You scoffed. “You’re insane.”

“I’m resourceful,” he corrected, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And if it really comes down to it, I’ll fly you there myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Now that seems like a gross misuse of your pilot’s license.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but his determination was starting to chip away at your defenses. “Glen, I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t want to intrude on your family’s holiday. It’s their time with you, and I’d just be—”

“A welcome guest,” he cut in, his voice softer now. “Trust me, they’d love to have you there. My mom’s been asking when she’s going to meet my mysterious ‘friend’ I talk about anyway. This is the perfect chance.”

Your cheeks warmed at that, and you looked away, suddenly very interested in the pattern on your napkin. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” he urged, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. “It’ll be fun. You’ll get to relax, eat some great food, and experience the chaos that is my family at Christmas. What do you have to lose?”

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let this go. “What about the fact that I’ll probably end up sharing a room with one of your nieces or sleeping on the couch? Not exactly my idea of a restful holiday.”

“Wrong again,” he said with a triumphant grin. “We will be staying at my place. I have plenty of space. I’ll even take the couch if you want the nice bed.”

You laughed despite yourself, the mental image of Glen curled up on his own couch making it impossible to stay serious. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re running out of excuses,” he pointed out, his grin widening. “So? What’s it going to be?”

You hesitated, your gaze meeting his. There was something in his eyes—an openness, a genuine warmth—that made it hard to say no.

“Fine,” you said finally, throwing your hands up in defeat. “You win. I’ll go.”

His face lit up, and he reached across the table to squeeze your hand. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

“You’d better be right,” you teased, though you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

* * * * *

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow across the Austin skyline as Glen navigated the bustling city streets, the hum of his truck filling the comfortable silence. You sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the vibrant murals and quirky storefronts that zipped past. Normally, you’d be chatting nonstop, asking Glen a million questions about the city or teasing him about his questionable playlist choices. But now, your hands fidgeted in your lap, and your lips pressed into a thin line, your mind elsewhere.

“You’re kind of quiet over there. You’ve said about five words since we got here,” Glen remarked, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. He glanced at you briefly, his brows furrowing in concern before turning his attention back to the road. “That’s gotta be some kind of record for you.”

You blinked, his comment pulling you from your thoughts. Turning to face him, you tried to muster a small smile. “Sorry. Just... a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Glen didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh,” he said, his tone skeptical. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with meeting my family, would it?”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Relax! You’ve got nothing to worry about, you know. They’re going to love you. I’m the one they’re stuck with, remember?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, but the sound was short-lived. “It’s not that I’m worried they won’t like me,” you admitted. “It’s just... I don’t know. What if I say something dumb? Or trip over the Christmas tree? Or—”

“Hey,” Glen interrupted, his voice gentle. At a red light, he reached over and placed a warm hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re overthinking this. My family’s not expecting perfection, okay? They’re just excited to meet the person I’ve been talking about nonstop for the last couple of months.”

Your eyes widened at his confession, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve been talking about me?”

Glen grinned, the light turning green as he started driving again. “Obviously. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t brag about how great you are?” He paused, then added with a teasing smirk, “Although I may have left out the part where you can’t handle spicy food. Don’t let my mom’s salsa scare you off, alright?”

That earned a genuine laugh from you, and Glen shot you a quick, satisfied look before turning his attention back to the road.

As the city gave way to sprawling suburbs and then the open, winding roads on the edge of Austin, Glen’s demeanor remained steady—calm, reassuring, and lighthearted. He pointed out landmarks along the way, sharing stories about his time growing up in the area and cracking jokes to pull you out of your nervous headspace.

“You doing okay over there?” he asked after a while, glancing at you again.

“Yeah,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Putting up with you?” Glen repeated, feigning offense. “You think I invited you out here because I had to? Please.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. Before you could dwell on it too much, Glen reached over to nudge your shoulder playfully. 

“Seriously, relax,” he said with a grin. “You’ll fit right in. And if anyone gives you a hard time, they’ll have to answer to me.”

You smiled at that, the knot in your stomach loosening slightly. Glen had a way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when your own thoughts tried to convince you otherwise.

When he finally pulled into the gravel driveway of his house, nestled on a quiet piece of land just outside the city, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Glen parked the truck and turned to you with an encouraging smile.

“Alright,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “First stop: my place. Let’s drop off your stuff and then we’ll head over to my parents’ house. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath as you climbed out of the truck. “Sounds good.”

Glen led the way up the front porch steps, his boots thudding lightly against the wood. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you enter first.

“Welcome to Casa de Glen,” he said with a grin, sweeping his arm theatrically as you stepped inside.

The interior was exactly what you’d imagined—a perfect blend of cozy and modern. Warm wood floors stretched throughout the open-concept space, and the living room featured a large leather couch and a stone fireplace that was clearly the centerpiece of the room. A framed poster of Top Gun: Maverick hung on one wall, balanced by shelves filled with books, photos, and a few sports trophies.

“Wow,” you said, taking it all in. “It’s nice. It feels... you.”

“That’s what I was going for,” he said, closing the door behind you. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He guided you through the living room and into the kitchen, which was sleek and modern with stainless steel appliances and a large island in the center. “This is where the magic happens,” he said, patting the countertop. “By magic, I mean reheating leftovers and making the occasional breakfast taco.”

You laughed, running your hand along the cool stone of the counter. “Very impressive.”

He pointed out a small office that doubled as a gym, then led you to the back door, which opened onto a sprawling patio overlooking a modest backyard. Twinkling string lights were strung across the patio, and a firepit sat off to the side, surrounded by chairs.

“This is great,” you said, stepping out onto the patio and taking in the peaceful view.

“It’s my favorite spot,” Glen admitted, leaning against the doorframe. “If you need to escape the chaos over the next few days, feel free to sneak out here.”

The offer warmed your heart, but before you could respond, Glen pushed off the doorframe and motioned back inside. “Come on, let’s get your bags upstairs.”

He carried your suitcase up the staircase, which was adorned with simple but tasteful decorations—a mix of family photos, framed movie posters, and a few awards he’d picked up over the years. At the top of the stairs, he turned to the left and opened a door.

“This is the guest room,” he said, stepping aside to let you enter.

The room was cozy, with a plush queen-sized bed covered in a navy-blue comforter, a small desk by the window, and a few decorative touches that made it feel welcoming—a basket of rolled-up blankets, a lamp with a warm glow, and a stack of books on the nightstand.

“This is nice,” you said, setting your carry-on bag down by the bed.

“I figured you’d want your own space,” Glen said, setting your suitcase by the desk. “Bathroom’s just down the hall, and there are extra towels in the closet if you need them.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, before giving you a small smile. “Alright, let me show you the rest of the upstairs.”

You followed him back out into the hall, where he pointed out the bathroom and a smaller guest room that had been converted into a second office. Finally, he led you to the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

“And this is where the magic really happens,” he joked, pushing open the door to reveal a spacious room with a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet, and a sliding door that led to a private balcony.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You and your magic. I’m starting to think you have a pretty loose definition of the word.”

“Hey, I have my moments,” he said with a wink.

He led you back downstairs, where the tour ended in the living room. “Alright, that’s the grand tour,” he said, clapping his hands together. “What do you think?”

“It’s great,” you said honestly. “It feels very...you. Like even if I didn’t know this was your house I could see you fitting in here.”

And you meant it. You’d been to Glen’s place in Los Angeles before. And it was comfortable and fine enough. But it felt more like a bachelor pad. But this house here in Austin felt like him. It felt like home.

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “I’m glad you like it. Now, you ready to meet the chaos that is my family?”

Your stomach flipped nervously, but Glen’s easy smile was enough to settle you. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said.

“Perfect,” he said, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Let’s do this.”

*****

The truck rumbled to a stop in front of the charming two-story house, its exterior painted a warm cream color with dark green shutters. Wreaths adorned the windows, and strings of twinkling lights outlined the roof, giving it a postcard-worthy holiday glow. Glen shifted the truck into park, but before he could even cut the engine, the front door burst open, and a wave of people spilled out onto the porch.

“Here we go,” Glen muttered with a grin, glancing at you. “Brace yourself.”

Your heart raced as his mom was the first to step forward, her arms already open as she made her way down the steps. Cyndy Powell was the picture of warmth, her hair perfectly styled, and her face glowing with excitement. Behind her, Glen’s dad, Glen Sr., stood with an easygoing smile, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His sisters weren’t far behind—Leslie, the youngest, bounced on her toes with a wide grin, while Lauren, the oldest, followed at a more measured pace, one hand gripping the tiny hand of Glen’s nephew. Glen’s niece trailed behind, clinging to Lauren’s husband.

“Glen!” Cyndy called, waving both hands like she hadn’t seen her son in years, even though he’d assured you it had only been a couple of weeks.

You opened your door cautiously as Glen hopped out of the truck, meeting his mom halfway with a hug. 

“Hey, Mom,” he said, his voice filled with affection.

Cyndy pulled back just enough to cup his face. “You look too thin,” she said, making him laugh. “Are you eating?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Glen assured her, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You hesitated for half a second before stepping out of the truck, suddenly feeling like every pair of eyes was on you. Cyndy’s expression shifted immediately to one of pure delight as she made a beeline for you.

“And you must be the one Glen keeps telling us about!” she said, pulling you into a hug before you could even respond. “Oh, it’s so good to finally meet you. I’m Cyndy.”

“Hi, Mrs. Powell,” you managed, your voice slightly muffled by the hug. “It’s really nice to meet you, too.”

“Oh, please, call me Cyndy,” she insisted, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. “You’re even prettier than Glen said.”

“Mom,” Glen groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he came to stand beside you.

“What?” Cyndy said innocently before ushering you both toward the rest of the group. “Come on, everyone’s dying to meet her.”

One by one, you were introduced—Glen Sr., who gave you a firm handshake and a kind smile; Leslie, who immediately wrapped you in a hug and declared you were “way too cool to be hanging out with Glen”; Lauren, who gave you a warm smile and said she’d heard so much about you; and finally, Lauren’s twins, who peeked out from behind their dad shyly until Glen crouched down to scoop them up in a playful hug.

“Alright, alright,” Glen said, standing with a twin on each hip as he turned back to his family. “Let her breathe, would you? She’s not used to all this chaos.”

“Chaos?” Cyndy said, feigning offense. “This is love, Glen. Pure holiday love.”

You laughed, but Glen caught the way your shoulders tensed, and he stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. “You okay?” he asked softly, his tone just for you.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s just... a lot.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I’ll run interference if I have to.”

Before you could respond, Cyndy was ushering everyone inside, rattling off questions about the drive and insisting you must be starving after traveling all day. You followed the group into the house, which was every bit as welcoming as its exterior—soft, cozy furniture, a roaring fire in the living room, and the scent of something sweet wafting from the kitchen.

You shrugged out of your coat and Glen stepped closer, his hands brushing against your shoulders as he helped slide it off. The gesture was so natural, so easy, that it sent a little flutter through your chest.

“Here, I’ll take that.” His voice was casual, but the faint smile he gave you as he carefully hung your coat on the rack was anything but.

As he turned back to you, Cyndy leaned in with a knowing smile, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “He’s been so excited to bring you home. You should’ve heard him talk about it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the comment, your cheeks warming as her words sank in. “Oh,” you managed, a little breathless.

Cyndy’s hand lingered on your arm for just a moment, her expression soft with unmistakable affection. “You’ll see,” she added with a wink, before stepping away to call to her husband about something in the kitchen.

When you turned back to Glen, he was watching you, his head tilted slightly. “What was that about?” he asked, his tone light but his curiosity clear.

“Oh, nothing,” you said quickly, trying to wave it off. But you couldn’t quite keep the smile from tugging at your lips—or the slight flush from creeping up your neck.

Glen’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Uh-huh. Sure.” He didn’t push, though, instead gesturing for you to follow him. “Come on. Let’s grab something to drink before everyone starts peppering you with questions.”

The moment lingered as you followed him into the house, Cyndy’s words echoing in your mind. The idea of Glen talking about you—being excited to bring you here—was hard to shake. Maybe it was just his family’s charm, or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that stayed on your face as Glen led the way.

* * * * *

With a steaming mug of cocoa warming your hands, you smiled politely as Glen's mom chatted animatedly about the Powell family Christmas traditions. You nodded along, but the flurry of introductions and the cozy chaos of his family had you feeling a little overwhelmed. Sensing your chance for a breather, you leaned toward Glen.

“Excuse me for a minute,” you murmured, setting your mug down on the counter.

He shot you a curious look but nodded, letting you slip away.

You wandered down the hall, grateful for the moment to collect yourself. After freshening up in the restroom, you made your way back toward the kitchen, but you stopped short as voices drifted toward you from the other side of the doorway.

“...she’s adorable, Glen. Seriously,” one of his sisters—Lauren, you thought—said with a teasing lilt.

“And you brought her home for Christmas?” Leslie chimed in, her voice lilting with mock surprise.

Glen groaned, and you could practically hear him rubbing his hand over his face. “Guys, come on. We’re just friends.”

“Right,” Lauren said, drawing the word out like she didn’t believe him for a second. “Just friends, and yet you insisted she come here instead of spending Christmas alone. Sounds like something a boyfriend would do, don’t you think, Les?”

“Definitely boyfriend behavior,” Leslie agreed, clearly enjoying herself.

“You two are impossible,” Glen muttered, though his tone carried more amusement than frustration. “I didn’t want her to spend the holidays alone, okay?”

Your breath caught at his words, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Sure, sure,” Lauren said, her tone sly. “But just so you know, Mom’s already planning the wedding.”

Glen let out a sharp laugh. “There isn’t going to be a wedding. Let’s dial it back a little, huh? She’s nervous enough as it is without you two scaring her off.”

You took a step back, considering whether to linger a moment longer, but the sound of chairs scraping against the floor signaled that Glen’s sisters were on the move. Quickly, you stepped into the doorway, pretending you hadn’t heard a thing.

“Oh, there she is,” Leslie said with a grin as she and Lauren passed you.

Glen leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, his brow lifting as you stepped inside. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and genuine.

You nodded, though your gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than you intended. “Yeah, just needed a minute. Your family’s really nice, by the way.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “They’re a handful, but they mean well.”

You walked over to retrieve your cocoa, the rich chocolate aroma grounding you. “They seem really excited to have everyone together.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of their thing,” Glen said, watching you closely. “What about you? You hanging in there?”

You shrugged lightly, a small smile playing at your lips. “It’s a lot, but… in a good way. It’s been a while since I’ve been around a big family like this.”

Glen straightened, stepping closer so his arm brushed against yours. “Well, they already love you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. His grin widened, but before he could say more, his mom’s voice rang out from the living room, calling for him to help bring in the extra chairs for dinner.

He sighed dramatically, earning another laugh from you. “Duty calls,” he said, but his hand lightly touched your arm as he passed. “Don’t let them rope you into anything too crazy while I’m gone.”

You smiled, watching as he left the room. Something about being here—with him—felt unexpectedly right.

* * * * *

The kitchen buzzed with activity as Glen’s mom and sisters dove into dinner preparations. The smell of roasted turkey and fresh-baked rolls filled the air, making your stomach rumble despite the cocoa you’d just finished. Cyndy was meticulously checking the oven temperature, while Lauren and Leslie were chopping vegetables at the kitchen island.

“Need any help?” you asked hesitantly, stepping further into the room.

Lauren glanced up with a warm smile. “You’re sweet to offer, but trust me, this kitchen is already at max capacity.”

“Speak for yourself,” Leslie said, pointing her knife toward the pile of unpeeled carrots. “Here, grab a peeler. You can help me out before Mom has a meltdown over the timing.”

Cyndy turned from the oven, mock-offended. “I heard that!”

Leslie just smirked as she handed you a peeler and a couple of carrots. “Ignore her. She loves when we tease her. Keeps things interesting.”

You laughed softly and settled in next to Leslie, grateful for something to do with your hands.

“So, how are you holding up?” Leslie asked after a moment, her voice quieter, more personal.

You glanced at her, surprised by the question. “Oh, um… good, I think. Your family’s been really welcoming.”

“We’re loud, though,” Lauren chimed in, pausing her slicing to grin at you. “Hopefully Glen warned you about that.”

“It’s a good kind of loud,” you said honestly, feeling more at ease with them. “I’m just… not used to it, I guess.”

Leslie nudged you lightly with her elbow. “Well, if you can survive the Powell family Christmas chaos, you’re pretty much invincible.”

“Noted,” you said with a laugh, peeling another carrot.

Lauren tilted her head, studying you curiously. “So, how did you and Glen meet, anyway?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the doorway like Glen might walk in and save you. “We met through mutual friends,” you said carefully. “It’s kind of a long story, but we just… clicked, I guess.”

Leslie smirked, clearly enjoying the topic. “Clicked, huh? Like, just friends clicked? Or ‘maybe there’s something more’ clicked?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you focused intently on the carrot in your hand. “Definitely just friends,” you said quickly, your voice a little too firm.

“Hmm,” Lauren said, exchanging a look with Leslie.

Before they could press further, Glen walked in, carrying a couple of folding chairs from the garage. He stopped short when he noticed the three of you huddled together.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he set the chairs against the wall.

“Nothing,” Lauren said, her voice entirely too innocent.

Leslie shrugged. “Just getting to know your friend.”

Glen sighed, giving his sisters a pointed look before turning to you. “Don’t let them gang up on you. They’re relentless once they get started.”

“I think I’m holding my own,” you said with a small smile, though you were grateful for his presence.

“Good,” Glen said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “Because dinner’s almost ready, and if they scare you off before dessert, Mom’s going to kill them.”

The laughter that followed eased the lingering tension, and for the first time since you’d arrived, you felt like you were starting to find your footing amidst the whirlwind of the Powell family.

“Alright,” Cyndy said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get everything to the table before it gets cold.”

The dining room table was a feast for the senses. Platters of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables were arranged in the center, surrounded by bowls of cranberry sauce, rolls, and casseroles. Soft holiday music played in the background, and the warm glow of the chandelier added to the cozy atmosphere.

You found yourself seated between Glen and Lauren, while the twins took turns giggling and sneaking bites of their food despite their mom’s warnings to “at least wait for everyone to get their plate.”

The conversation started casually, with everyone complimenting Cyndy’s cooking and trading jokes about who had eaten the most last Christmas. It wasn’t long before the table was buzzing with overlapping chatter and bursts of laughter.

“So, what’s everyone’s plans for New Year’s?” Lauren asked as she helped her daughter cut her turkey into smaller pieces.

“Will and I are thinking of taking the kids to the park downtown for the fireworks,” Lauren said. “What about you, Glen?”

Glen shrugged, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Haven’t decided yet. Depends on if this one’s dragging me somewhere” He nudged your shoulder with a playful grin.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not dragging you to anything. You keep inviting yourself to my plans.”

“Semantics,” he quipped, earning a chuckle from Leslie.

Cyndy, ever the gracious host, leaned toward you with a warm smile. “So, what do you usually do for the holidays with your family?”

You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question. “Well, when I can make it home, we usually have a quiet Christmas. Just my parents and my siblings. Lots of food, games, and, uh, my mom’s famous fudge.”

“That sounds lovely,” Cyndy said, her tone genuine. “You’ll have to share the fudge recipe sometime. Maybe we’ll add it to our dessert rotation next year.”

“I’d love to,” you said, feeling a little more at ease.

Throughout dinner, Glen made sure to keep you involved in the conversation, throwing in lighthearted jokes and even sharing an embarrassing story from high school that had everyone in stitches.

“Remember when Glen tried to sing karaoke at the Christmas talent show?” Leslie said, her face lighting up with glee.

“Oh, no,” Glen groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Lauren jumped in. “He thought he could hit the high notes in ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You.’ Spoiler alert: he couldn’t.”

The table erupted in laughter, and even you couldn’t hold back a giggle. Glen peeked at you through his fingers, feigning betrayal.

“Sorry,” you said between laughs. “But I need to hear this someday.”

“Not happening,” Glen said firmly, shaking his head.

By the time dessert was served—a towering plate of Cyndy’s homemade pecan pie—you were full, content, and starting to see why Glen loved spending the holidays here so much.

After dinner, the energy in the house began to settle. The twins had all but fallen asleep at the table, and Lauren and her husband said their goodbyes, bundling their sleepy children into coats before heading out for the night.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Lauren said, pulling you into a warm hug. “You did great tonight. Don’t let these guys scare you off.” She winked, glancing briefly at Glen.

With the house quieter, you, Glen, and Leslie remained behind to spend a little more time with his parents. Cyndy brought out another round of cocoa, insisting on adding an extra dollop of whipped cream for everyone.

The fire in the living room had burned low, but Glen Sr. stoked it back to life, filling the room with a warm glow. You took a seat on the couch near the hearth, your fingers curling around the mug of cocoa as you soaked in the comforting crackle of the flames.

The warmth of the fire helped, but the Texas winter chill still lingered, and you found yourself shivering slightly as you sipped your drink.

Glen, sitting in an armchair nearby, noticed immediately. Without a word, he stood and grabbed a thick, soft blanket draped over the back of the couch. Crossing the room, he carefully draped it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment to ensure it was snug around you.

“Better?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, your heart warming at the small, thoughtful gesture. “Much better. Thank you.”

Instead of returning to his chair, Glen sat down beside you on the couch, the corner of the blanket brushing against his arm as he stretched out. The closeness was both comforting and a little distracting, the ease of his presence pulling you further into the moment.

Across the room, Cyndy and Glen Sr. shared a knowing look, their quiet conversation halting as they observed the two of you. Leslie, seated in the armchair Glen had vacated, leaned over to whisper something to her mom, her expression amused.

Glen Sr. gave a subtle shake of his head, murmuring something you couldn’t quite catch, though his tone held a hint of playful exasperation.

The whispers and exchanged glances didn’t go unnoticed by Glen, who shot his sister a pointed look. “You guys good over there?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Totally,” Leslie replied, a little too quickly, her smile innocent in a way that wasn’t fooling anyone. “Just enjoying the show.”

You glanced between them, confused. “What show?”

“Nothing!” Cyndy said quickly, her tone light but clearly trying to steer the conversation away. “It’s just nice to see Glen bringing a friend home for the holidays.”

You felt your cheeks warm under her gaze, and Glen let out a small sigh, clearly used to his family’s antics.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Leslie smirked but didn’t push further, and Cyndy changed the subject to talk about the Powell family’s Christmas morning traditions.

The room was dimly lit, the fire crackling softly in the background. The evening had settle dinto a quiet calm, with Glen sitting on the couch, his arm stretched across the backrest. Despite your best efforts to stay engaged in the chatter between Glen and his family, your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.

Cyndy and Leslie paused mid conversation when they noticed you were asleep. Your breathing was slow and even, your head nestled against Glen like it was the most natural thing in the world. Cyndy and Leslie exchanged a look, both already grinning.

“She’s so sweet,” Cyndy whispered, her voice barely above the crackling of the fire.

“And you’re adorable together,” Leslie added, leaning closer to her mom as if she were sharing a juicy secret.

Glen’s eyes flicked toward them, his lips tugging into a faint, knowing smirk. “We’re just friends,” he said, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing you.

Leslie arched a brow. “Sure, you are,” she teased, crossing her arms. “Because friends totally look at each other like that.”

“What are you even talking about?” Glen asked, rolling his eyes, though his free hand instinctively adjusted the blanket draped over you, tucking it more securely around your shoulders. You stirred slightly, leaning into him more, and his arm moved without hesitation, wrapping lightly around you to keep you comfortable.

“Like that,” Leslie said pointedly, gesturing at him with a playful smirk.

Cyndy’s eyes were full of warmth as she added, “Leslie’s right, honey. It’s the way you look at her. Like she’s the only person in the room.”

Glen sighed, running a hand through your hair but careful not to jostle you. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted softly, his gaze dropping to you as you slept peacefully against him. “Probably more than I should have.”

Leslie’s teasing grin shifted into genuine curiosity. “So what’s stopping you?”

“It’s not the right time,” Glen said, his voice low but thoughtful. “My schedule’s insane. The next six to eight months are booked solid with filming, press tours… I’d barely be around. Starting something with her when I know I don’t have the time to make it work or for it to be healthy? It doesn’t feel fair to her. Or to me.”

Cyndy tilted her head, her brows furrowed slightly. “But you’ve managed to keep your friendship going despite all that. You both make time for each other. If you were dating, it wouldn’t be that much different, would it?”

Leslie chimed in, “Exactly. You’ve already proven that you make her a priority, even with everything you’ve got going on. If you really like her—and it’s obvious you do—why not take the chance?”

Glen glanced down at you again, the flickering firelight casting a warm glow across your peaceful face. His arm tightened just slightly around you, as if the thought of letting you go, even metaphorically, was too hard to bear.

He didn’t respond right away, the weight of his family’s words settling in as he watched you. Maybe they had a point. But taking that leap still felt like a mountain he wasn’t sure he could climb—at least not yet.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice soft and a little distant.

Leslie opened her mouth, ready to press him further, but Cyndy gave her a gentle nudge and a pointed look. “Let it go, Leslie,” she said quietly. “He’ll figure it out when he’s ready.”

As they turned to leave the room, Cyndy glanced back at Glen one more time, her expression full of motherly understanding. Glen caught her look, gave her a small, grateful nod, and then shifted slightly to settle more comfortably against the couch, his arm still securely around you.

For now, he decided, this moment was enough.

The warmth of the fire flickered softly, casting golden light across the room. Between the gentle crackle of the logs and the soothing rhythm of your breathing, Glen found himself starting to relax in a way he hadn’t in weeks. Your head rested against his shoulder, and the weight of it, combined with the soft rise and fall of your chest, brought an unexpected sense of peace.

Glen shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, but the movement only made you nestle closer, your arm brushing against his. He glanced down at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. The firelight danced in his eyes as his mind wandered, replaying his mom and Leslie’s words.

She’s sweet.

You’re adorable together.

What’s stopping you?

His gaze lingered on you, and a soft sigh escaped him. He knew what they meant. Knew how easy it would be to let himself fall. Maybe he already had.

The fire crackled again, pulling him from his thoughts. The room was growing quieter, the warmth enveloping him like a cocoon. His head tilted back slightly, his eyes growing heavier with each passing moment. Despite his best efforts to stay awake, the comfort of the moment proved too much.

It wasn’t long before Glen’s breathing matched yours, slow and steady, his chin dipping slightly toward his chest as sleep overtook him. The two of you sat there, heads close, his arm still loosely draped around you while the blanket kept you both warm.

Some time later, Cyndy padded softly into the living room, a smile spreading across her face as she took in the scene. You were still tucked against Glen, your hand now resting lightly against his chest. Glen’s head leaned toward yours, his features relaxed in a way only sleep could bring.

Cyndy stood there for a moment, her heart warming at the sight. She grabbed another blanket from the linen closet and approached quietly, careful not to wake either of you. With practiced ease, she draped it gently over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders before stepping back.

She turned to the fireplace, stoking the remaining embers and making sure it was safely extinguished. The room dimmed as she turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains.

Before heading to bed, she paused once more, her gaze softening as she looked back at the two of you. A small, knowing smile played on her lips as she shook her head lightly, then whispered to herself, “Just friends, huh?”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and Glen to rest peacefully in the quiet glow of the night.

*****

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a faint glow across the living room. Glen stirred, his body shifting slightly against the couch cushion as he blinked groggily, trying to orient himself. His eyes felt heavy, and for a moment, he couldn’t figure out why he felt so warm.

He shifted again, feeling something—or rather, someone—pressed against him. He froze, his heart skipping a beat as he realized he wasn’t alone.

Looking down, he saw you curled into his side, your front pressed snugly against his chest, your legs tangled with his. One blanket was wrapped around you, tucked in as though you’d done it instinctively, and another—one he didn’t even remember grabbing—covered both of you. His arm was draped protectively around you, his hand resting lightly against your back.

Your breath was warm against his neck, soft and even, and he could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat where your chest touched his. The realization sent a jolt of awareness through him. How had this happened? The last thing he remembered was sitting upright, with you asleep on his shoulder.

He let his head fall back onto the couch for a moment, exhaling slowly as he tried to make sense of it. Well, this is... comfortable, he thought wryly, though he couldn’t deny the quiet peace that came with waking up next to you.

As his brain started to wake up, he rubbed at his eyes, his other arm instinctively tightening around you as you shifted slightly in your sleep, murmuring something he couldn’t quite make out.

The sound of soft footsteps made him glance toward the archway leading to the kitchen. His parents stood there, his mom holding a coffee mug while his dad held the morning paper.

Cyndy stopped mid-step when she saw the two of you, her lips curling into a knowing smile she didn’t even try to hide. Glen groaned quietly, his free hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he looked up at them.

His dad raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, good morning,” his dad said, his tone amused. “Sleep well, son?”

Cyndy swatted his dad lightly on the arm but didn’t say anything, her smile widening as she looked between Glen and you.

Glen cleared his throat, his voice low and rough from sleep. “Morning,” he muttered, trying not to move too much and wake you.

Cyndy stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You looked so peaceful last night. I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” she said, her gaze warm and teasing.

Glen gave her a look, half-exasperated and half-grateful. “Thanks, Mom,” he murmured dryly, though there was no heat in his words.

“You should probably wake her before the others come down,” his dad added with a chuckle, nodding toward the stairs. “Don’t want to give Leslie too much ammunition.”

Glen sighed, his eyes flicking back to you. You were still sound asleep, your face relaxed and peaceful against him. His dad wasn’t wrong—Leslie would have a field day if she saw this.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” he said quietly, shifting slightly to try and rouse you without startling you.

Cyndy leaned closer to her husband as they turned to head back to the kitchen, her voice just loud enough for Glen to catch. “I think they’re adorable,” she whispered.

Glen groaned again, though he couldn’t quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at you, still nestled against him.

Glen sighed softly and glanced down at you, his heart doing an odd little flip at the sight of you so peaceful against him. For a moment, he hesitated, not wanting to disturb you. You looked so content, your face relaxed and framed by a strand of hair that had fallen loose.

But his dad was right—he needed to wake you before anyone else saw this and started making jokes he’d never live down.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. He shifted slightly, his hand moving to lightly brush against your shoulder. “Time to wake up.”

You stirred faintly but didn’t open your eyes, your brows furrowing as you shifted closer, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The movement sent a wave of warmth rushing through him, and for a split second, he froze, unsure how to handle the sudden closeness.

“Come on,” he tried again, his voice soft and laced with a hint of amusement now. “You’re going to miss breakfast.”

This time, you let out a soft hum of protest, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, “Five more minutes...”

Glen couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Come on, you need to wake up before the others come downstairs.”

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, and it took you a moment to register where you were. When you finally looked up at him, still half-asleep, your cheeks flushed as the realization hit.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice hoarse with sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Glen cut in quickly, his tone reassuring.

Your eyes dropped to where his arm was still draped around you, and you slowly began to sit up, the blanket falling away as you shifted. Glen helped, his hand steadying you as you moved, though he couldn’t quite hide the slight reluctance he felt at the loss of warmth.

“I, uh... hope I wasn’t too heavy,” you said, brushing a hand through your hair as you tried to smooth it down.

Glen smirked, leaning back against the couch. “You’re fine. But you do steal blankets, apparently,” he teased, motioning to the second blanket draped over him.

You blinked, confused, then looked down at the blanket and frowned. “Wait, where did that even come from?”

“Mom,” he said simply, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “She came in last night and covered us up. I think she wanted to make sure we didn’t freeze to death.”

Your cheeks reddened further, and you groaned softly, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh, great. So your mom saw us like that?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, reaching out to tug your hands away from your face, his smile softening. “She thought it was cute. So did Dad, for the record.”

“Wonderful,” you muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at your lips now.

Glen watched you for a moment before standing and stretching, his hand running through his hair as he glanced toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he said, offering you a hand. “Let’s get some coffee before Leslie sees us and decides to turn this into a running joke for the next decade.”

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he pulled you to your feet. His touch lingered for just a second longer than necessary before he let go, his gaze flicking to yours briefly before he led the way toward the kitchen.

As you and Glen walked into the kitchen, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hit you, immediately comforting in the way that only mornings at someone else's home could be. His parents were already seated at the island, sipping their own coffee, looking up with warm smiles as you entered.

“Good morning, you two,” his dad, Glen Sr., greeted with a grin, his voice low and warm.

“Morning,” you replied softly, moving to grab a mug from the cabinet. Glen’s mom, Cyndy, shot you a look, an almost mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice friendly, yet filled with a knowing edge.

You nodded, your face flushing again as you took a seat next to Glen. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for the extra blanket.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I couldn’t have you freezing to death in here.” She paused, her eyes flicking between you and Glen for a moment. “Though, I must say, it was nice to see you both so cozy last night.”

Glen let out an exaggerated groan, shaking his head. “Mom, please.”

You chuckled softly, looking over at him, your hand wrapped around your mug of coffee. “It’s fine,” you said, offering a reassuring smile. “No harm done.”

His dad chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment. “You’re lucky. I don’t see Glen like that much.”

“I bet,” you responded, teasing, taking a sip of your coffee. “I wouldn’t have guessed he’s such a softy.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Cyndy said with a wink, earning a playful nudge from her husband.

Glen rolled his eyes, then leaned back against the counter, his eyes flicking to you. “So, I was thinking we should head back to my place in a bit,” he said, casually stirring his coffee. “We’ll change clothes, then I’ll bring you back here. Sound good?”

You nodded, sipping your coffee again, grateful for the warmth in your hands. “That sounds perfect.”

Leslie walked in at that moment, still wearing her pajamas, her eyes narrowing in on you and Glen still in the clothes you had on yesterday. “Did you guys sleep here last night?”

Glen groaned again, clearly not ready for another round of teasing. “Leslie, please, not now.”

But Leslie was already grinning, turning to their parents. “They fell asleep and slept on the couch, didn’t they?”

“Mind your own business,” Glen said, his voice half-amused, half-annoyed, as he stood up from the counter. He shot a glance at you, his expression softening. “Alright, let’s go grab some things from my place.

As you and Glen walked toward the door, you could hear Leslie's voice rise from the kitchen, her tone laced with playful teasing.

"I mean, it’s so obvious," she said, her voice carrying easily to where you both were standing.

"I heard that, Leslie!" he called out, his voice a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Knock it off."

Leslie’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, followed by a muffled comment you couldn’t quite make out, though you were sure it was another jab at him.

Glen rolled his eyes and shook his head, but there was a softness to his expression when he looked at you. "Sorry about that," he said, his tone light. "She’s relentless."

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth in your chest at how natural this all felt. "It’s fine," you said, chuckling.

He held the door open for you, letting you step out first, his hand brushing against yours as you passed. The drive back to his place was quiet at first, the hum of the engine and the soft sounds of music on the radio filling the space between you. You found yourself glancing out the window, watching the suburbs of Austin pass by as the sun began to rise higher, casting a golden glow over everything.

Glen’s hand rested casually on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping lightly in rhythm with the beat of the song. Every now and then, he’d sneak a glance at you, a slight smile curling on his lips as if something was playing in his mind. You caught him once or twice, but neither of you said much, content to simply exist in the quiet comfort of each other’s company.

Finally, as you turned onto the street leading to his place, Glen broke the silence, his voice low but warm.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, glancing over at you, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You’re not regretting agreeing to spend the holidays with my family, are you?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Not at all. It’s been… nice. Really nice, actually.”

He gave a small, satisfied nod, then pulled into the driveway of his house. As he parked, you both sat there for a moment, the truck gently rocking as the engine turned off.

As you both entered the house, the familiar warmth wrapped around you, making you feel at ease. Glen led the way toward the stairs, his movements easy, casual—like nothing had changed. But you couldn't ignore the shift, the quiet tension that seemed to have settled between you after spending the night curled up together. It wasn’t awkward, not exactly, but it was different. You both seemed a little more aware of each other than before.

"Bathroom's upstairs," Glen said, breaking the silence as he gestured to the staircase. "You can use the guest bathroom, and I'll take the one in my room."

You nodded, following him up the stairs. The house was quiet now, the early morning stillness hanging in the air. When you reached the top, you stopped briefly in front of the guest room. Glen was a few steps ahead of you, but you caught the way his gaze flickered to you for just a moment. His eyes lingered, and you felt the weight of it—the subtle shift you’d both sensed. He quickly looked away, his lips curling into a casual smile, but it wasn’t the same as before. There was something unspoken now, something you couldn’t quite name.

"Alright," Glen said, his voice a little softer than usual. "I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit. Take your time."

You hesitated for a second, feeling the strange pull between you, but nodded and stepped into the guest room. The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stood there, the silence pressing in. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just different. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, that quiet shift in the air, the one that had somehow made the space between you seem just a little smaller.

You shook your head, trying to push away the sudden thoughts swirling in your mind. This was still Glen—your friend. Nothing had changed, right?

But as you started to get ready for your shower, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had.

The hot water helped clear your head, and you focused on the simple task of washing off the sleep from your body. The shower was quick, just a few minutes of cleansing and letting the steam fill the space, but you didn’t want to take too long. Glen was probably already waiting, and you didn’t want to leave him hanging. You turned off the water, stepping out and grabbing the towel from the hook.

As you dried off, you realized your mistake. Your clothes were still in the guest room, neatly folded on the bed. You hadn’t thought that far ahead, assuming you’d just grab them when you finished. You sighed quietly to yourself, wrapping the towel securely around you, careful not to let it slip.

You checked yourself in the mirror for a moment, making sure everything was in place. Satisfied, you opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway, glancing toward the guest room. It felt strange walking across the house like this—towel-clad, with nothing but the soft padding of your bare feet on the floor to accompany you.

You moved as quickly as you could, trying not to draw attention to yourself, but the slight breeze of the air made you acutely aware of just how vulnerable you felt in the moment. When you reached the guest room, you took a quick glance down the hallway, just in case, before slipping inside and closing the door behind you.

You quickly pulled on the clothes you had set out, opting for something comfortable but still presentable. After slipping on a soft sweater and a pair of jeans, you grabbed the brush and ran it through your damp hair. You added a little product, hoping it would hold up for the day, but you didn’t want to stress too much about it. After all, you were just heading downstairs with Glen—nothing too formal.

You took a deep breath and made your way toward the door, hoping the day would continue as smoothly as possible. But as you stepped out of the guest room, you nearly collided with Glen. He was just emerging from his room, his shirt still in his hand, his chest and abs exposed in the moment before he pulled it on. His muscles were defined, his skin still warm from the shower, and you found your gaze involuntarily drifting down for just a moment.

You quickly snapped your eyes away, trying to ignore the rush of heat that flushed your face. You gave a nervous smile, your heart thudding in your chest, and practically rushed past him. Your steps were quick, almost too quick as you hurried down the stairs, praying to some higher power that Glen hadn’t noticed your lingering glance.

The sound of his footsteps following behind you reassured you that he wasn’t focusing on the moment. You let out a quiet breath, hoping you could push the moment from your mind and keep everything normal.

"So, what do you think? Want to hang out here for a bit? Enjoy the quiet before we head back to the chaos?" he asked, his voice casual, but there was an unspoken invitation in his words.

You glanced toward the living room. The cozy, inviting space was practically calling out to you. The thought of staying here, just the two of you, no teasing, no distractions. The idea of getting alone time with Glen was tempting.

But as you stood there, a tug of guilt gnawed at you. You could already picture Glen, laughing and joking with his family, enjoying moments that he didn’t get to have often due to his hectic schedule. He didn’t get much time with them, and you knew that all too well. The last thing you wanted to do was take him away from that, especially when you knew how much he cherished it.

You had more time with him than they did. You saw him regularly, had long conversations over coffee, shared lazy afternoons together on his days off. They were lucky to have him home, and you didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on these rare moments.

The thought of staying here, just the two of you, was appealing, yes—but not at the expense of his family. You didn’t want to be selfish. They didn’t have the luxury of seeing him every day, and you knew that if you stayed, it would be taking away from that time they had.

Finally, you shook your head slightly, offering him a small, apologetic smile. "I think I’d rather head back over," you said, trying to push aside the selfish urge to keep him all to yourself. "You don’t get to see them much, and I don’t want to take that away from you." With a final glance at the quiet room around you, you gave Glen a small smile. "Shall we?" you asked, your voice light, trying to push the lingering tension aside.

He nodded, his smile softening, understanding exactly what you meant. "Yeah, let’s go."

As you followed him to the door, the weight of the quiet moments you shared earlier in the day seemed to hang in the air, but there was something comforting in it. A subtle shift, one you couldn’t quite put your finger on but couldn’t ignore either.

The cool air greeted you as you stepped outside, and the drive back to his parents' house was peaceful, the car filled only with the sound of the engine and the faint rustling of the wind. You both had your own thoughts, but the comfortable silence made it feel like there was no need to fill the space.

When you pulled up to the house again, the familiar warmth of the lights shining from the windows seemed inviting. Glen turned to you before you opened the door, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "Thanks for letting me have so much time with them" he said quietly, his voice sincere. "I appreciate you understanding."

You smiled at him, a quiet understanding between you that didn’t need words. "Of course, I know how important they are to you," you replied, giving him a look that was just as much reassurance as it was a soft acknowledgment of the unspoken bond you shared. And with that, the two of you stepped out of the car, ready to head back inside, where the sounds of family laughter awaited.

* * * * *

The warm scent of cookies filled the kitchen as you worked alongside Cyndy, Lauren, and Leslie, mixing dough and rolling it into perfect little balls. The rhythm of your hands, the soft scrape of the spatula against the bowl, was comforting. The kitchen was a cozy flurry of flour, sugar, and laughter.

As you moved the dough onto the baking sheets, the sounds of laughter echoed from the living room. Glen’s voice was unmistakable, full of warmth and joy, accompanied by the high-pitched giggles of the twins. You couldn’t help but smile, a soft chuckle escaping you as you glanced up.

“Seems like he’s a fun uncle,” you commented, rolling the dough into another ball.

Cyndy and Leslie shared a knowing look before Leslie grinned. "Oh, he’s the favorite uncle, hands down," she said, shaking her head with a teasing smile. “I mean, he’s practically a big kid himself when they’re around.”

You laughed, imagining Glen’s easygoing nature blending perfectly with the chaos and energy of his niece and nephew. It was clear that they adored him.

Lauren continued, her tone light and affectionate. “I think the twins might actually think of him as their second dad sometimes. He spoils them rotten."

After a few moments, Glen appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath but grinning from ear to ear, his hair a bit messy from wrestling with the twins. His cheeks were flushed from the fun, but as soon as his eyes found the cooling rack of freshly baked cookies, he couldn’t resist. He made his way toward it, trying to sneak a cookie without anyone noticing.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you saw his move. You grabbed the spatula from the counter and, with a quick swipe, playfully swatted at him.

“Don’t even think about it,” you teased, but before you could even get close, Glen’s hand shot out to grab your wrist, stopping the spatula mid-air.

He chuckled, his grip gentle but firm, his fingers brushing against your skin in the briefest of moments. His gaze locked with yours, and for a second, the playful banter seemed to fade as the space between you both felt charged with something a little different.

“Really?” Glen raised an eyebrow, his voice soft with amusement.

You laughed, trying to pull your wrist free, but his hand stayed in place, still holding you with a steady but warm grip. “They aren’t ready yet,” you said, laughing as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

The laughter from Cyndy and Leslie behind you broke the moment, and you both turned, noticing their amused expressions.

“Are we interrupting something?” Cyndy asked with a teasing smile.

Leslie, barely containing a grin, raised an eyebrow. “You two are really cute together, you know that?”

You shot her a playful glare, but Glen gave a sheepish chuckle, releasing your wrist and straightening up. “We're just friends,” he said with a lighthearted shrug, though the hint of something unspoken lingered in his tone. “But I am taking one of these cookies.”

Before you could respond, Glen grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack with a victorious grin. You rolled your eyes in mock exasperation as he happily bit into the cookie, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

Cyndy and Leslie exchanged a knowing glance, but neither said anything else, letting the moment hang in the air between you two, filled with warmth and an undeniable connection.

Lauren gave Glen a mischievous grin and, without warning, tossed a small pinch of flour in his direction. The flour puffed up in the air, and Glen let out a surprised laugh, his hands immediately going to his hair and face to brush it away.

“Hey!” Glen laughed, glancing around at the chaos unfolding. “You’re going down for that!”

In an instant, the flour fight was on. Leslie, quick on the draw, took the opportunity to sprinkle flour over Glen’s shoulder. He retaliated with a handful of flour that he flung in her direction, his aim slightly off, hitting the edge of the counter instead. You couldn't help but laugh, your hands covered in flour as you tried to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

Glen shot you a playful look, and before you could duck out of his reach, he tossed a small pinch of flour at you. It landed right on your nose, and you gasped in mock horror.

“Oh, it's on now,” you said, wiping at your nose. “You’re going to pay for that one.”

The kitchen erupted in more laughter as flour and frosting flew between the family members, and before long, the "fight" ended just as quickly as it started, with everyone covered in flour and sugar but still grinning from ear to ear.

You went to wipe the frosting off your cheek, but as your finger brushed over it, you only seemed to smear it further. Glen, watching you with a teasing smile, leaned in slightly, his gaze softening as he shook his head. “You’re just making it worse.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Got a better idea?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for the kitchen towel. His fingers brushed against your chin as he gently took your face in his hands, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle. His thumb carefully wiped away the frosting from your cheek, and you held your breath, caught in the moment, his touch gentle and thoughtful.

“There,” Glen said softly, his eyes still focused on your face. “All better.”

You met his gaze for a moment, feeling something stir inside you. His hand lingered just a little longer than necessary before he dropped it to his side, giving you a sheepish smile.

Glen’s mom, Cyndy, appeared in the doorway, holding a broom in one hand and a Swiffer in the other. She surveyed the flour-coated kitchen with an amused smile, shaking her head at the mess.

“Start cleaning this up, Glen,” she said with a grin, holding out the broom to him.

Glen, still wiping frosting from his hands, gave her a mock salute. “Yes ma’am,” he replied, his voice teasing as he took the broom from her with a sigh.

Cyndy smiled and turned back to the counter, the familiar, easy banter filling the air. “I swear, uou start a food fight every time we bake cookies around here.”

“Hey, I didn’t start it. I was just defending myself,” Glen shot back, sweeping a pile of flour into the dustpan with care.

You glanced over at Glen, a grin tugging at your lips. It was hard not to notice how much he resembled his mom in that moment—easygoing, playful, and always the one tasked with cleaning up after the fun.

“Don’t look so smug, you’ve got your own work to do,” he teased, gesturing at the counter where the remaining cookie dough sat ready to be rolled.

You just laughed and walked over to help Cyndy and Leslie, trying to distract yourself from the small, fleeting moment you’d just shared with Glen.

The kitchen felt warm with laughter and good company as you all continued to work together, and for a moment, everything seemed perfectly in place. Glen was hard at work, and you were right where you wanted to be—with the people who mattered most to him, helping make new memories.

After the cookies were finished and the kitchen was tidied up, the festive energy of the day shifted to the living room, where the Christmas tree stood, waiting to be transformed. Glen’s mom, Cyndy, had made it clear—no tree decorating until everyone, including Glen was home. So, even though Christmas Eve had arrived, the tree still sat untouched, its branches bare, twinkling lights tangled in a mess of cords.

You and Glen made your way to the storage tote, ready to tackle the daunting task of untangling the lights. Glen grinned as he opened the lid, revealing the well-loved decorations inside. "Every year, this takes longer than it should," he muttered, already pulling out a jumble of strings.

"At least you’re here to help now," you teased, grabbing a section of lights and trying to work through the knots. "I’m sure your family appreciates that."

Glen shot you a playful look as he started to untangle his own section. "Yeah, yeah, they know I’m the official light untangler. No one else can be trusted with this responsibility."

You both worked together, your laughter and conversation mixing with the sounds of his sisters in the living room. Cyndy and Leslie were busy sorting through the assortment of ornaments, laying them out in neat piles to be hung on the tree. The occasional clink of glass and soft chatter filled the space as they talked about the best places to hang each ornament.

The mood was lighthearted, and there was a cozy comfort in the room as the tree slowly started to take shape. You glanced over at Glen, catching the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes as he struggled with a particularly stubborn knot.

"Need help there?" you asked with a smirk, leaning closer.

"Nope, I’ve got it," he replied, his voice teasing but also faintly apologetic. "I’m a professional at this by now."

As he worked on the tangled mess, you couldn’t help but notice how the sight of him—focused and determined, yet still making light of the situation—made your heart flutter in a way that was different from before. You shook it off quickly, telling yourself it was just the holiday spirit getting to you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of struggling with knots and wires, the lights were untangled. You plugged them in to make sure they worked, and sure enough, the tree lit up with a soft glow, casting a warm, comforting light on the room.

Cyndy clapped her hands together with excitement. "Alright, now the fun part! Everyone grab an ornament, let’s make this tree sparkle."

Glen’s sisters eagerly began pulling their favorite ornaments from the piles, each one carefully examined before being placed on the branches. Glen handed you an ornament with a small grin. "I think this one’s for you," he said, handing you a glass star ornament that had a delicate silver shimmer.

As the tree filled with decorations, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of the moment. It was peaceful and festive, and even with the occasional playful jab from one of Glen’s sisters, you couldn’t deny that it felt right.

Glen stepped back for a moment, surveying the tree as the last few ornaments were added. He gave you a soft smile, and you both exchanged a quiet moment before returning to finish the final touches.

As the final ornaments were being placed, the room seemed to hum with festive energy. The tree was almost done, with the soft glow of the lights reflecting off the glass baubles and tinsel. You stepped back to admire the view when Cyndy, holding the delicate star topper, made her way toward you.

"Here," she said with a warm smile, holding it out to you. "I think you should be the one to put the star on top. After all, you're the special guest this year."

You immediately felt a slight panic. "Oh, no, no, someone in the family should do it," you said, shaking your head, trying to pass the ornament back to her. "This is your tradition."

But Cyndy, always insistent, simply raised an eyebrow and gave you a playful smile. "You’re part of the family now," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

Before you could protest any further, Cyndy shot a glance over at Glen, who was leaning casually against the wall, watching with a smile. "Glen, help her up."

Glen’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he moved toward you. "You heard her," he teased, holding out a hand. "Up you go."

You gave him an incredulous look, but there was no backing out now. Glen bent down slightly, motioning for you to climb onto his shoulders. With a deep breath, you carefully moved onto his broad shoulders. Glen straightened up, your legs now on either side of his neck, and you were perched on his shoulders, a little wobbly at first, but he steadied you easily.

"Alright, ready?" he asked, his voice close to your ear, making you feel a little more unsteady than you had been just moments ago.

You nodded, and Glen slowly straightened his back, lifting you higher so you could reach the top of the tree.

With his support, you leaned over carefully, stretching just enough to place the star on top of the tree. You could feel his arms beneath your legs, his grip steady as he held you in place. As you aligned the cord with the top strand of lights, the star clicked into place, and the top of the tree lit up with a soft, radiant glow.

The room seemed to pause for a moment, everyone looking up at the tree as the star twinkled brightly, casting a warm glow over the entire room. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of pride and contentment as you admired the result.

"Perfect," Cyndy said, her voice filled with approval. "It’s beautiful."

As Glen slowly lowered you back to the ground, his hands slid to your waist, steadying you as you regained your footing. You both stood there for a moment, a shared silence settling over you as you looked up at the tree. The lights glowed softly, casting a gentle warmth over the room, and the star at the top shone brilliantly.

The atmosphere was calm, peaceful. You couldn’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest as you stood close to Glen, the warmth of his hands still lingering on your hips. It wasn’t anything overt, just a quiet moment where the connection between the two of you felt more real than ever. The world around you seemed to fade away for a second, leaving only the soft hum of the Christmas tree lights and the quiet of the room.

You both stood there for what felt like an eternity, neither of you saying a word. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the fire in the background and the distant laughter from the others. And then, without warning, Glen seemed to notice the looks from the corner of his eye. Leslie and Lauren were standing at the other side of the room, their eyes fixed on the two of you, their smiles too knowing for Glen’s liking.

Caught in the moment, Glen quickly pulled his hands from your sides, his fingers brushing against your skin just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. He cleared his throat and turned toward the others, trying to act nonchalant.

“Alright, alright,” he said, chuckling awkwardly.

Leslie grinned and gave him a playful wink, but it was Lauren’s knowing smile that lingered in your mind. You and Glen shared a fleeting glance before you both turned to rejoin the others, the moment still hanging between you two.

* * * * *

Later that evening, after the lively chaos of dinner had settled, you found yourself stepping out onto the deck of Glen’s house. The crisp air of the winter evening wrapped around you as you leaned against the railing, a cup of warm tea cradled in your hands. The steam curled up into the cool night, and the soft hum of the distant streetlights was the only sound you could hear. It was a peaceful contrast to the laughter and chatter that had filled the house earlier, and you welcomed the solitude.

As you sipped from your cup, your thoughts drifted back to the night’s events. Glen’s family had been warm and welcoming, and though you could see how much they all cared for him, you couldn’t help but notice the way Cyndy had spoken earlier. It lingered in your mind, that softness in her eyes when she spoke of how much happier Glen seemed since you arrived. It made your chest feel tight, both in a comforting and nerve-wracking way.

The door behind you creaked open, and you turned just as Glen stepped onto the deck. He moved toward you with that familiar easy stride of his, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. For a moment, he stood beside you, silent, just taking in the night air with you. The way the soft glow of the house lights reflected off his features made him seem almost impossibly handsome in the moment.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he knew that his family’s energy could be overwhelming at times. “I know they can be a lot.”

You offered him a soft smile and took another sip of tea, the warmth of the cup soothing against your palms. “I’m enjoying myself, really,” you assured him. “Your family’s great. It’s just... nice to have a little peace and quiet for a moment after everything today, you know?”

Glen gave a small, understanding nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. The comfortable silence stretched between you both, but then, as if on cue, a gust of cool air swept across the deck. You couldn’t help but shiver slightly, the chill catching you off guard.

Before you could react, you felt a warmth at your shoulders. Glen’s arm wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer to him, the solid feel of his presence comforting against the cool night. His touch, the gentle weight of his arm around you, made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. It felt natural, like he was just trying to make sure you were okay—but there was something else there, something unspoken that hummed beneath the surface.

For a brief moment, you thought he might lean in, maybe say something that would break the quiet tension between you. But he didn’t. He just stood there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, but not close enough to cross that invisible line.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence where two people simply existed in each other’s presence, the world around them fading away. Still, something about the stillness between you and Glen made you aware of the subtle shift in the air. You glanced up at him, catching the thoughtful, almost distant expression on his face.

“You okay?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. There was something in his demeanor that made you wonder if something was on his mind, maybe something he wasn’t sharing. He seemed more serious now, the playfulness from earlier replaced by a quiet vulnerability you couldn’t quite place.

Glen turned his head to look at you, blinking as if he had been lost in thought, and then he let out a low chuckle, brushing it off. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice light but guarded, as if the answer to your question was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to share.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful grin curling on your lips. “Try me.”

His gaze flickered to yours, and for a second, you could see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. It was a small thing, but it was there—a brief moment of vulnerability that he quickly masked with a deep breath. He didn’t say anything at first, just looking out at the dark sky, the stars twinkling above.

“I’m just…” He trailed off, then ran a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of how to continue. “I don’t know. Just... thinking about how much things have changed recently.” Glen sighed again, letting out a breath like he was releasing something heavy. “I guess... it’s just been a lot. Work, family... and now you. It’s all good stuff, but it’s a lot to juggle sometimes, you know?” He paused, his words becoming slower as if he were processing something in real-time. “I don’t want to mess things up. With my family, with you...”

The air between you and Glen felt thick with unspoken things, so you did the only thing that felt natural. You shifted slightly, closing the space between you until you were pressed against his chest. Instantly, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in, and you rested your head just beneath his chin, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath against you.

For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought you might’ve felt something—something soft and sweet, maybe even a kiss. But when you lifted your head to look up at him, you realized it wasn’t that at all. He’d just rested his chin on the top of your head, his touch warm and gentle, like a quiet reassurance that you didn’t know you needed until now.

You pulled back a fraction, just enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes. Your fingers brushed against his chest lightly as you took a breath, wanting to say something—anything—that would keep this moment from slipping away.

“You couldn’t possibly mess things up with me,” you assured him, your voice steady but filled with a quiet confidence. You didn’t know why you said it, but you meant it. The last thing you wanted was for Glen to feel like he was doing anything wrong by simply being himself.

Glen laughed softly, though it was a little unsure. “Don’t be so sure about that,” he teased, his voice still carrying that hint of vulnerability beneath the humor. He didn’t let go of you, though—his hands resting lightly on your shoulders, almost like he was grounding himself to you in this moment.

You couldn't help but smile at the mix of playfulness and seriousness in his tone. It was typical of him—strong and self-assured, yet still somehow uncertain when it came to matters of the heart. But the way he was holding you, the way his arms had wrapped around you so naturally—it told you everything you needed to know.

“You’re not as big a mess as you think you are, Glen,” you said, your voice soft, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “At least not when it comes to me.”

Glen smiled back at you, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. The distance between you two, both physically and emotionally, was narrowing with every second.

Another breeze stirred the air, cool against your skin. It caught a strand of your hair, whipping it across your face. You instinctively reached up to brush it away, but before your hand could meet your face, Glen shifted. His fingers grazed your cheek softly, his touch warm as he gently tucked the errant strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, resting along your jaw for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

You looked up at him, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow down. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met yours, searching, almost like he was wondering what you were thinking—if you were feeling the same pull he was. His breath caught slightly, the air thick with everything unsaid between you two.

For a long, fragile moment, you were certain neither of you wanted to break the connection, but it was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Glen’s fingers lingered on your face, his touch almost electric, and you could feel the heat rising between you.

He parted his lips like he was about to say something—anything—but then stopped. Something held him back, that same hesitation that had kept him quiet, kept him at a distance all evening. His breath faltered, but you could tell he was fighting himself.

The words left you before you could even think twice about them. Soft, barely a whisper, just enough for him to hear: “Kiss me.”

You weren’t sure if he caught it at first. It was so quiet, almost too soft for him to hear. If he didn’t want to, he could easily dismiss it, pretend he hadn’t heard and let the moment pass. The uncertainty and the weight of the words hung between you, like a fragile thread.

But then Glen’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, and the gesture was enough to make your heart race. Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was soft but full of promise. There was no hesitation now, no second-guessing.

The world melted away, and all that remained was the warmth of his mouth, the sweetness of his breath mingling with yours

The world melted away, and all that remained was the warmth of his mouth, the sweetness of his breath mingling with yours. You could taste the hint of his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his skin as his lips gently moved against yours, a quiet but insistent promise.

You reached up, your hands trembling slightly, and grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt, as if grounding yourself in this moment. His touch was everything—strong, steady, and a little desperate, like he was holding on to something precious. One hand found its way to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he gently pulled you closer, his lips urging yours to open. The soft pressure was almost a question, and you answered it without hesitation, your lips parting as his tongue slid in, exploring you with slow, deliberate movements.

The kiss deepened, and everything else faded. His free hand moved to your waist, pulling you against him, making you feel the undeniable heat of his body. The way he held you tightly, possessively, ignited a spark inside you that set your skin on fire. You felt every inch of him, the strength in his arms, the warmth of his chest pressed against yours, his heart racing in time with yours.

Without breaking the kiss, he gently pushed you back, guiding you until you were pinned between his solid body and the railing behind you. You could feel the cool metal against your back, the contrast of it to the heat radiating from him, but it only made the moment more intense, more real.

His mouth never left yours, and you were lost in it—lost in the way he kissed you, in the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that instant. His tongue moved against yours, a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine. He was patient but relentless, as if he couldn't get close enough, as if he wanted to drown in this feeling, in the taste of you.

For a moment, you lost yourself completely in him. The kiss became everything—the way his lips molded to yours, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and the deep, almost desperate need that surged between you. It was as if nothing else in the world existed but the two of you.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you both catch your breath, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. He didn't let go, his hands still on your waist, his body so close you could feel the warmth of him seeping into you. His eyes searched yours, almost like he was asking for permission, or maybe trying to figure out what this meant.

Glen took a slow, deliberate step back, his hands lingering for just a second longer than necessary on your waist, as if reluctant to let go. His gaze locked with yours, still heavy with unspoken words and that same intensity that hung thick in the air. His lips parted slightly, as if he might say something, but the moment lingered—unsaid, just like everything else that had passed between you two.

He reached down, his fingers brushing against yours, and when he grasped your hand, it felt grounding, but at the same time, like a promise. He gently pulled you inside, his touch still warm against your skin, the heat from the kiss still lingering between you.

You stepped closer to him, his hand never leaving yours, and the world outside seemed to fade away once more. The air was different inside—charged in a way that made everything feel more intimate, more real. Glen glanced at you over his shoulder, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his eyes dark with something unreadable, something that only added to the tension building between you.

And then, with a quiet, almost playful tug, he led you further into the house, closing the door softly behind you. 

* * * * *

You stirred slowly, the warmth of the bed and the soft, rhythmic press of Glen’s lips against your shoulder coaxing you out of sleep. His gentle kisses trailed up to your collarbones, each one sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. The sensation was soft, tender—like he was savoring the moment, as if he didn’t want to break the stillness of the morning.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your eyes fluttering open just enough to catch the sight of him—his face only inches from your skin, eyes closed in quiet reverence. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer as though you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment. It felt so natural, so right, that you could almost forget it was Christmas morning.

With a soft sigh, you rolled onto your back, the bed creaking slightly as you shifted. You turned your head, your gaze meeting his. He hadn’t noticed you were awake, his lips still lightly grazing your skin, his breath warm against your neck.

A small, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, unable to hide the happiness bubbling up inside you. It was a moment of peace, of simplicity, and you knew it was one you’d carry with you for a long time.

When Glen finally met your eyes, his expression softened, a quiet tenderness in his gaze that made your heart flutter in your chest. He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to your lips, brief but full of meaning. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his voice low and rough from sleep.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back, your fingers gently brushing against his cheek, the moment feeling so intimate, so perfect.

Just as you were starting to drift back into the peaceful warmth of the moment, Glen’s phone rang, breaking the silence. He groaned and reached for it, clearly annoyed by the interruption. "Not now," he muttered, glancing at the screen and seeing it was Leslie calling.

"Seriously?" you teased, raising an eyebrow. "She can’t let us have five more minutes?"

Glen chuckled, though it was laced with mock frustration. "Guess not. She probably wants us to hurry up and join the rest of the chaos." He answered the call and put it on speaker, letting out another groan. "Leslie, it’s Christmas morning, cut me some slack."

You heard her voice, cheerful but insistent. "Yeah, I know, but you need to get over here! We’re all waiting for you to start the presents."

Glen rubbed a hand over his face, looking over at you with a grin. "Alright, alright. We’ll get up and head right over."

But Leslie, ever the sharp one, picked up on the tone in his voice. "Wait a second," she said with a teasing smirk in her voice. "You said ‘we’ll’ get up? So that means... you’re both still in bed?"

You felt Glen stiffen, his eyes locking onto yours as the corners of his mouth twitched. Before he could respond, Leslie continued, sounding far too smug for 8 AM. "And she’s with you, huh? In your room?"

Glen groaned dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. "Leslie, it’s too early for this," he muttered, clearly embarrassed by the line of questioning.

Leslie wasn’t letting up, though. "Oh, I get it," she said in a sing-song voice, a little too amused for her own good. "I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’"

Glen looked at you, mouthing, "I’m gonna kill her."

He sighed, sitting up on the bed, clearly trying to change the subject. "Okay, okay. We’ll be over soon, alright? Stop prying."

"Sure, sure. Just don’t take too long, or I might have to send Mom in there to drag you both out," Leslie teased before hanging up with a cheerful goodbye.

Glen, still looking mildly exasperated, dropped the phone onto the bed. He laughed and leaned back against the headboard, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright, guess we should get up and face the madness."

You and Glen exchanged sleepy smiles as you both began to rise from the bed. Glen stretched his arms overhead, letting out a long yawn, before he slipped on his slippers and headed toward the bathroom. You turned toward the guest room, mentally running through the few things you had to do to get ready for the day.

As you dressed, you couldn't help but replay last night in your head—the kiss, the closeness, the way it felt like the world had just slipped away, leaving only the two of you. But now, in the cold light of morning, you couldn’t shake the uncertainty that lingered. What did it mean? What were you to Glen after everything that had happened? Your heart raced as the thought crossed your mind. Was this something you were supposed to talk about? Or would it be just another fleeting moment, like so many others in the past?

You finished getting dressed, smoothing your shirt and running your fingers through your hair, trying to calm the nerves that had appeared out of nowhere. When you stepped out of the guest room, you found Glen already ready, his jacket on and his keys in hand. He was standing by the door, waiting for you.

He gave you a soft smile when he saw you. "Ready?" he asked, his voice warm but with an edge of hesitation that matched how you were feeling.

You nodded, trying to brush off the unease. "Yeah.”

You followed him to the truck, your mind still racing with questions. The drive was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. As you passed the familiar landmarks, your eyes wandered to Glen, who was focused on the road. You wanted to ask him everything, to know where the two of you stood after everything, but you didn’t want to make things awkward.

Finally, Glen broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice steady but quiet. He glanced at you for a moment before turning his focus back to the road. “About last night. About us.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?” you prompted softly, unsure of where he was going with this.

He let out a breath, his lips curving into a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “Look, I know my life isn’t exactly… simple. My schedule is a mess, and I’m gone a lot. I don’t want to pretend like that’s not going to be a challenge. But,” he paused, his voice growing more certain, “I want to see where this goes. With you. If you’re willing to, that is.”

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. You could hear the nervous edge in his voice, the way he shifted slightly in his seat like he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You let the weight of his words settle over you before you replied. “I’m willing to,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I wouldn’t have let last night happen if I wasn’t.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and he smiled—an honest, open kind of smile that made your chest feel warm. He reached over, his hand finding yours where it rested on your lap. His touch was gentle but firm, like he was grounding himself in this moment.

“Okay,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand. “Then we’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart lighter now, but the lingering uncertainty still hung between you. “So, what do we do about your family?” you asked, tilting your head toward him. “Do we tell them, or…?”

He sighed, his lips quirking in a wry smile. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, his mind clearly turning over the possibilities. “Part of me thinks it’s better to just get it out there. But another part of me… I don’t want to make today about us when it’s supposed to be about family.”

You nodded, understanding his hesitation. “We don’t have to decide right now,” you offered. “Let’s just see how the day goes.”

Glen smiled again, his gaze soft as it flicked toward you. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

The rest of the drive was filled with a sense of quiet anticipation, the air between you lighter now but still charged with the potential of what was to come. Glen didn’t let go of your hand the entire way, and you couldn’t help but feel that, no matter what, the two of you were in this together.

Glen stepped inside first, his hand still firmly clasping yours as he guided you over the threshold. The sound of laughter and conversation spilled from the living room, filling the house with the unmistakable hum of family.

Glen paused just inside the door, turning to face you. His hand lingered in yours for a moment before he gently released it, reaching instead to help you shrug off your coat. His fingertips brushed lightly against your arms as he slid the thick material off your shoulders. You glanced up at him, catching the faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Thanks," you murmured, offering him a small smile of your own as he hung your coat on the nearby rack.

He gave a slight nod. "Anytime," he replied, his voice low and quiet, just for you.

With that, you made your way toward the living room, Glen trailing close behind. The sight that greeted you was as welcoming as the sounds and smells: his entire family gathered around the tree, mugs of steaming coffee and hot cocoa in hand, their laughter blending with the soft crackle of the fireplace.

"Well, there they are!" Leslie called out, her grin widening as she spotted the two of you.

At her words, all eyes turned to you and Glen. You felt a momentary flush of warmth—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer warmth of the welcome in their gazes. Glen’s mom was the first to rise, crossing the room to pull you into a gentle hug.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as soft and kind as ever.

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, smiling as you returned the hug.

Glen hung back for a moment, his gaze sweeping over his family before it landed back on you. When his mom released you, he stepped forward to exchange his own hugs and greetings, his presence grounding you in the lively room.

As you settled into the living room, Leslie’s sharp eyes darted between you and Glen, a knowing glint lighting her expression. “You two look cozy,” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Glen shot her a warning look but didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, he placed a steadying hand on your back as he guided you toward an empty spot on the couch. “It’s still too early for your commentary, Les,” he said dryly, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you sat down, feeling Glen’s hand linger for just a moment longer than necessary before he joined you. The family resumed their chatter, and you felt yourself relax into the warmth of the room and the easy dynamic Glen had with his family.

There was an unspoken understanding between you and Glen as the morning unfolded. Whatever the day might bring, you were in this together, and that made everything—his teasing siblings, the bustling energy, the unrelenting sense of closeness—feel a little less overwhelming and a lot more like home.

The morning carried on with a joyous rhythm, the room buzzing with laughter and the crinkling of wrapping paper as Glen’s mom began handing out gifts from beneath the tree. One by one, brightly wrapped packages found their way into eager hands, and the sound of tearing paper soon filled the room.

You found yourself nestled comfortably on the couch beside Glen, warmth radiating from his side. At some point, almost without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. His arm instinctively came up to wrap around you, pulling you just a little closer.

The moment felt effortless, like breathing, and you let yourself savor the comfort of it.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ohhh, would you look at that?” Leslie’s voice rang out, her tone dripping with mischief.

Your head snapped up, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you realized all eyes were now on you and Glen. His parents exchanged exaggerated grins while his older sister’s gaze softened with a mix of joy and curiosity.

“Well, this is new,” somebody teased.

Glen let out a long-suffering groan, running a hand over his face. “Can we not make this a thing?” he muttered, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Leslie was undeterred, her grin widening as she leaned forward. “Oh, no, this is absolutely a thing. Care to share with the group, Glen?”

He sighed, glancing at you. The flush on your cheeks deepened, but there was no judgment or pressure in his expression—only quiet reassurance.

Finally, he turned back to his family, his shoulders squaring as if bracing himself. “Fine. Yes, we’re… seeing where things go,” he admitted, his voice steady but soft. “And that’s all you’re getting out of me right now.”

His mom clasped her hands together, her face lighting up like the tree behind her. “Oh, Glen,” she said warmly, her joy unmistakable.

The teasing and comments came in waves after that, a mix of playful ribbing and heartfelt congratulations. You felt your face grow impossibly warm, but Glen’s arm around you tightened, grounding you.

Eventually, Glen turned to his family with a pointed look. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Can we get back to the presents now?”

Leslie laughed but relented, reaching for another package beneath the tree. As the room shifted back to its lively rhythm, Glen leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Are you?”

His eyes softened, and he gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”

And as the morning carried on, the lively chatter and laughter of his family surrounded you, filling the room with warmth. Glen’s arm stayed comfortably around you, an anchor amidst the joyful chaos. For the first time in a long time, you felt at ease—like you belonged, not just in this house but at his side.

Whatever this was, whatever it might become, one thing was clear: this was the beginning of something worth holding onto.