#[ chapter one : the funeral ]

[hearts-hunger]

four weddings and a funeral — part five

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⮡part one | part two | part three | part four

Series Summary: You and Danny haven’t spoken in years. When the two of you stumble upon a week of weddings, funerals, and the hotel rooms in between, will fate rekindle your friendship or put the old flames out altogether?

Chapter Summary: Danny's leaving tomorrow. You still have another wedding to go to, but can you bear to be so close to him knowing it's your last night together?

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Reader, Sam x Birdie | Genres: friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, mutual pining, angst | Word Count: 8.5k (yikes) | Chapter Warnings: drinking

A/N: Danny and Sunshine are back in the house!! This chapter's kinda long, but I think it's really cute and emotional - I hope you enjoy all the twists and turns! ♡

You woke in a tangle of sheets to a pounding headache.

It took you a minute to get your bearings; the sun was shining through the breezy curtains, bright and pretty but also kind of painful. You were still in your dress, but your jewelry had been taken off; a cautious touch to your face revealed that your makeup had been cleaned off too.

You turned your face away from the sunlight and found Danny close, his expression relaxed in sleep, his curls mussed and soft.

“Danny,” you said softly.

He gave a sleepy hum. “Wassa matter, sunny?” The hand that was resting on your hip pulled you closer, and it made you realize that your leg was hooked over his thigh.

You felt yourself blush at how close you were to him, how warm and steady he was beside you. You didn’t dare move, afraid to wake him and make him realize for fear he would pull away, afraid to pull away yourself if he wanted you close.

His eyes fluttered open when you didn’t answer. “You okay?”

His voice was gravelly and warm, and you hid your face against his chest to keep him from seeing how flustered it made you.

He chuckled. “What’s wrong, sunshine? You don’t feel good?”

You shook your head. “Headache.” Your stomach also felt like a butterfly rave, but that might have been more from the way he still hadn’t pulled away from you than from your hangover. 

He hummed in agreement. “Me too. Maybe we should take it easy at the wedding tonight.”

“Oh!” You’d completely forgotten about your flight back home and the wedding only a few hours after you landed. “What time is it?”

He groaned a little as he turned to grab his phone from the nightstand. “Early, still. I set an alarm so we wouldn’t be late to the airport, and it hasn’t gone off yet.”

You relaxed then, thankful he’d seemingly taken care of everything when you’d been out of commission last night. He turned back to you again, making to pull you close; you wanted to rest against him and get a little bit more sleep, but your headache wouldn’t leave you be, and you were restless.

Danny noticed. “Let me get you some tylenol,” he offered, untangling himself from you and the sheets as gently as possible. “Be right back.”

He came back from the bathroom with his water bottle and some medicine. “Sit up, honey.”

You did, letting yourself enjoy the pet name, and took the medicine before handing him his water bottle so he could take a dose too. He tied his hair up in a messy bun, his faded band tee riding up over the hem of his shorts, and you blushed as you looked away.

“Here,” he said, handing you his water bottle back. “You gotta hydrate.”

You did as he said, pulling a little at the sleeves of your dress that were rubbing uncomfortably over your shoulders. You must have gotten more sun yesterday than you thought.

He gave you a sympathetic wince. “Yeah, I didn’t know if I should get you into pajamas last night, so I erred on the side of caution. I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable.”

He rummaged in his bag until he pulled out one of his huge, soft t-shirts. “Try this. It’ll be loose enough on you that it won’t bother your sunburn, hopefully.”

“Thank you,” you said, catching it when he tossed it to you. You gave him a teasing smile. “Are you sure you trust me with more of your clothes? I still haven’t returned your jacket from the funeral, remember?”

He smiled. “It’s all a part of my master plan,” he said. “The more clothes you steal, the more reasons I’ll have to see you after this wedding tonight.”

You felt a mix of emotions at that. You were thrilled that he wanted to keep seeing you, but you were also reminded that the wedding tonight was the last concrete plan you had to see each other. After tonight, what would realistically be enough to keep him from jetting back off to his fancy rockstar life without you?

You decided to set that thought aside for later, determined to enjoy what could very well be the last of your time with Danny.

“It’s a good plan,” you agreed. “I just think you better count on not getting any of these clothes back.”

He laughed. “I’m not that worried about it, sunny. I think it’s a fair trade, don’t you?”

A car ride, a plane ride, and another car ride later, you were standing blearily in front of the mirror in your bedroom, freshly showered, wondering how on earth you were going to make yourself presentable in less than two hours. This next wedding was sure to be filled with Danny’s swanky, rich, fashionable friends, and at the moment, you looked like you’d been run over by a truck.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Danny.

Text me what you want from Starbucks, the message read. I’ll be over around 6 to pick you up.

You smiled to yourself. You’d fallen back asleep on the plane, and he’d been very patient with you as he handled your bags, his bags, and your still very sleepy state in the airport after you landed. You sent him a message back and tossed your phone on the bed, gearing yourself up for a deep-dive into your closet for something to wear.

—

“That’s it! I’m not going.”

Danny frowned as you came out of your bathroom, looking you over head to toe with a thoughtful gaze.

“Why not?” he asked. “That’s a cute outfit.”

You cringed. “It’s not cute, Danny. It’s possibly the worst wardrobe choice I’ve ever made in my life.”

He smiled. “Dramatic, much?” 

You huffed and went back into the bathroom to try on the next outfit, starting to get a little panicked about time and trying to prevent a major meltdown over getting ready. Since he’d gotten to your apartment, Danny had been patiently sitting on the edge of your bed; he hadn’t breathed a word of complaint as you tried on practically your entire closet in an effort to find something to wear, and he hadn’t even felt the need to remind you that both of you were going to be late if you didn’t hurry. He had also given you sweet, heartfelt compliments on every outfit right before you decided you hated it, and then he’d hung every discarded article of clothing neatly back in your closet. You almost didn’t know how to interact with a man who did things like that.

You decided not to read too much into it, though, not least because you were overwhelmed with the simple task of finding something halfway decent to wear. You slipped on the last dress you had, hoping you wouldn’t instantly hate it as soon as you looked in the mirror; it was a gauzy, fluffy thing in shades of pink and champagne, and you were surprised at how pretty you felt when you looked in the mirror.

Danny’s eyes widened when you came out to show him.

“Woah,” he said, looking a little like he’d taken a blow to the head. “That’s... uh, you look really pretty in that, sunny.”

You blushed and gave him a bashful smile. “This is the one, then?”

He nodded, still kind of dazed and dreamy. “Please don’t change out of that one.”

You laughed, amused and pleased at his request. “Okay.”

He came into the bathroom with you as you put the finishing touches on your look, watching you in the mirror for a minute as you put on dangly gold earrings and a shimmery lip gloss.

“Should I wear a different necklace?” he asked, brushing his fingers across the strings of pearls that rested over his black turtleneck. “I don’t match you with these.”

“No, keep them,” you said, a little embarrassed at how quickly you’d said it. There was something about a man as tall and broad as Danny was wearing something so pretty. “I... I like them. Keep them.”

He smiled. “Okay. I’ll keep them.”

You both spent a few more moments getting ready, adding glamorous touches to the soft beachy glow you both had from the wedding yesterday. You noticed that he looked at his watch, but he still didn’t hurry you along, and you were grateful for his patience.

“Okay,” you said briskly, taking one last look in the mirror. “Good?”

He smiled. “Good.”

He ushered you out to his car and opened the door for you, making sure all the fluffy tulle from your dress was safely out of the way before he closed it.

“Music?” he asked as he got in, handing you his phone. “The code’s 5480.”

“Oh,” you said, a little surprised that he’d just handed it over. “Uh, sure. What do you want to listen to?”

He put his hand on your headrest as he backed out of your driveway. “You pick.”

You tried to think of what to put on, a little distracted by the heady scent of his warm and woodsy cologne. You looked over at him for approval when you put on “The Boy with a Moon and Star on His Head,” and you were pleased when he smiled.

“I wonder what our stick figure couple is getting up to these days,” he said, as if you hadn’t just made them start a band last night.

“I guess we’ll have to see what this wedding brings,” you said. You were about to set his phone aside when a text popped up on the screen from someone named Emma, and you couldn’t help but skim it.

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! it read, complete with a kissy face on the end.

You sucked in a breath. You felt bad for having read it, but all of a sudden, it felt like somebody had your heart in a vise grip. You locked his phone and set it in the cup holder, willing yourself to forget you’d even seen it.

Neither of you talked much on the drive to the wedding; Danny hummed along to the Cat Stevens playlist, and you looked out the window and tried not to think about Emma who couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow. You shouldn’t even know about it, let alone catastrophize because of it; it wasn’t your business who he texted or who texted him, kissy faces or not. He’d made no commitment to you or even hinted at making one. Danny was free to see anyone, anytime, for any reason. You had absolutely no right to be upset about it.

That didn’t stop it from hurting, though. You glanced over at him, watched him drum on the steering wheel in perfect time with the song. He looked over at you and smiled, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“How’s it going, sunny?” he asked. “Feeling down to clown tonight?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You know me. I’m always ready to party.”

With a monumental effort, you pushed the thought of the text aside and promised yourself you’d have one last night of good memories with Danny. You felt a little nervous, though, as he pulled into the venue’s parking lot; you fidgeted with your sun necklace, the one you’d yet to take off since Danny had given it to you, and looked wide-eyed at the people milling around outside the place. It must have cost a pretty penny to rent it out, and you weren’t surprised by the lavish display of wealth in the guests that stood outside. All of a sudden, you felt just how “small-town” you were compared to everyone else there, including Danny.

He pulled into one of the last spots and turned the car off, sitting with you for a moment.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.

You weren’t surprised that he’d noticed. You tried to stop fidgeting with your necklace and smoothed your hands over your skirt instead.

“Sure,” you said. “I’ll just waltz in there with all your fancy friends and feel totally cool and confident.”

He smiled. “You should,” he said easily. “You look beautiful, you’re smarter than anybody in there, and you’ve got me.”

You breathed a laugh. His presence would help more than he knew, and you planned to stick by him the entire time.

He offered his hand, and you smacked your palm against his.

“We got this,” he said.

You squeezed his hand. “We got this.”

He only let go of your hand long enough for both of you to get out of the car, and then you looped your arm around his and pressed close to his side. 

“Please don’t try to introduce me to anybody,” you said.

Danny smiled as he looked over at you, amused and sympathetic as you tightened your grip on his arm.

“I only have two people I want to introduce you to,” he said. Before you could protest, he added, “I promise you’ll like them.”

You could tell it meant a lot to him that you at least spoke to these friends, and though you dreaded the thought of small talk with complete strangers, you would do it for Danny.

“But only those two, right?” you asked.

“Right,” he agreed. He gave you a teasing smile then. “Let me know if you change your mind, though. There’s plenty of people here to awkwardly introduce yourself to. Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

You hid your face against his shoulder. “No way. That sounds so horrible.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, sunny. I wouldn’t be so cruel to you.” He patted your hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. “Besides, I barely know anybody here myself.”

You looked up at him as you came inside the venue, content to let him find your spots for the ceremony. 

“What are you talking about?” you said. “I thought this was one of your good friends who was getting married.”

He shrugged, a little distracted as he looked around the venue but still paying attention to you.

“He is, but I don’t really know any of his other friends.” He took a tastefully sleek program from one of the ushers. “He and his wife — well, almost wife — hang out with really artsy, fashionable people. I always feel kind of clumsy and awkward around them.”

You smiled. You could see how Danny might feel like a bull in a china shop sometimes, but you thought it was endearing. 

“You don’t think you’re artsy and fashionable?” you asked.

Danny huffed a laugh. “No.” He caught sight of someone on the opposite end of the room and waved, a handsome smile lighting his face.

“I’ll show you somebody who definitely thinks he is, though,” he said. “And you’ll have to decide if his style is as goofy as I think it is.”

You bucked up your courage as Danny led you through the crowd, trying to guess which of these swanky wedding guests he was going to subject you to meeting. Maybe it was the guy in the bejeweled sweater vest, or the lady with the obscenely high heels. Maybe it was —

“Oh, shut up.”

Danny looked over at you. “What?”

You smacked a hand against his chest.

“Ow!” he laughed. “What was that for?”

“Hello!” you said, gesturing to the guy in a flowy red suit and sunglasses. “ That’s the friend you’re introducing me to? Freakin’... Sam Kiszka?”

Danny grinned. “I thought you said you weren’t a Greta Van Fleet fangirl.”

“They’re called gresties, Daniel,” you informed him, intentionally not telling him that you’d started to talk to other fans on Tumblr since the funeral. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Gresties?” he repeated. “Like... what? Greta Van Fleet besties?”

“Exactly.”

He laughed out loud. “Hey, that’s pretty good. Gresties. I like that.” He took your hand. “Let’s go tell Sam about the gresties. He’ll love to hear that.”

You hesitated, still a little nervous. Sam was watching the two of you with interest, leaning to talk to the pretty girl who stood with him, undoubtedly talking about you.

“Hey, sunny.”

You tore your gaze from Sam, looking up at Danny as he squeezed your hand. “Yes?”

He gave you a sweet smile. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he reminded you. “It’s just Sam. He’s not as cool as you think he is.”

You managed a hesitant smile back. “That’s easy for you to say. You know him.”

“I want you to know him too,” Danny said sincerely. “Trust me. He’s gonna love you.”

You took a deep breath. “I must like you or something,” you muttered.

Danny grinned. “I like you too, sunny, so I guess that works out nicely.”

He held your hand as you went to meet Sam, and you tried not to let your nerves get the better of you. It made you feel better to see that the girl by Sam’s side looked a little shy too, and the two of you exchanged nervous and excited smiles even as you both sort of hid behind your guys.

Danny put a comforting hand to your back. “Sam, birdie — this is sunny.”

Sam pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and gave you a charmingly boyish grin.

“Nice to meet you, sunny,” he said. “I know we probably met a few times in middle school, but that doesn’t really count.”

You gave him a bashful smile back, still a little starstruck that you were meeting Sam Kiszka. 

“Well, it’s good to meet you in a way that counts,” you said, and you earned a smile. “I know this is kind of lame to say, but... I’m a big fan of your music.”

“Not lame at all,” he assured you seriously. “I love to have my ego boosted.”

You laughed, and Sam’s girlfriend rolled her eyes, fondly exasperated and drawing confidence from her boyfriend’s humor.

“He’s not kidding,” she said, affection in her voice. She gave you a smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you, sunny. I’m birdie. And I promise I’m absolutely normal.”

You laughed. “Sweet. I love normal people.”

Sam looked at her with an amused gaze. “What do you mean, you’re absolutely normal? As if I’m not?”

“You are a famous rock star,” she reminded him. “I’m still a small town girl, so I’m less intimidating. I hope.”

“It does make you less intimidating,” you admitted. “I love your dress, by the way.”

She touched a hand to the shimmery rust-colored cocktail dress she wore. 

“Oh, thank you! I haven’t had a chance to wear it yet, so this is the trial run.” She put her hand on her hip and posed next to Sam, even though he was talking with Danny.

“You don’t think we clash, do you?” she asked you. 

Sam noticed she was posing and immediately posed too, obviously a natural ham. “Where’s the photographer, sweetheart?”

“I’m letting sunny judge our outfits,” she said. “Danny too.”

Danny tilted his head, seeming to take the task seriously. “Looks good. What’s wrong with them?”

“Well, we’re in the same color family,” she said. “I couldn’t decide if it was a good move or a fashion nightmare. What do you think, sunny?”

You smiled and shook your head. “No, I think you look great together.” Side by side, their reds, rusts, and golds gave a warm and inviting aura of a confident, lovely couple, one you wanted to get to know better.

“See?” Sam said. “You worry too much, birdie. You know you’re pretty enough for both of us, no matter what we wear.”

She gave him a slightly bashful smile, pleased with his compliment. “Thanks, honey.”

He gave her cheek a big, goofy kiss, and she giggled and pushed him away. Your chest felt a little tight at the display, endeared at their affection for each other and wishing you had someone to share such tenderness with.

Danny took your hand again, and your breath caught a little.

“Come on, lovebirds,” Danny teased his friends. “Let’s go find our spots.”

You got settled in one of the middle rows, and Danny and Sam fell into conversation almost immediately. You enjoyed listening to them talk and laugh together; their friendship seemed so natural and close-knit, and Birdie was obviously a good friend of Danny’s too.

They tried to include you in their conversation, and you were thankful for their kindness, but you were too distracted to really engage with them.

“Oh, sunny!”

You looked over at Danny, wondering what could have gotten him so excited. You smiled just because he was.

“What?” you asked.

“I totally forgot I brought you a present,” he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer. “I didn’t know if it would go with what you were wearing, but I figured you might want to try it.”

He pulled out a beautiful pearl ring, one that matched the string of pearls he wore. He held it in his palm and offered it to you, and for a moment, you couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice unsure, his fingers closing reflexively over it. “I just thought you might — ”

“No, I do,” you said quickly, reaching out to take it from him. Your throat felt tight when you took the ring from his big, warm palm and his fingers traced over yours.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly. “I was just surprised.”

“Why?” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Pretty things should be worn by pretty girls.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried not to cry. It was so stupid — it was just a little gift, a bit of jewelry he’d let you wear. It didn’t mean anything. You wondered almost absently if he’d ever given jewelry to Emma, the girl who’d texted him in the car.

“I think it should fit you,” he said. “It’s a little small for my big strong drummer hands.”

You managed a wobbly smile as you put it on the middle finger of your left hand. One more finger over, and...

You held your hand up for Danny to see. “How does it look?”

He smiled and took your hand in his, brushing his thumb over the surface of the pearl.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Just like you, sunny.”

You looked over at him. “And now we match,” you said, trying for lightheartedness when all you felt like doing was crying or kissing him.

He grinned. “As we should.”

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. He was beautiful in the orange and gold light of sunset coming through the high windows, all warm and sweet and genuine as he smiled at you. All of a sudden, the uncertainty and the longing and the awful fear caught up to you — Danny was going home tomorrow, and despite his reassurances that he wanted to see you again, you knew you’d be left with nothing but a ring on the wrong finger and the pieces of your heart in your hands.

His brow knit with worry as he looked at you, and you knew you weren’t hiding your feelings as well as you wanted to.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You didn’t know what you should say, or if you should even say anything at all. “Danny, I — ”

Music started to play, cutting off your quiet plea and drawing everyone’s attention to the back of the hall. You and Danny stood with everyone else, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you.

You shook your head, trying to tell him it was fine, that he didn’t need to worry.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t say anything; after a moment, he held out his hand, wanting to comfort you without even knowing what was wrong.

You felt the sting of tears and blinked them back. You took his hand and let yourself be comforted by his touch, even though you knew it would be better to get used to being without him.

He held your hand through the ceremony, and you watched his face with an ache of loneliness as his friends exchanged their vows. Even though you knew how unreasonable it was to care for him so deeply after only a few days, you couldn’t deny what you felt; you’d love him forever, together or not, and the pain of losing him had already started while he was still holding your hand.

You barely registered the end of the wedding. You thought you heard Danny tell Sam and Birdie that you’d catch up to them at the reception, and then Danny put his hand to your cheek.

“Hey,” he said gently. His eyes were impossibly kind as he studied your face.

“Hey, yourself,” you said.

He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “What’s wrong, sunny? Do you feel okay? You want to go home?”

You shook your head. “I feel fine. I want to stay.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to. Maybe you’re ready for a break.”

“A break?” you said bleakly. A break from what? It wouldn’t be a break; it would be the end, and you wouldn’t hurry it along any faster than it was already coming.

You looked up at him and managed a smile.

“I’m okay, Danny, really.” You put your hand over his. “Let’s go drink and dance and have a grand old time.”

He looked a little doubtful, but he didn’t press. He took your hand as you walked together to the reception in the next wing of the venue. 

“But you let me know if you want to leave, okay?” he said. “You promise?”

You nodded, knowing you wouldn’t. “I promise.”

The reception was slated to go all night, and for all of their classiness, the guests certainly knew how to party. You lost yourself a little bit in the booze and the dancing, sticking with Danny and Sam and Birdie as you moved from the bar to the dance floor and back again.

“Hey!” Birdie said, tugging on Sam’s hand. “There’s no line for the photo booth if we go right this very second.”

He followed her happily, and you and Danny went too. You let Sam and Birdie go first, grinning to each other at the sounds of bubbly laughter from behind the curtain, and weren’t surprised when Sam stepped out with his face covered in lipstick kisses.

Danny laughed. “You look like you’re in a cartoon, Sam.”

Sam beamed as he got their pictures, happy as could be when his girl took his hand and to lead him onto the dance floor again. “Some cartoon, huh!”

Danny held the curtain back for you. “Shall we?”

The two of you tried to squish together in the little booth, both of you laughing and tipsy and flushed. One of you must have accidentally pushed the button, because you heard it counting down to your first picture. 

“Hurry!” you said, both of you laughing breathlessly as you tried to get into place before the shutter sound. You tripped over Danny’s feet and grabbed onto his shoulder to keep from careening out of the booth; to the same end, he took you by the waist and plunked you down on his lap.

“Settle down now,” he said, trying to be stern but unable to keep up the act as you started to giggle. He smiled up at you, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, flashing those little fangs you loved so much; he looked at you like you’d hung the moon, and as you cradled his face in your hands, you felt the fragile part of your heart finally crack in two.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

I’m dying of love for you, Danny. “Nothing.”

You moved your hands and leaned your head against his. “Let’s get one picture where we’re actually looking at the camera.”

He squeezed you tight as the last photo counted down. “Big smile!”

When you got your strip of photos, you almost couldn’t bear to look at them. The joy you felt at being with him was captured there in black and white — a blurry picture of your laughing attempts to fit in the booth, the surprise on your face and the grin on his when he’d put you on his lap, the tenderness in your expression when you’d touched his face, both of your big smiles when you pressed as close as you could get to each other. You swallowed past the tightness in your throat and handed the strip to Danny.

“You don’t want them?” he asked.

“No, I — ” You cleared your throat. “Um, I don’t have anywhere to keep them. Will you hold on to them for me?”

“Oh. Sure.” He tucked them in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Where to next, sunshine?”

“The bar,” you said. You needed another drink. You needed a whole bottle.

He followed you without complaint, and when you got another round of drinks, you hardly tasted yours. You felt caught somewhere between giddiness and a terrible urge to cry, hysterical and drunk and just barely able to keep from telling Danny Wagner in front of god and everybody that you were in love with him.

“We should dance,” you said, needing an outlet for the jittery, anxious pressure building in your chest.

Danny didn’t move from where he’d leaned up against the counter, watching you with an amused smile.

“Where do you get all this energy from, sunny?” he asked.

You took another sip of your drink, feeling so keyed-up you thought you might go crazy. Didn’t he feel anything between you? You thought you would suffocate if you didn’t get out from under the weight of how much you wanted him.

Your hands fluttering nervously like the wings of a bird, you reached for him.

“Come on,” you said, and the words had barely gotten out of your mouth before somebody knocked into you from behind, sending you straight into Danny’s arms.

“Woah, hold on,” he said, hurrying to catch you even as your drink sloshed over the sleeve of his jacket and the front of your dress.

You heard a heartfelt apology from behind you, and then Danny’s assurance that you were both fine.

“Right?” he asked you, still holding your arms to make sure you were steady. “You’re good, sunny?”

You couldn’t answer, suddenly overcome with tears, trying in vain to clean his sleeve off even though it was soaked.

“Sunny?” he said again, a little worried this time. He ducked his head to see your face. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you said miserably, “but your jacket — I’m sorry, Danny.”

He glanced over at the sleeve you were trying to fix as if he’d only just noticed it. “My jacket?” he said. “Sunny, I’m not worried about my jacket. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied. You didn’t know why this had been the final straw, but all of a sudden you were overwhelmed with everything, exhausted and completely overcome.

“I’m s-sorry I spilled my stupid drink on you, Danny,” you all but sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey.” He took your now-empty glass from you and set it on the bar, then framed your face with his big hands and made you look at him. He was searching your face with such worry, and your expression crumpled like a little girl’s.

“Sunshine,” he said, at a loss, unsure why this had upset you so badly. “Please don’t cry, honey. It’s really not a big deal. I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

He looked so bewildered you felt a slash of pity for him. “Of course I’m not. It was an accident, and it wasn’t even your fault.” He drew back just enough to look you over. “Oh, and you got the worst of it, too. You’re soaked, honey.”

You hadn’t even noticed. You looked down at the front of your pretty dress and saw it was dark and splotchy.

“Now, you don’t have to cry about that either,” Danny said quickly, a little panicked as he tried to avert another crisis. “I don’t think it’ll stain, but we’ll rinse it out just to make sure. Come on.”

You looked up at him, trying to catch your breath and stop crying. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, looking around for something at the bar; he grabbed a few napkins and did his best to wipe the tears from your face.

“I gotta start wearing a pocket square,” he said under his breath, gently blotting the napkins against your cheeks.

You couldn’t help the watery laugh that escaped you. “Why, so you can get my mascara all over it?”

He gave you a gentle smile. “No, so I can have something soft for you when you cry.”

That almost started you crying again, but you managed to stop after only a few tears had streaked down your cheeks.

“Okay, sunshine,” he said tenderly. “Let’s go up to my room so we can get you cleaned up.”

“You’re staying here?” you asked. You didn’t know the venue had a hotel too, but you were glad you didn’t have to travel anywhere in your wet dress.

He hummed in agreement and took your hand. “Come on, sunny.”

You followed his lead, content to let him find a path through the carousing guests; you didn’t meet Sam and Birdie on the way, but you saw that Danny sent them a text to let them know you were headed upstairs.

It was much quieter when you got out of the reception hall, and you were thankful for it even though your ears were still ringing with the music. You leaned against Danny in the elevator, holding tight to his hand; you still felt fragile, like you were liable to shatter to pieces at any moment. Danny gave your hand a reassuring squeeze every once in a while as you made your way to his room.

Inside, Danny left you for a moment to turn on the bathroom light.

“Is that too much?” he asked when he came back to your side. “I think I’m a little overstimulated. I figured you’re probably feeling that way too.”

You nodded, sure he was right. “That light’s fine,” you said meekly. “Thank you.”

He hovered for a moment, seemingly unsure what to do to help.

“Let me get you something to change into,” he said, going to search through his luggage. “Yeah. That seems like the smart thing to do.”

You watched him with an incredible ache of tenderness, not sure why any man would care for you so selflessly, not sure anything in the world could keep from tying your heart to his for as long as you lived.

“Here,” he said, handing you a stack of neatly folded clothes. “I don’t think I have any bottoms that would fit you, but...”

“I have biker shorts under my dress,” you said.

“Oh,” he said. He looked less sure of himself than he ever had. “Well, good. You can pick whatever you want out of that to wear, and if you want something else, just let me know.”

“Thank you.” You hesitated before you turned to head for the bathroom. “Um, Danny?”

“Yeah?”

You felt shy to ask, for some reason. “Could you unzip my dress? I can’t, um...”

“Of course,” he said, and you felt that his hands were shaking when he brushed your hair over your shoulder and pulled the zipper down.

“Thank you,” you said again. You turned to face him; for a moment, in the quiet darkness of his room, there was nothing in the world but you two and the few inches of space between.

You shook yourself. If you’d stood there a moment longer, you’d have done something that couldn’t be taken back, and you couldn’t decide if it was wise or incredibly foolish to have let the moment pass.

“Right,” you said, flustered, raw with emotion. “Um, thanks. Again.”

You fled into the relative safety of the bathroom, kicking yourself for being so awkward, so girlish, so in love with him it made you act like an idiot. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; you were a wreck, makeup smudged and tear-streaked, dress soaked and bedraggled. You winced.

When you’d rinsed your dress in the sink and hung it over the shower curtain, you washed your face and dressed in Danny’s clothes. He’d given you a t-shirt and a soft fair isle sweater and a pair of black socks way too big for you. You wore them anyway, the heel part coming to the bottom of your calf, and felt much more relaxed in his comfortable clothes that smelled like him.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed when you came out, his jacket discarded over the back of a chair but otherwise still dressed in his wedding outfit. He looked as tense as you’d felt downstairs, and you wondered what was bothering him.

His phone lit up with a text where he’d set it on the bed. He quickly turned it off.

Oh. You felt kind of numb to it now. Maybe it was Emma again, or maybe it was some other girl who couldn’t wait to see him when he was done having to take care of you.

He gave you a weak smile. “Feel better?”

You nodded and scrubbed your face with the too-long sleeves of his sweater, tired and starting to sober up. “A little. Do you have a hair tie?”

He took one off his wrist. “Come here.”

You did, not entirely sure why, standing between his knees like you’d be able to handle it. He gathered your hair with gentle brushes of his fingers, but he couldn’t get the angle he wanted; he stood and towered over you again, and for all your numbness, you could no more keep from hugging him than you could keep the stars from shining.

He breathed a laugh. “You okay?”

You nodded against him, hugging him tighter. You felt tears start again and valiantly managed to keep them from falling.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said.

He finished putting your hair up and hugged you to him, running a soothing hand over your back. “You’re welcome, sunny. It’s my pleasure.”

As much as you wanted to stay close and let him comfort you, you made yourself pull back from him. You took a deep, shaky breath; it was time to rip the band-aid off, and you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry.

“If you’ll take me home,” you said, “I’ll change out of these clothes and get the other things I borrowed. That way you don’t have to make another trip tomorrow.”

He blinked. “Uh... I mean, of course I’ll take you home if you’re ready to leave. But I don’t mind coming by tomorrow. My flight’s not until later.”

You shook your head, wishing he wouldn’t drag it out any longer. “That’s okay. It’ll save you the trouble.”

His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it. 

“It’s no trouble,” he insisted. “I thought we... I don’t know, that we might go for that coffee date we keep talking about.”

You’d forgotten about that. You’d been too busy daydreaming about your fiftieth coffee date to remember that you hadn’t even had one.

“Danny, I...” Your throat felt tight again, close to crying. You didn’t want him to think he owed you some consolation prize; he could just go, and these last few days would be nothing but a fond memory. “We don’t have to.... You don’t have to...”

His hopeful expression shuttered into one of resignation and something like hurt.

“You don’t want to,” he said, and it was a statement, not a question.

You couldn’t think of how to tell him that going on a stupid coffee date with him was the most important thing in the world to you, that it meant so much more to you than just one date. His phone lit up with a text, again, and the tangle of hurt and fear and longing in your chest finally burst apart.

“Why don’t you answer her?” you asked, gesturing to his phone. “She’s obviously trying to get in touch with you.”

He frowned. “Who?” He looked behind him to where you’d gestured and saw only his phone.

“Is it Emma?” you asked, knowing it was bitter and petty to bring it up, but you were unable or unwilling to bite your tongue any longer. “Or is it some other girl waiting for you as soon as you finally get rid of me?”

He looked at you with utter bewilderment and a hint of frustration. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “There’s not any other girls, and I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

Another text. You felt lightheaded.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” you snapped. “She’s ringing your phone off the hook, Danny. She has been since she told you she ‘can’t wait to see you tomorrow’.”

He didn’t say anything, and there was a storm of emotion in his expression that you couldn’t quite make out. Anger, confusion, anxiety, embarrassment — you were surprised to see each one in the flash of his dark eyes and the tight set of his jaw.

He picked up his phone and handed it to you. “Read the texts.”

“She doesn’t want me, Danny.”

“Read. The. Texts.”

You took his phone, startled into obedience by his tone. You saw the texts were from Sam, not from Emma or some other girl, and immediately felt guilty.

“Never mind,” you said, trying to hand his phone back. “I don’t — I’m sorry, I — ”

“No, go ahead.” His voice was low. “Read them, sunny. Since you’re so sure you’ve got me all figured out.”

You looked helplessly at the screen, skimming dozens of texts between him and Sam. Your gaze snagged on one phrase, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

I love her. It was right there in front of you, a message from the boy you loved to his best friend. I love her. I don’t know if I should tell her.

You looked up at him, afraid to ask if it was real. “What is this?”

He gave you an incredulous look. “What do you mean, ‘what is this’?” he said. “What does it look like, sunny?”

You looked back down at the texts.

Tell her!!! Sam had replied. Birdies says you should too.

It’s not crazy?? Danny had sent back. We haven’t even kissed! No way. It’s insane. I can’t tell her.

Come on man, Sam said. When you know you know. Tell her tonight. Don’t wait.

Danny hadn’t sent anything back after that. You guessed that had been when you’d walked in, and the messages you’d been so bothered by had been Sam pestering Danny for an update.

Suddenly the messages blurred in a wash of tears, and you pushed his phone back into his hands and covered your face.

He sighed. “Sunny...” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Look, this doesn’t have to be a whole thing. I’m sorry I lost my temper and made you read those texts. I’ll drive you home, and then you never have to see me again.”

You looked up, awash with tears. “You don’t want to see me again?”

He looked stricken at your voice. “No! I mean, yes! I mean...” He held his hands out to you, helpless, pleading. “Of course I want to see you again. I want to see you every single day for the rest of my life because I love you, sunny. But now you’re crying again, and I have no idea how you feel about me saying that, and — oof!”

He grunted a little as you all but threw yourself into his arms, surprised but still steady as he caught you against him.

“What is this?” he asked, repeating your question from earlier.

You pulled back just enough to look at his face. His expression caught between fear and hope, and you loved him more than you could ever say.

“What do you mean, ‘what is this’?” you said. You touched your hands to his cheeks and gave a watery laugh. “I love you too, Danny.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth than he’d taken you in a tight hug and stood to spin you around.

“Yes!” he yelled, exultant, boyish and sincere. “Yes! Oh, thank god!”

You giggled as he spun you one more time, dizzy and happy and so in love with him you could barely stand it. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you would get such an enthusiastic response to a love confession, and you adored him for it.

He set you gently on your own two feet but still held you close.

“I love you,” he said. “Is that crazy?”

You laughed. “No. I don’t think it’s crazy at all. I love you too.”

He took your face in his hands and kissed you, warm and passionate and sweet. When he finally let you come up for air, you looked up at his beloved face.

“I love you, Danny,” you said softly. 

He smiled. “I love you too, sunshine.”

He kissed you again, and you could have stayed like that forever if Danny’s phone hadn’t gone off over and over again.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Danny muttered between kisses.

You smiled, affectionate towards Danny’s friends who just wanted to make sure he was happy.

“Tell him,” you said. “He’s not going to stop until you do.”

Danny gave you a few more kisses, attempting to leave you after each one, drawn back to you irresistibly and met with your laughter and sweet kisses in return.

“Go,” you laughed, giving him a light push towards the bed where his phone lay with several texts on the screen.

He did, reluctantly, but he was pleased that you came to sit next to him at the end of the bed as he scanned through Sam’s texts.

“Look at this,” Danny said with a fond, mildly exasperated laugh. He showed you the text thread and scrolled through a number of texts all bearing virtually the same messages: did you tell her? how did it go?

“What are you gonna say?” you asked.

He showed you the text he sent. I told her. Is it possible to die of happiness?

“Aw, Danny,” you said softly. You gave him a gentle kiss, and he melted against you.

Sam texted back, and both of you laughed when you read it.

HOLY SHIT??? to answer your question I don’t think so otherwise birdie would have killed me by now but CONGRATS BROTHER!!!!

A few seconds later, he texted again. Birdie says she wants to have lunch tomorrow and hear everything from both of you but for now we’ll shut up and leave you to it!!!! Go get ‘em tiger!!!

“Oh, god,” Danny said with an embarrassed laugh. He locked his phone and tossed it on the bed. “Well, there you have it. The thrilling saga of texting my friends who apparently made it their personal mission to see that I told you all my dirty secrets.”

He laid back on the bed, and you remembered there were still secrets you hadn’t gotten the answer to. You were content to forget it, though, not wanting to bring up anything that might ruin the perfect balance of happiness and excitement between you.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

He gave you a knowing smile. “You’re thinking real hard about something, sunny. Tell me. Do you want to ask me something?”

You didn’t know whether to like that he could read you so easily or to blush at the thought that every emotion played across your face as you felt it.

“Kind of,” you admitted, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s not a big deal.”

“Should be an easy thing to answer, then.” He tugged very gently on the necklace he’d given you. “You should know right from the beginning that you can talk to me about anything, sunshine. I promise.”

Your heart wobbled a little. “Thank you,” you said, and you meant it.

“You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome.” He tenderly brushed his knuckles against your jaw. “What do you want to ask me, sunny?”

You took a deep breath. 

“Who’s Emma?” you finally asked. “The... the girl who can’t wait to see you tomorrow?”

He gave you a kind smile. 

“She does my hair,” he said.

You felt a searing flash of embarrassment. “No she doesn’t.”

He laughed. “Yes, she does. I’m getting highlights tomorrow.”

You winced, mortified at yourself and your overreaction. You covered your face with your hands. 

“Oh, Danny. I’m really sorry.”

“Why? You don’t think I’d look good with highlights?”

You couldn’t answer, and he chuckled as he propped himself up on his arm, pulling your hands away from your face with his free hand. 

“It’s okay, sunny,” he said consolingly. “I get it.”

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” you said. “I’m sorry, Danny. It wasn’t any of my business who you were texting or who was texting you anyway.”

“But she sent me a kissy face,” he said sympathetically. “I understand why you were upset, sweetheart.”

Your heart jumped at the pet name, and you couldn’t stifle the nervous, giddy laugh that bubbled out of you.

He grinned. “What was that cute little laugh for?” he asked. “Did you like it when I called you sweetheart?”

You covered your face with your hands again, blushing hot. “No.”

He chuckled. “Come here, sunshine. If you hide behind your hands every time you blush, we’re gonna be in trouble.”

He tugged gently on your wrist, and you followed until you leaned your head against his shoulder with a soft thump. 

“You are my sweetheart,” he said tenderly, amused and affectionate. He kissed your cheek. “My baby love, my dearest, my pretty girl. My honey bunch.”

You smiled. “Your honey bunch?”

“Yeah, you like that one?” he said with a soft laugh. He peppered gentle kisses over your cheeks. “Let me take you on a date tonight, honey bunch. A real one, not a wedding.”

“But we like going to weddings.”

“We do,” he agreed. “But I think we need something a little more low-key, like some late-night Thai food.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder. “I actually know a good Thai place around here.”

“Sweet. Let’s go.” He gave you a quick kiss as he stood, and you were a little stunned with how easy it was, how casual and wonderful it was to be kissed like that.

He looked mildly worried when you didn’t stand with him. “You okay? You want to go somewhere else?”

You shook your head. “No.” You took the hand he offered you. “Can you kiss me again?”

He smiled and pulled you close. “Sunshine, I’ll kiss you until you’re sick of me.”

“Not possible.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned close to kiss you again. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to find out.”

danny taglist: @tearsofbri @busybeingtrash @myway-late @gotavansleep @gretavanbri @stardustchxrds @pxppylove @mariegvf

fic taglist: @streamsofstardust

gvf taglist: @malany-gvf @spark-my-nature @eearevee @madneedshelp @demonrat444 @josh-iamyour-mama @honeyandsweettae @mydarlingdanny @gretavandann @sacredjake @myleftsock @joshskittytickler21 @hellowgoodbye @watchingovergvf2 @fearfulspirit @mywaysoon @carbondancingthroughtime @caprisunsister @eraofstardustchords @sacredthefran @shesawomaninadream @serendipiti @demonrat444 @wildflowerxx-x

@gvfrry @ohhey1293 @the-chaotic-cow @mountain-in-springtime @xserenax-13 @stardustjtk @brooke-gvf @weightofdreams-gvf  @jakeydoesit  @gretasmokerising @hayley1623 @doodle417 @finestoflines @brokenbellz @bowievanfleet @s0livagant @strugglingtodoshit @s-u-t @kay-jordan @gretavanfleas @jakeyboiiiiiii @gretavansteph @gretavanbitches @myownparadise96 @luverleaver @weightofdreamz @greatervanfleet @maedesculpaeusoubi @jakekiszkasbestie @pineapple-photographer @baguettejuliette @alexxavicry @levi-wants-ur-bones  @carlybubs @cowboysamkiszka @dannyandthekiszkas @jordierama @slutforsteve @starshine-wagner

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here!

[shavirlight]

chapter three is done 🙏 it is full of arguments, murder, and dogstat underovertones

[stromuprisahat]

y'know whats even worse about the final scene of season 2 where alina looks completely unbothered about having just cut someone in half? in r&r her immediate response to using the cut on someone directly for the first time is to vomit and turn into a shaking mess. this show is just so ridiculously detached from the source material its shameful

Mal looked up. I stood at the edge of the platform, my hands still glowing with the power of the Cut. I swayed. Nikolai yanked me back before I could tip over the edge. I broke free of him, scooting to the far end of the platform and vomiting off the other side.

Ruin and Rising- Chapter 6

Yeah, I would like to congratulate screenwriters on their reading comprehension. Well done!

[djevelbl]

LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOO SOURGUMMYWYRM POSTED AGAAAAAAAIN !!!!!

[orcelito]

for songs that have to be listened to 5 months after a loss, rather than 5 days after a loss,

no wonder it didnt stick back then. this is a song for now.

[tariah23]

I’ve seen this niggas disgruntled, anti Yuuta tweets for weeks in passing, he is fed UP

[every-yumichika]

[choices-and-voices]

Just… a moment of silence for how beautiful this scene was 🥺

[avaetin]

I was checking on google Roman funerals. In ToA they did the whole cremation process for Jason, but there was never a mention of a tombstone. The answer is yes, you can still have a tombstone even if you’re cremated.

But in Jason’s case, both scenario - having one and having none - is just sad.

[ayakashibackstreet]

I think I'll legitimately just cut the portions I didn't finish, put them in a separate document to reuse

add sources

and just send it in

Man, June/July kicked my ass really bad, I think the reason I can't put in more effort is just that I'm exhausted

I should probably just send it in with a long letter of 'I'm sorry, sir, shit's fucked, forgive me this isn't of my usual quality'

[panvani]

Literally all books should occasionally mention that the family patriarch doesn't give a shit cuz he's convinced he's gonna be immortal

[shiroselia]

Man what the Fuck would I do for my titles if I didn't have Fire Emblem OST as my inspiration...

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

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[bohemian-nights]

Update tonight?????

Sadly no dice 😭 but I do promise I'll have it up by this weekend🙏🏽

[science2048-abandoned]

Playing an invisible drum. *bababum*

Playing an invisible trumpet. Trumpet Sound

Drink an invisible water...... Oh shit that water was real. *short circuits the computer*

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Accidentally Falling For a Fae Prince - Malleus Draconia x reader

When you get dragged into a novel which ends with the heroine in a polycule with the most annoying men in literature, you decide that you're gonna skip town. ...Only to trip over the fae prince, Malleus Draconia.

Series Masterlist

Work’s been a disaster from the moment you stepped in. Your boss, who makes dollar bills while you’re lucky to scrape together a few dimes, is in one of those moods. So, instead of pretending to be productive, you do what any rational person would do: you pull up a random webnovel website and let the ridiculousness wash over you.

And oh boy, is it ridiculous.

You start reading "The Villainess's Revenge: My Heart is Colder Than Lukewarm Tea!" and, within the first chapter, you realize it’s like watching cement dry—but with less plot development. The villainess is cartoonishly evil, stomping around in ballgowns with a sneer so exaggerated it’s a wonder her face hasn’t permanently locked in place. Her tragic backstory? She once got served lukewarm tea. And, oh no, she stepped in mud at a ball. The horror. Riveting stuff, truly.

Meanwhile, the heroine? She’s clearly phoning it in. Every scene she’s in, her eyes are dead inside like she’s as exhausted as you are by the sheer nonsense of the plot. If this girl could quit her own story, she would’ve done it yesterday. You can't help but mentally send her your condolences.

Then, there’s the male leads. If you can even call them that.

First, the Crown Prince, whose idea of a crisis is a fashion faux pas. This guy once canceled a whole wedding because his socks didn’t match. His spirals into existential crises every time a thread is out of place would be entertaining if it weren’t so tragic. The way he’s written, you swear he could kill a man with a critical stare over improper cufflinks.

Next up, the Duke. Brooding, romantic, and absolutely incapable of writing good poetry. Every time he spots the heroine, he launches into the worst rhymes you’ve ever heard. It’s so bad that you’re embarrassed for both of them. He follows her everywhere, reading his masterpieces at the most inappropriate times—like during a funeral. Who does that?

And finally, the Hero Knight. Ah, the knight. The epitome of overzealous stupidity. He turned grocery shopping into a three-day quest for the “Golden Lettuce of Destiny,” and vowed to defend the heroine’s honor from…nobody. You’d swear he’s larping 24/7. It’s exhausting just reading about him.

As if that weren’t bad enough, the heroine ends up in a polycule with all of them because the author was so sick of comments asking, “Who will she date?” that they just threw their hands up and went, “Fine, she dates everyone!” The heroine looks exhausted, and you feel for her. You feel for yourself, too, because reading this is actively lowering your IQ.

You sit there, flabbergasted, staring at the screen. This is what you’ve chosen to waste your time on? What’s worse, your boss will probably come around the corner any minute to scold you—oh wait, nope, the corner of the ceiling just gave out and bonk—there goes a chunk of plaster, right on your head.

You cannot believe this is how you get taken out.

You wake up and, somehow, it’s worse. You’re in a four-poster bed, covered in satin sheets, and your first thought is goddammit—you’ve been isekai’d. And not just into any world. That world. The webnovel.

You drag yourself out of bed, feeling a sudden wave of dread. You were the heroine in this mess. The heroine. Goddammit, why does everything bad only happen to you? For a moment, you're relieved you’re not the villainess. But then you remember: you’re stuck in a polycule with three absolute clowns.

Nope. Not happening. You will not end up with any of these pushy idiots. Goal one? Avoid the polycule at all costs.

Suddenly, the door flies open with a bang, and in burst all three male leads, dramatically weeping and crying out how you’ve been in a coma for so long. Their over-the-top emotions would be heartwarming if they weren’t so ridiculous.

“You’ve returned to us, my dearest flower of the kingdom!” the Crown Prince sobs, still perfectly dressed despite the tears streaming down his face. He sniffs and dabs his eyes with a handkerchief embroidered with his own face. Of course.

The Duke starts reciting the worst love poem you've ever heard, right there, in the middle of your room, as if you didn’t just wake up from a coma.

“I wandered, lost, like a daisy in a field of… uh… misery, because you, my sun, were hidden in the sky of my heart…” The rest is a blur because your brain has officially short-circuited.

And the Hero Knight? He’s already on his knees, swearing to protect you from whatever invisible threat he’s made up this time. “Fear not, fair lady! I shall defend thee against all who oppose your grace!”

You manage to kick all of them out of your room with a lot of effort and a lot of heavy glares. The moment you’re alone, you find a suicide note on the dresser, written by the actual heroine. Apparently, she drank poison just to get away from these weirdos.

What an icon.

But not you. You’re not dying again for these guys. No way.

You’re moving through the bustling market in full disguise, keeping an eye out for any knights or familiar faces. Your plan is simple: escape the polycule before any of those nutjobs track you down. With every step, you remind yourself that freedom is just one boat ride away—preferably to a distant land that has no idea who the Hero Knight, the Duke, or the crown prince are.

But as you round a corner, your thoughts scatter when you bump—quite literally—into something solid. You stagger back, blinking up at a tall figure dressed in all black. At first, panic flashes through you—please don’t be one of them—but when your eyes meet his, it’s not the Crown Prince, the Duke, or the Hero Knight.

It’s someone new. And he seems… perfectly pleasant. His strikingly elegant features, crowned by horns, should make him imposing, but his eyes soften as he looks at you. There’s an almost serene curiosity in them.

"Ah, forgive me," he says smoothly, his deep voice lilting with a formality that surprises you. "I didn’t see you there."

"No, no, it’s my fault," you reply, awkwardly waving your hands, trying to figure out why he’s so different from everyone else in this place. He’s polite. Polite. Already, you feel better about this encounter than you have about every conversation with the three other disasters that have been stalking you.

He steps aside, but instead of walking away, he looks around the marketplace with a faint, thoughtful frown. “I seem to have… lost my way,” he admits, glancing back at you. “This place is unfamiliar to me.”

Something in his tone, in the way his eyes briefly widen as he takes in the simplest market stalls—like he’s genuinely fascinated—makes you soften toward him. Ugh, bleeding heart strikes again. Before you know it, you find yourself asking, “Do you need help? I can… show you around.”

He turns his gaze back to you, and his lips quirk into the smallest, softest smile. “That would be most appreciated.”

As you walk together, he marvels at the simplest things—the fresh bread from a stall, the colorful fabrics, the scent of flowers sold at a cart. He’s curious about everything, eyes lingering on each sight like it’s the first time he’s ever seen such mundane wonders. His fascination is oddly endearing. It’s clear he’s not used to mingling in places like this, and his awe at the most normal things is… well, cute.

"Have you ever seen so many people in one place?" you ask, trying to fill the silence, though you’re surprised to find that you’re not uncomfortable around him.

He chuckles lightly. “Not in such a casual setting, no. It’s quite… charming. Everything feels so alive.”

You almost snort at the idea that this guy finds a basic market so thrilling, but you keep it in check. At least he’s not another drama king like the Crown Prince or a bad poet like the Duke.

It’s been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon until your luck inevitably runs out. You spot the familiar, impeccably dressed figure of the Crown Prince moving through the crowd with his knights. He’s scanning the area, and panic rises in your throat.

“Crap,” you mutter under your breath. Instinctively, you grab the man’s sleeve, tugging him down the nearest alley. “We need to go. Now.”

He blinks, looking puzzled but not resisting. “Is something wrong?”

Yes! you think, your mind flashing to the emotional wreck that is the prince. "No time to explain. Just trust me."

But you’re too late. The Crown Prince, in all his resplendent, overly perfect glory, catches sight of you just as you’re about to disappear into the shadows.

“Well, well,” the prince calls out with an overly bright smile. “If it isn’t my darling—oh!” His eyes widen as he finally notices the tall figure standing next to you. “Prince Malleus Draconia of Briar Valley!”

You blue screen.

Your grip loosens on Malleus’s sleeve as your brain sputters. Prince. Fae Prince. You’d just been casually chatting with the Prince of Briar Valley like he was some random lost guy? Did you seriously just… You internally spiral as the realization sinks in. Of course, he's a prince! The horns! The aura!

Malleus, for his part, remains calm and collected, inclining his head toward the Crown Prince. “Ah, it seems I’ve been found,” he says smoothly, completely unaware of the crisis currently happening inside your head.

The Crown Prince gives Malleus a florid bow, then immediately turns his attention back to you. “My dear, you shouldn’t be wandering the streets alone. Allow me to escort you to the palace.” His hand reaches out toward you, his smile practiced and princely, but your gut clenches with discomfort. No, nope, no thanks.

You step back instinctively, your unease written all over your face. Before you can even figure out how to politely decline without causing a scene, Malleus moves.

Malleus, who up until now was watching the exchange with mild curiosity, steps forward. His eyes narrow slightly as he looks the Crown Prince up and down. The prince stumbles over his words and backs away under the weight of Malleus’ stare.

The Crown Prince’s smile falters. He hesitates, glancing between you and Malleus, clearly unsure how to proceed. “I—um—of course, Prince Malleus, I didn’t mean to overstep,” he stammers, eyes darting nervously between the two of you.

You stand there, stunned, watching as Malleus’ mere presence makes the most annoyingly confident man in the kingdom back off. Is this real life?

The prince clears his throat awkwardly, then shoots you one last uneasy smile before making a swift retreat with his knights, leaving you standing there with Malleus.

You let out a long, relieved breath and glance up at him, feeling a little less like you’re about to lose your mind. “Thanks… for that.”

Malleus’ lips quirk into a tiny, knowing smile. “It was my pleasure.” He tilts his head, eyes still twinkling with that same curiosity from earlier. “Although, I must admit, I’m rather curious why you were so eager to avoid him.”

You laugh nervously, running a hand through your hair. “Let’s just say… he’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

You don't know how you’ve ended up in this mess. One minute, you’re lost in the market, trying to figure out how to escape this ridiculous polycule situation, and the next, you’ve been dragged into a carriage on your way to the palace—with the Crown Prince, your overly dramatic Knight, and the Fae Prince himself.

Malleus, the Fae Prince, had politely asked if you would accompany him to the palace, and in a panic, you said yes. Because, really, how could you admit to both him and the Crown Prince that you’d actually been planning to skip town? So now, here you are, sitting through the most awkward carriage ride of your life.

Your knight, perched beside you, clears his throat dramatically. “Fear not, my lady,” he says in a voice filled with too much gravitas for the situation. “I shall protect you from all perils! Should the wind itself dare to brush against your delicate frame, I shall strike it down with my blade! No harm shall come to you so long as I draw breath!”

You facepalm internally. Please. Stop talking.

The Crown Prince, sitting across from you, adjusts his cufflinks for the tenth time. “I must say,” he purrs, fishing for compliments, “this outfit is particularly resplendent today, don’t you think? The shade of royal blue brings out the depth in my eyes. It was hand-tailored, of course. What do you think, my dear?”

You blink at him, trying to process whether he’s serious. He is. He’s absolutely serious.

Malleus watches the exchange in silent confusion, his eyes flicking between the three of you as if trying to figure out if this is normal human behavior. After all, you’ve got one guy swearing to kill the breeze, another obsessed with his reflection, and you, trying to melt into the upholstery.

“Is this… how humans typically behave?” Malleus asks, his voice soft and genuinely curious.

You shake your head vigorously. “No. This is how clowns behave.” Malleus raises an eyebrow but seems satisfied with your answer, settling back into his seat.

When the carriage finally—finally—arrives at the palace, you’re barely holding onto your sanity. But things are about to get worse.

As you’re ushered into the meeting hall, a trio approaches you. It’s Lilia, Silver, and… Sebek.

Sebek, who looks one step away from a full-blown aneurysm.

"Lord Malleus!" Sebek practically screeches, running toward Malleus like the world was ending. “How could you wander off on your own?! Do you know how much chaos you caused?! I almost fainted from sheer terror!”

Malleus doesn’t even flinch. “I had a guide.” He gestures toward you.

Sebek’s eyes land on you, and you quickly glance around for an escape route. “YOU?! YOU DARED TOUCH—”

Before Sebek can finish, you spot the Duke—one of your many suitors and part of the delegation—striding toward you with his usual brooding expression. You instinctively grab onto Malleus’ sleeve for some comfort (or maybe protection from what’s about to come next).

The Duke’s eyes light up as he sees you, and then… he begins to recite. “Oh, my dearest, like the moon that doth gleam upon a cheese plate—no, wait—upon a field of… toes? Your hair, like the petals of wilted roses in the rain... um… and your eyes… they are like two potatoes, cooked to perfection…”

Even Sebek is speechless. You think you see a vein pop on his forehead, but for once, he’s too stunned to yell.

Lilia, standing beside Sebek, chuckles, amused. “Well, I have to say, that’s… quite something.”

Malleus tilts his head, blinking at the Duke’s strange poetry. “Are potatoes considered a form of flattery in human culture?”

“No,” you mutter. “No, they’re not.”

Just when you think things can’t possibly get more absurd, the meeting begins. Because you’re technically the daughter of a Duke, you’re forced to sit through the whole ordeal. They start discussing the logistics of showing the fae delegation around the city.

“We need someone trustworthy to act as a guide,” one of the officials says, glancing toward the Crown Prince.

Malleus, who had been quietly observing the room, suddenly speaks up. “I believe I’ve already found the perfect guide.”

You freeze. No. No, no, no.

“The young lady who helped me in the market,” Malleus continues, looking directly at you.

The room falls silent. You, of all people, are the last person who wants to be anywhere near the fae delegation or, worse, your insane suitors. But before you can even open your mouth to refuse, the Crown Prince starts.

“My dear,” he says, leaning forward with a princely grin, “while I understand you’ve already formed an acquaintance with Prince Malleus, perhaps it would be better for someone more… experienced to take on this role.” He flashes his most charming smile, which, after everything today, only makes you cringe.

But Malleus just stares at him, completely unbothered. “No. I want her as my guide.”

Silver shifts slightly, glancing at you with an expression you can’t quite place, while Lilia’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “How interesting,” Lilia murmurs, clearly entertained by the situation.

Sebek, however, explodes. “IF LORD MALLEUS WANTS HER AS HIS GUIDE, THEN SO BE IT!” He turns toward the Crown Prince, practically vibrating with anger. “YOU WILL NOT QUESTION HIS DECISION!”

The Crown Prince, for once, looks genuinely taken aback. “I—I meant no offense! Of course, whatever Lord Malleus desires…”

You sink into your chair, feeling like your last chance at a peaceful life just flew out the window. Malleus turns to you with an expectant, polite smile. “I look forward to our time together.”

You groan inwardly. How is this my life?

You had to admit, Malleus was really nice. When you compared him to the absolute circus of clowns you had to deal with, he was practically a gift sent from above. So, you made a decision—if you were going to be his guide, you were going to be the best guide ever. And once they wrapped up this whole diplomatic visit, you'd beg him to take you with him to Briar Valley, where hopefully, your ridiculous suitors would be very far away.

Apparently, being a guide also meant dragging him along to everything you did, including navigating high society. This was where things got tricky. The original heroine had endured these events like a pro, but you? You were just a lowly office worker who'd read bad webnovels to avoid work. Now you were living in one.

First stop: a tea party.

As you sit down with Malleus beside you—who’s awkwardly perched in a chair much too small for him—you scan the room. Of course, all three of your ridiculous suitors are here. The Crown Prince, obsessing over the intricate lace of his cravat. The Hero Knight, sharpening his sword for no reason in the middle of a garden party. And the Duke, scribbling poetry on a napkin with all the grace of a sleep-deprived teenager finishing their homework five minutes before class.

But this wasn’t just about them. This was also your first time meeting the so-called villainess.

The villainess arrived like a whirlwind of petticoats and extravagant headpieces, smiling in that "I'm about to ruin your whole existence" kind of way. You smiled back, trying not to look dead inside when she launched into a diatribe about ruffles.

"And you see," she said, flickering her wrist with an air of superiority, "it was positively scandalous! The seamstress gave me a gown with only forty ruffles. Can you imagine? What am I, a commoner?"

You tried to smile politely. Truly. But Malleus, seated beside you, was staring at her with this fascinated look, as if watching a rare bird display its feathers. You could tell he was having a hard time grasping what the point of her story was. So were you.

But then, of course, the conversation turned personal.

“And the Duke,” the villainess said with a sly smirk, “such a poetic soul. He deserves better than to pine over someone who clearly has no appreciation for his art. Don’t you think?”

You blinked. Was this woman for real? You glanced at the Duke, who had suddenly gone from scribbling to gazing at you with that awful puppy-dog look. The one that meant another horrible poem was probably brewing.

You couldn’t help it. The words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Please take him.”

The villainess's eyes widened. “What?”

Malleus looked at you in amusement, while the Duke gasped dramatically, as if you’d just run him through with a sword.

You clasped your hands together and leaned forward earnestly. “Please, please take him. I don’t want him. At all. He’s all yours. You can have him—along with his potato-themed poems.”

The Duke visibly wilted. “But—! My lady! You—you wound me!”

“No, Duke, you wound me—with your terrible metaphors,” you deadpan. “And I’m begging you. Take him. Please. For the love of everything holy, I’m begging you.”

The villainess, probably for the first time in her life, looked completely flustered. “Are you… serious?”

“Absolutely,” you said, nodding. “I will sign papers. I’ll throw a party. I’ll—whatever it takes. Just… he’s yours.”

Malleus and Lilia were practically shaking with barely-contained laughter at this point, while the Duke had dropped to one knee, a napkin-clutched in his hand like some sad bouquet. “My poems… they were written with you in mind. Each line! Each stanza! Crafted from the depths of my heart!”

“Exactly,” you said, unblinking. “That’s why I need you to take him. Before he writes more.”

The villainess stared at you, completely dumbfounded. Then, after a pause, she broke into a smile. “Well, I’ve never had a man gifted to me before. I suppose I can make an exception.”

You felt like you could cry with relief. “Thank you.”

And just like that, your beef with the villainess was squashed. You traded your tragic suitor for peace of mind, and the villainess, now on the receiving end of the Duke’s “affections,” seemed pleased with her new prize.

Malleus leaned in, his voice low but filled with amusement. “I must say, you handled that quite well.”

You sighed, finally able to relax. “I handled that with desperation.”

And just like that, you’d rid yourself of two your problems. Now… to figure out how to survive the other two without losing your sanity.

You barely had time to process your victory over one villainess before a second one spawned out of nowhere like this was some kind of twisted video game. The Isekai Overlords clearly weren’t done with you yet. And this one? Oh, she was worse. The Crown Prince’s younger sister—spoiled princess extraordinaire—who genuinely believed her father was the reason the sun rose in the morning.

But, to your surprise, she didn’t even care about you. Like, at all. She acted like you didn’t even exist. Honestly? You were grateful. At least you could blend into the background this time and—oh no. Oh no.

She was making a beeline straight for Malleus.

You watched, horrified, as the princess latched onto him, throwing herself at him like he was a rare limited-edition collectible and not, you know, the Prince of Briar Valley and one of the most powerful beings in the world. Malleus shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure how to handle the situation, while Sebek was being barely restrained by Lilia and Silver. Lilia, of course, had that mischievous glint in his eye, like he was enjoying the whole ordeal.

You, on the other hand, were not enjoying it. You could practically see your retirement plans shriveling up in front of you—this had diplomatic nightmare written all over it. If Malleus so much as sneezed, you were pretty sure this princess would declare war on Briar Valley.

So, you did the only thing you could think of: you stepped in.

“Um, excuse me, Your Highness,” you said, stepping between the princess and Malleus. “Could you maybe… not cling to him like he’s a handbag?”

She turned to you with a look of utter disdain, like you were a fly she was too annoyed to swat away. “And who are you, exactly?”

Before you could answer, she pointed an accusatory finger at you. “I challenge you to a duel! For his hand!”

You blinked. “Bro, what?”

The princess huffed. “For the hand of Prince Malleus, of course! You think I didn’t see you fawning over him?”

“Fawning? I’m literally just his guide!” You gestured to Malleus, who, for some reason, looked almost giddy. “I’m not dating him, we’re not engaged, and if you push it, we’re maybe friends.”

Malleus practically beamed at the word “friends.” Was he… happy about this? About being defended like some damsel in distress? You were defending the most powerful fae in existence, and here he was, looking like you just made his entire year.

Sebek and Silver immediately stepped forward, but before they could say anything, Malleus raised a hand. “No. I would like to see how my guide—and friend—defends my honor.”

Your brain short-circuited. What?!

The princess smirked, clearly thinking she had you cornered. “Prepare yourself for the duel then! My personal knight will face you.”

You glanced at the knight, a towering figure who looked like he’d been training for war since birth, and then back at the sword that had been thrust into your hands. This was not how you imagined your day going. You hadn’t even touched a sword before. Meanwhile, your opponent was stretching like this was a warm-up exercise.

Still, you had no choice. With a deep breath and the knowledge that you were about to make a complete fool of yourself, you stepped forward, sword held awkwardly in front of you.

The duel began.

The knight lunged at you with a practiced, fluid motion. You, on the other hand, tripped over a rock, accidentally ducking his strike, and in your flailing attempt to stay upright, the hilt of your sword smacked him right in the face.

There was a collective gasp from the audience.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

The knight staggered, his face scrunched in confusion. He tried again, this time swinging from the side. You managed to parry—purely out of luck—and in the process, tripped forward, sending your sword clattering out of your hands and somehow knocking the knight’s legs out from under him. He fell to the ground with a thud.

Dead silence followed.

You stood there, frozen, your sword lying a few feet away. The knight was on his back, staring up at the sky, clearly bewildered by what had just happened. You hadn't even swung properly!

Lilia burst out laughing. “My, my! That was quite the duel! You’ll have to take responsibility now.”

“Responsibility?” you echoed, flustered beyond belief. “For what? I just—he tripped! I tripped! That wasn’t even—”

“Exactly,” Lilia teased. “You won the duel. Now you must take responsibility for defending Prince Malleus’ honor so valiantly.”

Malleus, looking thoroughly impressed, gave you a small, pleased smile. “Indeed. You have my gratitude.”

The princess, meanwhile, was gaping at you like she couldn’t believe what just happened. “This… this is an outrage!”

You sighed, feeling utterly exhausted. “Look, I didn’t even want to duel in the first place. Can’t we just—call it a day? I’ve had enough of knights and duels and—” You gestured vaguely to Malleus. “I’m not even dating him.”

Malleus’ smile widened. “But we are friends.”

Lilia chuckled. “Ah, young love is so complicated.”

You shot him a glare. This was not what you signed up for. But hey, at least you won the duel—somehow.

You were lounging in your mansion’s parlor, the day blissfully uneventful for once. The warm sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a cozy glow over the room. Malleus was mid-conversation—no, scratch that—mid-rant about gargoyles. To your surprise, you were actually kind of into it.

“And that’s the primary difference between gargoyles and grotesques,” Malleus continued passionately. “You see, gargoyles are not merely decorative but also functional, designed to channel water away from the structure, whereas grotesques, while similar in appearance, serve no such purpose. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

You nodded, intrigued, and cut in with a genuine question. “Wait, so is the functionality the only difference? Like, are they made from the same material?”

Malleus blinked, slightly taken aback that you were not only listening but actively participating. “Yes, precisely. They are often carved from the same stone, but it’s their purpose that sets them apart. For example, in the southern—” He paused, seeming to catch himself, suddenly looking sheepish. “Ah, forgive me. I fear I’ve been talking too much.”

Sebek nearly jumped out of his seat, eyes wide with horror. “Lord Malleus! Everything you say is perfect! Don’t apologize for sharing your magnificent knowledge!”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “No, really, I enjoy it,” you said, waving off Malleus’ concerns. “I mean, how often do you get to talk about something so niche with someone who knows this much about it? I actually have a question—do any of the gargoyles in the Briar Valley have, like, historical significance? Like ones that are still functioning after all this time?”

Malleus lit up, and he launched right back into it, going on about ancient gargoyles in the Briar Valley that had withstood the test of time. He even started comparing the craftsmanship of various eras, and to your own surprise, you threw in a few comments about architecture and water systems, things you barely remembered from some random articles you’d read ages ago.

Halfway through a comparison of Gothic versus Renaissance gargoyle styles, a soft knock interrupted. Your maid entered, bowing slightly. “My lady, pardon the interruption, but we need your guidance with something in the kitchens.”

You sighed but smiled, pushing yourself off the couch. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let them bully you into leaving the gargoyle talk,” you teased as you walked out, completely unaware of the effect your comment had left behind.

As soon as the door closed, Malleus stood there, momentarily speechless. His pale cheeks took on the faintest hint of color, and his eyes were wide, as if someone had just smacked him with a metaphorical brick of emotions. The prince of Briar Valley, the most powerful creature in existence, was blushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

Lilia, ever the mischievous one, was already grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, well, well… isn’t this interesting?” he purred, barely suppressing a chuckle.

Silver raised an amused brow, casting a side glance at Malleus. “It’s not every day we see him blush.”

Sebek, on the other hand, was utterly baffled but still overjoyed at seeing his lord smiling so widely. “Of course Lord Malleus is happy!” Sebek exclaimed proudly, though there was a trace of confusion in his voice. “He’s been honored with your presence and your rapt attention, as is only right! I just—” Sebek glanced around, as if trying to understand the subtle undercurrent in the room, “—I don’t understand why he’s so… red?”

Lilia patted Sebek on the back, barely holding in his laughter. “Oh, Sebek, my boy. This is what happens when someone gets the attention they’ve long desired.”

Malleus cleared his throat, trying—and failing—to compose himself. “I’m merely… pleased,” he said, though his blush betrayed him. “It’s rare to find someone who listens so attentively.”

Lilia chuckled softly. “Yes, and who knows the difference between gargoyles and grotesques, I imagine. Quite the match for you, wouldn’t you say?”

Malleus, flustered beyond belief, gave Lilia a sidelong look but said nothing, clearly more preoccupied with the strange warmth blooming in his chest.

By the time you returned, unaware of the scene you’d left behind, Malleus was still trying to gather himself. Lilia shot you a knowing smile, and Silver just gave you a look like you have no idea what’s happening, do you? Sebek, as always, continued to beam with unshakable loyalty to his blushing lord.

But hey, at least Malleus was happy—really happy.

It all started innocently enough—you were having dinner with Malleus, Sebek, Lilia, and Silver. Sebek was, as usual, going on one of his rants about how absolutely divine Malleus was, Lilia was being cryptic and vaguely mischievous, and Silver was dozing off between courses.

You, being the delightful disaster that you were, cracked a joke between bites. “Honestly, if Sebek praises Malleus any more, we might as well commission a statue of him—complete with an audio loop of Sebek’s praises.”

Malleus laughed. Actually laughed. It was such a rare sound, deep and rich, and when you heard it, your heart stuttered in your chest like someone had just jabbed you with a lightning bolt.

Oh no.

You knew, from that very moment, you were in deep, deep shit.

From that point on, everything Malleus did made it impossible for you to act normal around him. His laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he found something amusing, the warmth in his voice when he spoke to you—how had you not noticed before? And now, every time Lilia even looked at you, it was with this knowing, mischievous grin, like the universe had finally granted him the entertainment he’d been waiting for all these centuries.

“This,” Lilia said one day, leaning in conspiratorially with a grin that could light up a room, “this is what I’ve lived so long for.”

And to make matters worse, it wasn’t just your mind tormenting you. Oh no. It was like the entire world was in on the joke. You could practically see sparkles in the air every time Malleus so much as glanced your way. Sparkles, for crying out loud. Your heart was in critical danger.

Your solution? Avoid him.

But it wasn’t that simple. You tried hiding behind furniture, ducking into bushes, and even feigning an incredibly inconvenient bout of food poisoning just to avoid being near him. One time, you spotted Malleus coming down the hall and, in a blind panic, dove behind a potted plant. The plant was tiny. You were not. Somehow, you thought it would work.

It didn’t. Malleus casually walked over, spotted you crouching awkwardly behind the plant, and said, “Is there something wrong with that shrubbery? Should I summon someone to tend to it?”

Another time, you attempted to “sneak” out of the palace by pretending you were a passing merchant. You wore a very large hat and wrapped yourself in an oversized cloak. Malleus found you immediately.

“Aren’t you feeling a bit warm in that?” he asked, blinking at your ridiculous ensemble.

He had fae hearing. He could always find you.

Even guiding him around town became a disaster. How were you supposed to be a competent host when all you could think about was how unfairly hot he was? Every word he said carried this charming, ancient elegance, and here you were, a flustered mess with zero composure.

Lilia? Still having the time of his life. He was practically choking on his laughter at this point. Silver, somehow, slept through most of your crises, and Sebek was just thrilled Malleus was spending so much time with him (though he was clearly confused about why you were acting so weird).

Finally, you had enough. One night, under the cover of the moon, you snuck into the garden with the determination of someone completely done with their own suffering. You found a flower—granted, you didn’t know what it was, but it looked nice—and you marched up to Malleus, who was out enjoying the evening air, blissfully unaware of the emotional train wreck headed his way.

“I need to say something!” you blurted, shoving the flower toward him.

Malleus took the flower carefully, glancing down at it. His expression shifted from curious to… mildly concerned? “This flower,” he said slowly, “is traditionally used in Briar Valley to signify deep betrayal…”

You blinked. Oh god.

“No, wait! I didn’t mean—!” you stammered, but before you could backtrack, your brain decided it had had enough. You blurted out the truth, no holds barred: “I like you, okay?! I’ve been a mess for weeks because of how ridiculously perfect you are, and I’m tired of avoiding you and hiding behind plants! So there!”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Malleus stared at you, his eyes wide with shock, and then, much to your surprise (and relief), he broke into the widest smile you’d ever seen on him. It was like the moon had just gotten brighter.

“You’re confessing… to me?” he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine joy.

“Yes,” you groaned, face burning with embarrassment. “Now please reject me so I can go lie in a ditch somewhere.”

But instead of rejection, you got happy dragon noises. Malleus gently pulled you into his arms and, with a voice full of affection, declared, “You are mine, then. From this day forward, you are my beloved.”

Cue your soul leaving your body.

When you broke the news to your father the next day, the poor Duke nearly fainted at the sight of the Prince of Briar Valley standing there, flanked by Silver, Sebek, and Lilia, the former general grinning like the Cheshire cat.

The Duke was intimidated—terrified, really—and quickly agreed to let the courtship proceed. But there was a catch.

“You’ll have to tell the Crown Prince and the Hero Knight yourself,” your father said, his face pale. “I’m not getting involved in that.”

Your retirement plans had officially died.

Despite all the chaos that had entered your life since becoming Malleus's beloved, you had to admit—there were perks. One of those was what you’d come to call "fae luck." It became especially apparent during a particularly tense diplomatic meeting involving the fae, the beastmen, and your kingdom.

The room was filled with strained conversations, the kind of diplomacy that could either result in peace or war, depending on how fragile the egos in the room were. You were sitting between Malleus and the second prince, doing your best to avoid looking at the first prince, who had already been giving you way too much attention for comfort.

Then it happened.

The first prince, ever the picture of grace, rose to speak. As he took his first step forward… THUD. He tripped spectacularly, arms flailing, and landed directly in the lap of the Beastmen Queen. There was a collective gasp, and for a heartbeat, you thought maybe this could be saved—until he opened his mouth.

“Well, I guess I’ve… fallen for you!”

Silence.

The Beastmen Queen's expression froze. The fae delegation collectively facepalmed, and you could practically feel the tension suffocating the room.

And then the Beastmen were on their feet, growling and demanding the immediate removal of the first prince from the line of succession. One of their diplomats, fur bristling with indignation, roared, “This is an insult to our Queen! Remove this fool from the throne!”

Instead of apologizing, as a normal, sane person might have, the first prince, face red with embarrassment, dug himself even deeper. “It was a joke! Can’t you beastmen take a joke? Honestly, I don’t see why everyone’s so sensitive.”

The Beastmen's amger intensified, and you saw the Emperor and Empress—who had been trying desperately to maintain order—sink deeper into their seats, their expressions a mix of horror and resignation. The entire room was teetering on the brink of an international incident.

And then… you spotted it.

A little green wisp, barely visible, flitting through the air right around where the prince had been standing before his magnificent face-plant.

You glanced toward Malleus, who was sitting beside you, looking perfectly composed, save for the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Beside him, Lilia gave you a knowing wink, his mischievous grin unmistakable.

They caused this.

Within moments, the decision was made: the first prince was officially removed as heir to the throne. His younger brother, the second prince—who had always been calm, composed, and infinitely more capable—was declared the new Crown Prince.

It was glorious.

But before you could celebrate, the first prince turned toward you, his expression sour and filled with desperation. "You—" he began, as if about to drag you into his misery.

Not today, prince.

Finally given the chance to reject him properly, you rose from your seat, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh as you faced him.

“I’ve been waiting so long to say this,” you began, crossing your arms and locking eyes with him. “I reject you. Completely. Wholly. Utterly. There is not a single fiber in my being that has ever been remotely interested in you. In fact, the only thing that’s ever kept me in proximity to you was the sheer necessity of survival.”

The first prince’s mouth opened, but you weren’t done.

“Remember all those times you made those comments about my ‘station’ and how ‘lucky’ I was to be considered by you?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything back then because I was too polite, but now? No thanks. Absolutely not. I would rather spend a century in the swamps than a minute more listening to you.”

Sebek, of all people, burst into laughter. “She’s got a point!” he managed between snickers. Lilia was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes twinkling in amusement, and Silver, barely awake, gave a lazy thumbs-up in support.

Malleus, meanwhile, looked positively enchanted. His eyes sparkled as he watched you lay into the former prince, pride and affection written all over his face. When you were done, he leaned toward you, murmuring with a soft smile, “I do love seeing you stand up for yourself.”

The first prince, his face red with humiliation, stammered, “You can’t speak to me like that!”

“Oh, but I just did,” you replied with a sweet smile. “And you know what? It felt amazing.”

With that, the first prince slunk away, his tail metaphorically between his legs, while the room buzzed with whispered laughter. Even the Beastmen, who had been ready to rip the prince to shreds, seemed satisfied.

You had never felt more victorious. Malleus looked at you with such adoration, and Lilia… well, Lilia looked like he was already planning his next round of mischief.

It was a good day.

The festival was going about as smoothly as a cat in a bathtub. You were trying to act like you weren’t hopelessly entangled with the most dangerously attractive fae prince in existence, while also managing to survive the company of your absurd entourage.

Sebek was marching around, loudly reminding anyone within earshot of his unwavering devotion to Lord Malleus. His eyes would dart to you occasionally, like he was calculating whether you were worthy of being in the same airspace as his revered master. Silver, half-asleep, was keeping one lazy yet disturbingly sharp eye on you, while Lilia was in his element—practically vibrating with amusement, like he was waiting for you to trip and fall into a cauldron of chaos.

And then there was the Hero Knight. This guy had shown up uninvited, all shiny armor and noble delusions, insisting he protect you from… something? Yourself? Malleus? Winning too many festival games?

“Are you sure you’re safe?” the Hero Knight asked, sidling up far too close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve heard stories about these fae festivals. One wrong step, and you’ll be cursed to dance for a hundred years, or worse—turned into a tree.”

You squinted at him. “Right. I’ll make sure to avoid the face-painting booth. Wouldn’t want to end up as a shrub for eternity.”

Malleus, ever patient, simply raised an eyebrow, as if contemplating whether this so-called Hero Knight was worth the oxygen he was breathing. Lilia, meanwhile, was biting his lip to stop from laughing.

But then, amid your rising frustration, you spotted it: the holy grail of festival prizes. The gargoyle plushie.

It wasn’t just any gargoyle plushie. It was perfect. Chunky, with tiny wings and a slightly disgruntled expression, it radiated the exact energy you associated with Malleus—regal, intimidating, yet somehow huggable.

You pointed at it like you’d just discovered a hidden treasure. “I need that.”

Malleus, ever-attentive, followed your gaze and smiled softly. “Do you desire the gargoyle?”

“Obviously! It’s basically you in plushie form,” you said, already walking toward the game stall. “But, you know, it’s rigged. All festival games are.”

Malleus watched you with his trademark elegant amusement. “Perhaps I can—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m winning this fair and square. No fae magic, no dragon lord intervention. Just pure skill.”

You grabbed the darts, took a deep breath, and began your assault on the rigged game. It wasn’t easy. The darts bounced, the targets mocked you, and you could feel the Hero Knight hovering over your shoulder like a bad itch.

“Are you sure this is wise?” the Hero Knight asked again, his voice dripping with concern. “This feels like a trap. What if they’ve enchanted the darts? What if—”

You whirled on him, fed up. “Listen, Sir Gallant-with-too-much-hair-gel, it’s a dart game. Not an assassination plot. If I can survive dealing with you, I think I can handle a few rigged targets.”

Lilia absolutely lost it. He doubled over, wheezing in laughter, while Silver let out an amused snort. Even Sebek looked like he was struggling not to smirk, though he quickly composed himself.

Malleus, ever regal, simply smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I have faith in your abilities, my dear.”

Fueled by that comment—and the knowledge that the Hero Knight was slowly losing what remained of his dignity—you managed to hit the final target. The plushie was yours.

Triumphantly, you grabbed the gargoyle and turned to Malleus. “For you.”

Malleus, to your utter delight, looked genuinely touched. His eyes softened, and that rare, warm smile appeared. “You won this for me?”

“Obviously,” you said, trying not to melt under his gaze. “A prince should have his own gargoyle.”

Silver, who had been observing the entire scene with increasing clarity despite his usual drowsiness, raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

Sebek, who was still processing the fact that you’d just casually given his lord a gargoyle plushie, grunted. “You… you truly care for Lord Malleus.”

Before you could say anything, the Hero Knight, still floundering, piped up. “Well, I could’ve won that gargoyle too, you know. If you wanted to—”

“Oh, please,” you cut him off, turning to the Knight. “You probably would’ve asked the stall vendor to throw in a manual on ‘How to Not Be a Total Wet Blanket at Festivals.’”

Lilia nearly collapsed. “Oh, please stop—I can’t—” he gasped, clearly having the time of his life.

You waved him off and turned back to Malleus, who was still holding the plushie with the same reverence one might reserve for an ancient relic. “Shall we continue?”

Next up was a couple’s game. You had no intention of participating—until you noticed the Hero Knight gearing up to suggest that he join in to protect you. Oh no. Not today. You grabbed Malleus’ arm and dragged him into the game, completely ignoring the Knight’s sputtering objections.

“It’s… it’s traditionally for couples…” Silver noted, giving you a look that clearly said, I see what’s happening here.

You ignored him too.

The game was simple enough: throw rings onto bottles, but for some reason, the tension was palpable. Probably because you were standing next to one of the most powerful beings in existence, and you’d dragged him into a ridiculous couples’ game in front of his overly protective retinue.

But you won. And to rub salt in the Hero Knight’s ego, you fed Malleus one of the sweets you’d won.

“Y-You!” Sebek spluttered, looking as though you’d just committed the highest treason against decorum. “Feeding Lord Malleus… this… this is too much!”

The Hero Knight, on the other hand, looked utterly baffled. “Are you… are you sure that’s safe? What if the sweets are—”

“I swear, if you don’t stop, I’m going to feed you to the fairies,” you hissed, snapping the sweet in half and popping it into Malleus’ mouth. He smiled as he ate it, clearly enjoying himself.

By the time the fireworks started, you had somehow survived the night without murdering the Hero Knight. The sky exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors, and for a brief moment, it was peaceful.

And then, without thinking, you kissed Malleus.

There was a split second of stunned silence. And then all hell broke loose.

Sebek let out a screech that could rival a banshee. “My Lord! My Lord!” His voice cracked in disbelief, but then—surprisingly—he softened. “If… If Lord Malleus must fall for a human, I am glad it is someone… as devoted as you. My lady.”

You looked at him, touched. “Thank you, Sebek.”

Silver gave a rare smile, looking both amused and resigned. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to pull this off somehow.”

Lilia, predictably, was still dying of laughter, barely able to breathe between fits of wheezing.

And the Hero Knight? He looked like someone had just told him vampires were real and lived next door. “This… I… What…?”

You turned to him with a smile that could cut steel. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve been trying to tell you for months that I wasn’t interested. I’d rather kiss a gargoyle than you—actually, no. The gargoyle’s got more charm. Better conversation skills too.”

Lilia was full-on cackling now, leaning against a festival stall for support as the Hero Knight’s dignity shriveled up into nothingness.

Malleus, looking absolutely radiant, wrapped an arm around your waist. “Shall we depart? I believe we have a kingdom to return to.”

The next day, you stood with Malleus and his merry band of chaos, bidding farewell to your parents and butler. The Duke was still recovering from the heart attack Malleus had given him when he asked for your hand in courtship.

As you waved to your family, Malleus gently took your hand, leading you toward the carriage that would take you to Briar Valley.

“Well,” you muttered as you glanced back one last time, “this story of mine took a weird turn.”

Lilia, still grinning like a fiend, chimed in. “Oh, just wait until the sequel.”

The last thing you heard as the carriage rolled away was the Hero Knight muttering in the distance, “I could’ve won that gargoyle…”

You smiled. Maybe the webnovel wasn’t such a disaster after all.

Ahh I hope y'all like this one, malleus is one of my favs and I had so much fun writing him.

The Kalim one is being edited because it's a little too somber for me and I wanna make it a little more fun and Azul one is almost fully edited too!

So, here's a poll for the one after these. (They'll all get a turn)

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist