#AND HE KNEW HER BETTER THAN SHE KNEW HERSELF AND SHE KNEW HIM BETTER THAN HE KNEW HIMSELF

[kumkaniudaku]

Amen

Summary: Terry and Patrice learn more about their love through life changing news on New Year’s Eve.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of Death

Inspired By: Ask #1 + Ask #2

MASTERLIST

Grief was a bitch. 

A mean, ugly, unwanted bitch that had settled beside Terry as an unwelcomed guest just when he thought that he'd banished it out of his life, never to return. Over two years of joy that he'd fought tooth and nail to maintain came crashing down once grief came strolling into town without warning. 

Mike was dead. He knew that. He'd reckoned with it, talked himself through the anniversary of his death once before, sent well-wishes to his aunt every time he could, cried in the shadows, mourned, lashed out, and sat in silence with the knowledge that his little cousin would never come through the door again. Mike wouldn't see another birthday. He wasn't around for the wedding or Christmas. They'd never see another football game together. Mike would never meet Nyla. 

That fact came as a sobering realization while Terry watched his only daughter's chest rise and fall as she slept peacefully in her crib for the first time all day. A cold running through her daycare had finally latched on to her fresh immune system, turning his usually jovial baby into a shell of herself. He told his higher-ups that he needed to take the day to care for her in his mother-in-law's stead, but what he really needed was time alone to deal with his uninvited guest. 

Leaning over the sturdy walnut railing keeping his little girl safely inside her crib, he watched her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Mike would've loved her. Terry was sure of it. He'd make his way to Fayetteville at any opportunity and cause havoc, probably irritating Patrice but definitely doting on Nyla in a way that only he could. 

Tears that had been fighting to see the world all day pricked Terry's eyes yet again. He almost let them fall but found himself blinking them back once Patrice pushed open the door and poked her head inside. 

She smiled despite work wearing her thin and waved with her fingers. "Can I come in, or would that be too much?" 

"Of course, you can," he answered, trying to put on a brave face to hide the true turmoil inside. 

Seeing her stand there, her bright smile directed at him like he was the sun, moon, and stars, was the first time he'd felt anything other than the weight of regret. He needed her to come into the room. 

Tiptoeing, Patrice approached Terry and peered over the crib's railing to look at Nyla. "How was she," she whispered before softly touching her forehead to check for heat. "Doin' any better?" 

"A little. I got her to eat and play for a bit before the medicine kicked in. She should be out for the night and good enough to sit with your mom by the ceremony on Monday. But, we'll see." 

"Good. Thank you for taking the lead. I know she was happy to have you around." She took a second look at her pride and joy, then focused all her attention on Terry. Worry and sadness had found a home on his brow line as they remained furrowed in thought. She leaned her head on his forearm and looked up at him. "And what about my other baby? How was he today?" 

The date wasn't lost on Patrice. She noticed when Terry slowly retreated into himself the week before. She saw him looking at Mike's Instagram when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She heard the conversation with his aunt when he promised to come by and see her the next time he could make it to Baton Rouge, even though she knew that time wasn't coming. Every shift in his demeanor and thousand-yard stare showed that he was reliving a hellish time she couldn't protect him from. 

No amount of soothing could pull him out of his rut. But that wouldn't stop her from trying. 

Terry continued to stare down at Nyla as he answered. "I'm okay. Not too up, not too down." 

"You need anything?" Terry didn't respond with words once he finally tore his eyes away from their daughter to look at Patrice. He only shook his head. "Can I give you a hug at least?" 

His first dose of physical affection for the day felt like the wind was gently placed back into his lungs as Patrice pulled him closer by his shoulders. His hands found her waist first, giving the spot a short squeeze before allowing his arms to fully encircle her body. 

"I love you. You know that?" 

"I know." That was the one thing he was sure of. His heart and mind were splintered into a million pieces, but he knew Patrice was there to help him put each one back in their proper place. His lips found her temple for a lingering kiss as he closed his eyes to ward off the sadness, still trying to take center stage. "I, um…I... didn't have a good day today…" Terry struggled with the words, opening and closing his mouth in hopes that something would come out while Patrice listened to him try to articulate his thoughts. A deep breath and closed eyes helped him settle before he spoke. "I could use some time together. Whatever you have tonight, I'll take it. I know you have to be up early tomorrow, so even an hour is –" 

His words were cut short by a simple kiss on his cheek. Patrice pulled back to look at him and flashed a reassuring smile. "Give me a few minutes to get changed, and you have me for however long you need me. I'll stay up late and everything. Dasia will understand if I cancel my hair appointment for tomorrow."

"I don't want you to do that." 

"We'll play it by ear," she answered to douse the early flames of a disagreement. "Twenty minutes. You can time me." 

Terry nodded in understanding and silently agreed to let Patrice out of his sight when he needed her most. Whether she was gone for 30 seconds or three days, the time away felt slow. 

Terry tried and quickly tired of distracting himself in Nyla's nursery before quietly slipping out and taking the trek to wait for Patrice like a lost puppy.

He settled into the plush velvet chair in the corner and sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Closed eyes heightened his sense of hearing, giving him full access to Patrice's singing in the shower. 

Mike would've loved the Patrice he heard so much about. He'd call her 'big sis' and annoy her the way little brothers do. They'd argue endlessly but still find time for secret handshakes and inside jokes. He'd finally have someone on his side to pester Terry and receive sound advice from when the going got tough. They may have taken him in as their overgrown first child. They could've worked together to get him on the right path and save his life. 

Unfortunately, Terry would never know. The not knowing left the door wide open for sadness to creep back in. 

He breathed deep and tried to will grief away with Patrice's voice as a lullaby in the background. And for a moment, it complied. The dark, heavy cloud slipped off his back and down to his feet with every exhale, lightening the weight on his arms and shoulders until he felt close to a Terry who was safe, sound, and far from the troubles of his past. 

Mike would want that. He'd like to know what Terry had going on as the last person expected to settle down into a family man. He'd probably poke fun at his older cousin for attending birthing classes and fawning over ruffled outfits in Target when what he knew of Terry was brooding, reserved, and quietly menacing. Mike had seen his cousin kick up dust with the worst of them. Seeing Terry as a man who wouldn't so much as cough too loud if his wife or daughter was around would be a sight. 

As grief slowly packed its things and headed for the door, his comfort emerged from the steaming bathroom, looking like a lighthouse in a raging storm. 

Patrice's humming paused once she noticed Terry sitting in the corner. "Missed me," she teased, drawing a small, dry chuckle from her husband as she made her way to their dresser. "You could've joined if you wanted."

"That's alright. I know you need your time to decompress.” He gestured toward the garment in her hand. “Need help with that?"

She could've put her clothes on with no assistance, but Patrice knew that Terry wouldn't have asked if he didn't need the distraction. She granted his covert request for her attention by quickly plucking matching pieces from her sleepwear drawer and placing them in his outstretched hands. 

They spent time in comfortable silence while he slid soft cotton up her legs and then helped her into her shirt, kissing random spots of exposed skin along the way. "I didn't ask about your day. I'm sorry. I got a lot of…other stuff on my mind. How was work?" 

"It was work. Nothing too important. Glad it's the weekend. Two more days, and I get to see my first graduating class of freshmen that I taught. Isn't that crazy? I'm getting old, huh?" She laughed by herself. 

Terry avoided eye contact despite his faint smile, preferring to tie the drawstring at her waist in a neat bow like she preferred. "Never old. Only better."

"You're too sweet." Patrice cuddled him close when he was done and rubbed a spot at the nape of his neck to soothe him into closing tired, heavy lids. "I know it's tough, but I promise you'll be okay, babe. The sadness isn't gonna go away, but you'll learn to live with it. You'll learn to make space for all those feelings inside you at once. And I'll be here when you need someone else to hold some of them, too." 

Terry sighed. "I'm not tryin' to be a burden for you, P. We have enough going on as is." 

"You're not a burden, Terry; you're my husband – my friend."

To be accepted with all of the muddy waters traversing his mind and heart felt like too much to ask for in Terry's mind, especially from someone who'd spent so much time wading through all his bullshit without complaint. He owed her his life, the full weight of his love, until the day God deemed their time together but a beautiful memory forever etched in boxed trinkets and old photos. 

He wanted to give her the moon as she stood stroking his pain away with her fingertips but settled for kissing his way up her sternum on the way to her lips. 

One day, when other emotions had dwindled, and he was feeling more like himself, Terry would lay his head on Patrice's lap and tell her about the atrocities that had shaped the time before they reacquainted. That day wasn't today, and all he could think of was pouring his gratitude for her graciousness into making sure she was satisfied in the one area he could control. 

Shorts that had only been on her body for mere minutes found a new home on the floor alongside her top. Patrice was weightless in Terry's arms as he carried her to their shared bed, his lips attached to hers for needy kisses that felt more like life rafts to keep him above rough waters than affectionate gestures. 

Patrice questioning if he was sure about his actions fell on deaf ears, and soon, all of her inquiries became lost whispers in a room swirling with the sounds of desperate lovemaking. Terry left his mark on her neck and chest while he worked himself out of his clothes. 

His voice came in gravelly against the shell of her ear. "I fuckin' love you, Treece. Don't ever leave me." He was pleading and caught somewhere between raw desire and tremendous despair. "Please, don't ever leave me." 

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," Patrice reassured without hesitation.

Terry left soft kisses and big, salty tears on Patrice's cheeks once their foreheads met. "Please. I need you, Patrice." Grief was back and taunting him in his ear with its partner in crime, Doubt. She'll leave, just like everyone else. You don't deserve her. Lies filled his head with no shut-off valve in sight. The tears turned into sobs he couldn't ignore with breathing techniques or a change in his thought process. "I'm sorry. I just need you. I can't do this by myself. Don't leave." 

Patrice quickly cast amorous feelings aside to wrap her arms tight around Terry. "Woah, woah, TJ. I'm here! I'm right here." 

Grief was a bitch. Even when he threw his best punch at it, grief always hit Terry back with a haymaker that left him staggering and woozy in defeat. 

The moments after his heaving, hyperventilating meltdown became a blur of Patrice's soft-spoken instruction, lavender bubble bath, and candlelight. When he came back from a mental trip to Shelby Springs to live out alternate realities, where he emerged victorious with Mike by his side, he found himself nestled between his wife's legs, surrounded by fresh hot water and scented white foam. 

Patrice moved behind him, plastic crinkling as she peeled the back off of something he couldn't see before bringing her wet hands around to his face. "These'll help with the puffiness," she declared like an experienced esthetician informing a client. "I used to use this every other day in grad school. Cry all you need. No one will ever know by morning." 

A 'thank you' tried to rise from his throat, but Terry quickly found his voice too hoarse to say anything worth a damn. Patrice didn't mind, though. She was content to press another cold patch underneath his eye before grabbing the shampoo rinse cup resting near the baby monitor at the edge of the tub. 

Terry closed his eyes as the warm water washed over his short curls, sitting neatly behind a sharp hairline and tapered sides. His hair glistened under flickering lights provided by small flames in glass components. Patrice used her acrylic nails to work magic against his scalp, turning shampoo into a mountain of suds to cleanse the pain. 

"I swear every time my Nana and mama scrubbed my head, I felt like a new person after. One time, I was going through the worst friend breakup I've ever had, and by the time Mommy finished with me, I didn't even know that girl's name. Didn't even matter anymore." 

"What happens after the scrub, though? You just…go back to normal?" 

Patrice chuckled as she ran another stream of water across his head to start on a second lather. "Hell no. That's where the patches come in." Terry allowed himself his first genuine laugh all day, taking a stone out of grief's stronghold. His fingertips ran back and forth over the wet skin on Patrice's legs as he sat with his eyes closed in a battle for his sanity. They let the quiet ripple of water around them fill the humid air in the room, preferring to enjoy the feel of skin on skin over extraneous conversation until Patrice began running conditioner through each of his thick strands. "I love when you wear your hair like this. The haircuts are nice, but when it's grown out, it reminds me of young you." 

"Hot-headed, couldn't buckle down enough to work through being mad at not getting scholarships to still go to college me?" Terry scoffed, finding the notion of a younger, far less polished him being someone worth missing. 

Patrice shrugged. "I didn't know that Terry," she confessed. The stories of his anger felt like fables to Patrice. The only Terrence Richmond she'd ever known was sweet as homemade banana pudding after Sunday service and a whip-smart boy with the world at his feet. "My Terry and his little fro was always kind. Always noble and lending a helping hand. And now he's got a baby girl in the other room with a head full of her daddy's curls after she looked like Charles Barkley for three months." Terry smiled at the mention of Nyla and how she'd inherited at least one part of him after taking her mother's entire face. Patrice watched him reach for the monitor and bring it closer to his face for a look at his second favorite girl before she continued. "My Terry is who Mike loved. I never met him, but I know he saw the best in you. We all do, baby." 

More silence sat heavy as Terry wiped away fresh tears gathering at his waterline. Of course, they'd see the best in him when he couldn't see the best in himself. 

Grief came knocking again with Doubt in tow, but Terry ignored them to slide deeper into the water and rest his heavy head on Patrice's chest before speaking. "Mike and me…we used to get in a lot of trouble at my granny's house." 

"Yeah? Two badass kids, huh? Tell me about it."

"One time," he started, already smiling at the memory. "We got her beagle, Satchel, sick because we kept feeding him shrimp out of the gumbo. He threw up all over the back porch, and Mike got so scared that he told on us, thinking we wouldn't get the switch if we were honest." 

"Did y'all?" 

Terry laughed and nodded. "Wore our asses out. I hated that damn dog for the rest of his life. It wasn't his fault, but I was just a kid." 

"You knew better, though." 

"Whose side are you on right now?" Terry asked, looking up at Patrice with faux offense on his face. 

She giggled back. "Okay, my bad!" A final round of water cascaded down Terry's shoulders and back, washing the ugly soot of regret off of his grief to reveal the love making up its inner parts. Patrice kissed his wet hair and held her lips there even as she spoke. "Can you tell me more about Mike? I wanna know him through you."

The invitation erupted a dormant volcano deep within his Terry's heart.

He told stories of his cousin and their time together until the lavender-scented bubbles evaporated into tepid bath water. Until grief felt more like gratitude for memories made. Until Patrice's stomach ached from laughter. Until the clock struck midnight, and tears started to roll again. Until Patrice had wiped his entire face with her delicate fingertips several times over without a single inkling of exasperation or judgement while they lay face to face beneath cold sheets. And until she finally closed her eyes from exhaustion and turned her back for some shut-eye. 

Then, he talked to God. A long list of thank you's emerged from his heart. A thank you for keeping him alive, one for time spent with Mike, one for his daughter, and another for the only person keeping him afloat when all he wanted to do was drown. 

Terry looked at Patrice and smiled. Light from the television illuminated her face, highlighting her knitted brow and slight frown as she lay in the throes of a dream he could only imagine was vivid enough to evoke such a clear expression of disgust. The thought alone produced a genuine smile. 

Clicking the power button, Terry found himself in complete darkness, fighting for the words to finish his prayer. He sighed and looked back toward Heaven. "She's perfect, God. Even when she isn't. If you never give me anything else, thank you for Patrice."

"Hm?"

Patrice's groggy response to her name being called made Terry roll over on his side to calm her back into sleep. "Nothing, baby," he spoke into her shoulder before pressing a kiss on her skin. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, earning a content sigh. "I was just praying for you."

She smiled without opening her eyes. "Well, amen to that."

Tears tickled Terry's waterline, this time filled with overwhelming gratitude. A blessing like no other. 

"Yeah. Amen to that."

-----

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[killerelysia]

Bro Luna's one of my fav OCs I wanted to write something for her. I legit love the OC please, Plus their art is chef's kiss! Do I need to say more?

Before the Disaster... (The kid at the back) Crowe x OC! (Not Sol, Sorry)

(The OC belongs to @kazueisaloser)

Happy belated birthday to Luna (Please give her a happy ending, Oh creator)

It was always another day.

Luna sat at her usual spot her eyes fixed on the horizon. The sunset painted the sky in breathtaking strokes of gold and crimson, but she felt none of its warmth. To her, it was just another sunset, another reminder that beauty existed in the world—just not in her.

Her fingers absentmindedly tugged at the hem of her oversized sweater, one that hung loose enough to hide everything she hated about herself. She didn’t even know why she wore it anymore; nothing ever seemed to help. Her reflection in the glass caught her eye, and her stomach twisted. The faint outline of her face felt like an accusation, like it was mocking her.

Her heart sank as a familiar wave of self-loathing began to creep in.

"Why can’t I just… look normal?" she thought bitterly, her nails digging into her palm. Her reflection stayed silent, staring back with empty, striking blue eyes that she could never bring herself to like. People often told her how beautiful they were, how beautiful she was, but the words fell flat. They didn’t see what she saw. They didn’t have to live in her skin.

The compliments always felt like lies, cruel little reminders of a world that refused to understand. Even when her friends laughed and joked with her, even when strangers turned their heads to admire her, Luna could only see flaws—glaring imperfections she couldn’t escape.

The sun dipped lower, and shadows began to spill into the room.

She let out a shaky sigh, resting her forehead against her knees. The room felt so cold, so unbearably quiet, save for the muted hum of her thoughts echoing louder than she could handle. She wanted to scream, to shatter the silence and tear apart the version of herself she couldn’t escape.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Instead, Luna stayed there, She clenched her fists tighter, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. She hated this—hated herself. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t stop comparing herself to everyone else, couldn’t stop wishing she could tear herself apart and rebuild someone better. Someone worthy.

"Why can’t I be enough?"

The thought hit her like a punch to the chest, stealing what little air she had left. Her breathing hitched, and before she knew it, silent tears had begun to fall. They streaked down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting, like they’d been waiting all day for this moment to spill out.

And yet, even in her lowest moments, she bit her lip and swallowed her cries,

Determined to wear her soft smile again tomorrow.

After all, it was what everyone expected.

Crowe stood a short distance away, staring down at the bouquet of roses in his hands. The soft rustle of the petals as the evening breeze passed through them reminded him of her—delicate, beautiful, and entirely unaware of her own brilliance. The note, folded neatly between his fingers, felt heavier than it should have, its simple words carrying the weight of his unspoken feelings.

He sighed, glancing upward to the sky, where the faintest stars were beginning to dot the deepening blue. He had spent hours staring at them the night before, hoping for some kind of clarity. And then it hit him: the brightest, prettiest star wasn’t in the sky.

It had always been her.

Luna.

Crowe adjusted the collar of his shirt, brushing back a few loose strands of his dark hair. He wasn’t one for nerves, but this—this was different. For all his confidence, his charisma, he now felt like a lost boy, desperately hoping the roses would somehow speak the words his heart couldn’t seem to say.

He took a step forward, his polished shoes crunching softly against the gravel pathway outside the campus. He knew where she’d be—she always went there when the day felt too heavy, sitting quietly in her little corner to watch the sun sink beneath the horizon.

And there she was, just as he’d imagined.

Luna sat in her usual spot, her silhouette bathed in the golden glow of the fading sunlight. Her chin rested on her knees, and though her expression was soft, there was something undeniably sad about her. Crowe’s chest tightened at the sight, but it only strengthened his resolve.

He couldn’t keep pretending. Not anymore.

Drawing a steadying breath, he stepped onto the path that led to her. With each stride, his heartbeat thundered louder in his ears, drowning out everything but the thought of her—her shy smile, her quiet laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about the things she loved.

The distance closed between them, Crowe’s grip on the roses tightened. The note crinkled slightly under his fingers, but he didn’t care.

This time, he wouldn’t hold back.

This time, he would tell her.

Crowe walked toward her.

Crowe crept quietly behind Luna, his steps soft against the gravel path. His heart raced, not from the fear of startling her, but from the weight of the moment he had planned. As he reached her, he hesitated for just a second, his free hand clutching the hidden roses and the note tightly behind his back.

With a mischievous grin, he leaned in closer. “Boo,” he whispered softly near her ear.

Luna yelped, her body jerking slightly in surprise before she turned to see him. Her startled expression quickly melted into a sweet, familiar smile, one that tugged at something deep inside Crowe’s chest.

“Crowe,” she said warmly, her voice soft as her hand instinctively went to her chest, calming her racing heart.

Crowe chuckled, his grin widening. “Caught you off guard, huh?”

She playfully rolled her eyes but said nothing more, her gaze flickering back to the horizon where the last rays of sunlight were spilling over the earth. Crowe, still holding the bouquet and note behind him, moved to sit beside her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to shrink around them, the golden glow of the sunset cocooning them in a peaceful silence. Crowe finally broke it, his voice quieter than usual.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the horizon, though he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Luna nodded, her lips curling into a soft smile as she stared at the brilliant hues painting the sky. She didn’t need words to answer. Moments like these, surrounded by beauty and quiet, always felt sacred to her.

But this wasn’t just a moment for the sunset—it was Crowe. She didn’t have to put on a mask or pretend with him. Around Crowe, she could simply be. Still, the sunset held her tongue, its beauty too overwhelming for speech.

Crowe’s gaze lingered on her, watching as the light danced across her delicate features. His fingers tightened slightly around the roses behind his back as he spoke again, his tone softer this time.

“The sunset…” he began, his voice trailing off for a moment as he chose his words. “It’s kind of like you.”

Luna blinked, tearing her gaze from the horizon to glance at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. “What?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion.

Crowe smiled at her, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a way that made her heart skip. “It’s breathtaking,” he said simply.

Her blush deepened, and she quickly turned her face back toward the sunset to hide it. The compliment felt like too much, too overwhelming, and she couldn’t bring herself to accept it. Her lips curved into a faint, almost sheepish smile. “No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “The sunset’s way prettier than me.”

Crowe’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press. Instead, he shifted his focus back to the horizon, silently marveling at the girl sitting beside him who couldn’t see the radiance he saw so clearly. The roses and the note remained hidden for now.

Crowe’s expression softened, his voice gentle as he spoke. “I mean it, Luna,” he said firmly. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

Luna blinked, caught off guard by the seriousness in his tone. “What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Without a second thought, Crowe reached out and caught her hand in his, his touch warm and steady. Her eyes widened as she looked down at their joined hands, feeling the strength and sincerity in his grip.

“If you ever feel like doubting yourself again,” he said, his tone unwavering, “it’s okay. I don’t care if you believe me right now or not, but I’ll keep saying it anyway. Because I’ll always tell you the truth, Luna. Always.”

Before she could respond, Crowe brought the bouquet out from behind his back and held it out to her, the vibrant roses glowing faintly in the last light of the sunset. Nestled among the petals was the folded note.

Luna’s lips parted in surprise, her gaze shifting from the bouquet to him. “Crowe… what is this?” she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and disbelief.

Crowe’s smile was faint but genuine, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her heart skip. “It’s what I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time,” he said quietly. “I’m done hiding it.”

The realization hit her all at once, like a tidal wave. Her eyes flicked back to the bouquet, her mind racing as she pieced everything together. He was confessing. Crowe was confessing.

Her cheeks burned bright red, and she instinctively brought both hands up to cover her face, hoping to hide the blush spreading across her skin. Crowe chuckled softly, his voice rich with affection as he reached out and gently moved her hands away. His fingertips brushed against her cheeks, holding her face lightly, as if she might disappear.

“You don’t need to feel insecure around me, Luna,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “You don’t need to hide anything.”

His words left her breathless, but what truly undid her was the way he was looking at her—as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Her striking blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her cheeks glowed a soft pink. In that moment, she looked so vulnerable, so pure, that Crowe found himself unable to look away.

“Crowe…” she whispered, her voice trembling as her emotions welled up inside her.

He smiled gently, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. “I mean it, Luna,” he said softly. “You’re beautiful. Inside and out. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to show you that, if you’ll let me.”

Luna held the bouquet close to her chest, the soft fragrance of roses filling the air around her. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her lips curved into an uncontrollable smile as her heart raced with the realization of what had just happened. Crowe—her best friend, the one she had quietly admired for so long—had confessed to her.

She could hardly believe it. Someone like Crowe—kind, charming, and effortlessly cool—had feelings for her. The thought alone made her almost squeal, but she held it back, instead squeezing the bouquet in her arms like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Crowe’s phone buzzed, pulling him out of the moment. He frowned slightly as he checked the screen and let out a small sigh. “Duty calls,” he muttered, his tone tinged with reluctance.

He stood, brushing off his pants, and glanced down at her, his gaze softening when he saw how she clung to the flowers. “I hate to cut this short, Luna, but I’ve gotta go,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Luna looked up at him, her smile still lingering. “It’s okay,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with a mix of shyness and contentment.

Crowe hesitated for a moment, then leaned down slightly, his expression earnest. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s talk more about… this. About us.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she nodded, smiling softly. “Okay,” she whispered.

He returned the smile before stepping away, raising a hand in a casual wave. “Goodnight, Luna.”

“Goodnight, Crowe,” she called after him, watching as he disappeared down the path.

Once he was out of sight, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Hugging the bouquet even tighter, she allowed herself a small, delighted squeal, her cheeks burning as she thought about his confession.

Crowe… he really likes me, she thought, her mind racing as she imagined what the future might hold. The idea of them together felt almost too good to be true, yet she couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face.

But as she sat there, lost in her thoughts, a strange sensation began to creep over her. Her smile faltered, and she instinctively glanced around, her grip tightening on the bouquet.

The feeling was subtle at first, like the faint prickling of goosebumps on her skin. It was as if someone was watching her—someone just out of sight. The once-comforting quiet of the evening suddenly felt heavy, and the shadows around her seemed darker than before.

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. Slowly, she stood, clutching the flowers protectively as she cast another wary glance around the empty campus grounds.

The sunset’s glow had faded into twilight, and the world around her was eerily still. The sensation didn’t fade, though. If anything, it grew stronger, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on her with every passing moment.

“Hello?” she called out softly, her voice trembling as it broke the silence.

Luna’s gaze fell back to the roses in her arms, their deep crimson petals glistening faintly in the dim light. They were so beautiful—so alive in their vibrancy. Yet, as she stared at them, an unease began to crawl up her spine.

The red… it was striking, mesmerizing. Almost too much like… blood.

She leaned closer, the world around her fading into an oppressive stillness. The edges of her vision blurred as she focused on the roses, their once-delicate beauty now tinged with something ominous.

Then, the scene shifted.

The roses were gone, replaced by something far heavier in her arms. Her breath hitched, and a guttural sob escaped her lips as she looked down. Crowe’s almost-severed head rested in her hands, his lifeless eyes staring up at her. The dirt smeared on his face mixed with the vivid streaks of blood running from his neck, pooling onto the ground beneath her.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head in denial, her voice breaking. “This… this isn’t real. You’re not—”

Her hands trembled as she clutched his head tighter, her nails digging into her palms. The dirt beneath her knees felt cold and damp, grounding her in a horrifying reality she couldn’t escape.

“Crowe…” she whimpered, her tears falling freely now, splattering against his lifeless face. She pulled him closer, her sobs wracking her body as she cradled him like something fragile, something that could still be saved.

“This isn’t real,” she repeated desperately, her voice raw with grief. “You’re not dead. You’re not—”

Her words choked off as she noticed the blood staining her hands, the same shade of red as the roses he had given her yesterday. The memory of his gentle smile, his heartfelt confession, flashed through her mind, and she let out a cry of anguish.

“Who did this to you?!” she screamed, her voice echoing into the emptiness around her.

The once-comforting warmth of his presence was gone, replaced by the cold, cruel weight of his severed head in her arms. The world around her blurred and twisted, the line between reality and nightmare dissolving as her sobs filled the air.

She buried her face into his bloodied hair, holding him as tightly as she could, as if sheer force of will could bring him back. The scent of roses lingered faintly, mingling with the metallic tang of blood, a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Luna cried harder, the sound of her heartbreak shattering the suffocating silence.

Luna screamed, her voice piercing the cold, unfeeling night. It was raw and broken, filled with anguish so deep it seemed to tear through her soul. She shook her head violently, as if denying the reality in front of her could somehow change it.

“This couldn’t have happened! This can’t be real!” she sobbed, clutching Crowe’s lifeless head to her chest.

Her tears poured freely now, blurring her vision as she rocked back and forth on the dirt. The blood smeared across her hands and clothes, its sticky warmth chilling her to the core.

“No… no, no, no…” she choked, her voice trembling with desperation. “Crowe, please, wake up! You’re okay! You’re not gone!”

But the lifeless weight in her arms offered no response. The vivid memory of his kind smile, his steady hands holding hers, and his soft words from just yesterday flashed through her mind like a cruel trick.

“Who did this to you?!” she screamed again, her voice hoarse and cracking under the strain. Her chest heaved with the force of her sobs, each breath feeling like a knife in her lungs.

Her fingers tightened around him as though holding him closer could keep him from slipping away completely. “You promised me… we were supposed to talk tomorrow. You said we’d talk! You lied!”

Her cries echoed into the night, carrying her heartbreak to the empty sky above. The stars, once so bright and beautiful, now felt mocking in their distant serenity.

She buried her face against his blood-matted hair, her tears soaking into his skin. “You can’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Not you, Crowe… not you.”

She heard a sound....

A pair of fiery red orbs grew wide like saucers as their owner beholds your slumped, blood-stained figure. His gaze reveals a mix of surprise, dread, and panic

"Luna..?"

"N-no... You shouldn't be here... You need to leave!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Instead, you stare at the bloody hand axe that he dropped, his equally bloody hands, and his dark shirt wet with red liquid.

He reeked of blood.

He killed Crowe.

The beginning of a nice friendship he said..?

It was only moments before disaster...

I'M SO SORRY FOR THIS. IT'S SO SHORT AND UGLY I DIDNT DO UR OC JUSTICE BUT PLS I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING.

Luna's moments before disaster... (⁠个⁠_⁠个⁠)

sol when I catch u sol 👿

[elryuse]

My Toxic Ex

Yandere Seola X Male Reader

Tags : Cheating Seola, Toxic Seola, Regrets, Yandere, Obsessive, Forceful Sex, Hatred, Manipulation, Pregnancy?

Words : 3,4509 Words

This Is a Commission Work for My friend @Pizza_anon on Ko-fi. I hope you like it Buddy.

"Seola..what the fuck". Y/n yelled, as He saw a terrible sight. His girlfriend of 2 years, have been sleeping with guys all around campus, as she giggles and moaned. Y/n was heartbroken, Seeing how seola clearly enjoyed it.

Seola his once pure and caring Girlfriend, was changed. She was no longer the cheerful, happy, and loving girlfriend once more. She became toxic, cruel, manipulative. Sometimes Y/n wondered what went wrong, What did he do wrong. As her habits grew more and more destructive, Y/n finally has enough.

After a ton of Cheating that she has done, Y/n was finally tired. He's tired hearing all of this news from his friends that Seola is with another guy, Seola slept with some guy, etc. He's done. And so, He simply left. He moved into a new College, far from Seola. He slowly composed himself, Getting his mentality into a better state. As he finally made new friends, and left the ties from his previous life.

Y/n met a beautiful girl. Eunji, was her name. She was cute, smart, and most importantly, Caring. It has been years, since Y/n felt loved, wanted. And it clearly shows, as after a few months of dating her, Y/n was committed to become his boyfriend. Eunji smiled, as she hugged him under the Apple tree. However, as Y/n may thinks this story would end on a happy ending. It was from happy, nor sad. It would be devastating.

Seola, Who all this time was busy having fun with guys all over the campus found herself stuck in a limbo. A sudden news, Her porn videos and naked pics were leaked all over the internet, and most importantly on her university. This made her popularity crumble into dust. As people began mocking her, slut shaming her, and what's even worse, the friends that she thought was there for her, turned out to be the monster that leaked all of her vids and pics.

They all laugh, as they sneered at her, mocking her. Seola was broken. The guys who she slept with, didn't bother to care for her. Instead they feel more proud than ever, as they still kept those videos and pictures all inside their phones. Seola trembles, as day by day, Her friends would leave her, and in the end, the were none left.

Seola suddenly remembered about Y/n. The man who truly cared for her. The man who actually cared for her. She suddenly cried, as She started to remember all of those good times she had with him. She remembered the time where the two got into a small fight, and even though it was unnecessary his fault, Y/n still decided to be the one who apologize first, which made Seola really happy and proud.

She imagined, if she still go back to him. Will he accept her apology. Will he still get back with her, after all of this time, and after all of this suffering that she gave him. Seola was stucked, didn't know what to do, what to act. But she thinks again and again, and not wanting to regrets her decision, she finally started to do some research on Y/n.

And to her surprise and shock, Y/n looked different. He seems happy. His smile, that once was shown to her, now shines brightly on the digital screen, He shares the world about his new girlfriend, Eunji. The two seems perfect, they lack any negativity, far beyond what Y/n and Seola used to have. At that moment, Seola cried. She had lost. She had truly made the biggest mistake in her life.

As she caresses the phone screen once more, a devious plan suddenly showed up. She could still win him over. She could still be with him. And even though this plan would hurt her and him, She didn't care. She only wanted Y/n to be with her again. And so, Any plans good or bad, suddenly become the pinnacle of the system. Seola laughed, as She opened a small wrinkled picture from her jacket. A photo of Y/n and Her. She knew, This wasn't going to be easy. But she knows, that whatever the outcome is, She'll have him back.

As Y/n and Eunji get up from their tiring slumber, He could see that today was a good day. The Sun was shining brightly, the clouds doesn't look cloudy. The evening air was crisp, the kind that made you want to pull your jacket tighter around yourself. Y/n walked home from Eunji’s apartment, his mind still buzzing with the warmth of her laugh and the softness of her touch. He couldn’t believe how different life felt now—how free he was. No more walking on eggshells, no more wondering if Seola would blow up over something trivial. For the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe.

But as he turned the corner onto his quiet street, a familiar silhouette caught his eye. His heart skipped a beat. No. It can’t be.

Seola stood under the flickering streetlamp, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked... smaller somehow, less vibrant than the girl he remembered. Her once perfectly styled hair was slightly disheveled, and her makeup, though still striking, couldn’t hide the shadows under her eyes.

“Y/n,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to make him pause. “We need to talk.”

He clenched his jaw, stopping a few feet away from her. “Seola, I don’t think there’s anything left to say. We’re done.”

Her lips quivered, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry. But then, her expression hardened, and she took a step closer. “You think it’s that easy? You think you can just walk away from me and start over like nothing happened?”

“I didn’t walk away, Seola. You did. Every single time you chose someone else over me, you pushed me further away. And now... I’m done.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You really believe that? That it was all my fault? Maybe if you had cared enough, if you had fought for me, things would’ve been different. But you didn’t. You just gave up.”

Y/n stared at her, incredulous. “Fought for you? Seola, you were sleeping with half the campus. What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stop?”

Her eyes burned with intensity, and she closed the distance between them in two quick strides. “You were supposed to fight for me!” she yelled, her voice cracking. “Because I needed you! I needed you to show me that I was worth something!”

The raw pain in her voice stopped him cold. For the first time, he saw past the bravado, the cruelty, the arrogance. All he saw was a girl who was broken, who had been hurting long before their relationship fell apart.

“Seola...” he started, his voice softening despite himself.

But she cut him off, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered, her nails digging into his shirt. “Don’t pretend to care now. Not when you’ve already moved on. Not when you’re with her.”

He frowned, stepping back. “Eunji has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t she?” Seola’s voice was low, dangerous. “You think I don’t know about her? How perfect she is? How kind and caring and loving? Tell me, Y/n, does she make you feel like I did? Does she make your heart race? Does she make you want her so badly it hurts?”

“Seola, stop—”

“No,” she hissed, grabbing the front of his jacket and pulling him close. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. But you do owe me this. One last chance. One night. That’s all I’m asking.”

Her breath was hot against his skin, and despite everything, he felt his body respond. She was so close, too close, and the scent of her perfume—something sweet and floral—filled his senses. Memories flooded his mind: late nights tangled together, whispered promises, stolen kisses. But then, the darker memories followed: her cruel words, her betrayal, the way she always made him feel so small.

“I can’t,” he said firmly, trying to push her away. But she held on tighter, her fingers digging into his skin.

“Yes, you can,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his ear. “You miss me. I know you do. You miss the way I touched you, the way I made you feel. And deep down, you want me just as much as I want you.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and he hated how right she was. Even now, after everything, a part of him still longed for her. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not after everything she’d put him through.

“Seola, this isn’t going to work,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m with Eunji now. I’m happy. Please, just let me go.”

For a moment, she was silent, her grip loosening slightly. Then, without warning, she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was desperate, hungry, full of years of pent-up longing and regret. Y/n froze, torn between pushing her away and giving in. Her tongue slid against his, coaxing his mouth open, and he felt himself responding despite his better judgment.

When she finally pulled away, she looked up at him with pleading eyes. “One night,” she whispered again. “That’s all I need. Let me remind you why we belonged together. And then... if you still want to leave, I’ll let you go. I promise.”

His chest heaved as he struggled to think clearly. This was wrong. So wrong. But the ache in his body told him otherwise. The way her hands roamed over his chest, the way her hips pressed against his... it was too much. And yet, not enough.

“Seola...” he breathed, barely able to form the words.

Her lips curved into a sly smile, and she leaned in close again. “Shh,” she whispered, tracing a finger along his jaw. “Just let me take care of you. Like I used to.”

Before he could protest, she dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands already working to unbuckle his belt. His mind screamed at him to stop her, to pull away, but his body betrayed him. He was hard, achingly so, and the sight of her looking up at him with those dark, possessive eyes only made it worse.

“Wait—” he started, but she silenced him with a sharp tug on his pants. They pooled around his ankles, leaving him exposed to the cool night air—and to her.

Seola didn’t waste any time. She wrapped her lips around him, taking him deep into her mouth with a practiced ease that made his knees buckle. Her tongue swirled around the tip, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through him. He gripped her shoulders, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer.

“God, Seola...” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a wicked grin. “Missed this, didn’t you?” she purred, before sinking down again, deeper this time. Her hands gripped his thighs, holding him in place as she worked him with relentless precision.

He was losing control, fast. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to stop, to end this before it went too far. But the rest of him was drowning in sensation, in the heat of her mouth and the way she moaned around him, as if she couldn’t get enough.

“Stop,” he managed to choke out, though his body betrayed him by thrusting forward. “Seola, we can’t...”

She pulled away again, panting slightly. “We can,” she insisted, standing up and pressing her body against his. “And we will. Because you’re mine, Y/n. You always have been.”

Her lips crashed against his again, silencing any protests. She guided his hands to her waist, encouraging him to touch her, to feel her. And despite everything, he couldn’t resist. His fingers found the hem of her skirt, sliding underneath to cup her ass. She moaned into his mouth, grinding against him.

“Take me upstairs,” she whispered, biting his lower lip. “Let me remind you what you’ve been missing.”

He hesitated, torn between the guilt of betraying Eunji and the undeniable pull of Seola’s body against his. But in the end, it wasn’t a choice. Not really. With a groan, he grabbed her hand and led her toward the building, his mind racing with what was about to happen.

As they stumbled into his apartment, Seola pushed him against the door, kissing him furiously. Her hands pulled at his shirt, while his fumbled with the zipper of her dress. Clothes fell to the floor in a haphazard pile, and soon they were both naked, pressed together in a tangle of limbs and desperate need.

She broke the kiss, stepping back slightly to admire him. “You’re still so beautiful,” she murmured, running a hand down his chest. “And you’re all mine.”

Then she turned around, bending over the couch and looking back at him over her shoulder. “Come on, Y/n,” she said, her voice dripping with temptation. “What are you waiting for?”

He hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, his hands gripping her hips. She gasped as he entered her, her nails digging into the cushions beneath her.

“That’s it,” she moaned, arching her back to meet his thrusts. “Just like that. Fuck me, Y/n. Make me yours again.”

The sound of her voice, the feel of her tight around him... it was too much. He lost himself in the rhythm, in the way she whimpered and begged for more. But even as he moved inside her, a nagging thought crept into his mind. This is wrong. This is...

“Harder,” she demanded, cutting off his thoughts. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

And so, he gave in, letting the heat of the moment consume him. But as he glanced down at her, at the way her body writhed beneath his, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a mistake. A delicious, intoxicating, irresistible mistake.

“Seola...” he murmured, his voice rough.

She looked back at him, her eyes glazed with lust. “What is it? Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not until...

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting streaks of gold across the rumpled sheets. Y/n stirred, his body heavy with exhaustion, his mind foggy from the night before. He blinked slowly, trying to piece together what had happened. Seola. Her name echoed in his head like a warning bell. He turned his head, expecting to see her gone, as she often was after their reckless encounters back in university. But this time, she was still there, curled up beside him, her hair splayed across the pillow like ink spilled on paper.

She looked so peaceful—soft, even. It made his chest ache. He shouldn’t have let this happen. He had Eunji now. Sweet, kind Eunji, who deserved better than this. He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to steady his breathing. His heart pounded, not from desire but from guilt. The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating.

“Morning,” Seola’s voice broke the silence, smooth and melodic, yet laced with something he couldn’t quite place. She stretched languidly, her bare skin catching the sunlight, and propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. Her lips curved into a sly smile. “You look awful. Rough night?”

Y/n didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Words felt trapped in his throat, tangled with regret and confusion. He wanted to get up, to leave, to pretend this never happened. But his body refused to move.

Seola sighed dramatically, sitting up fully, letting the sheet pool around her waist. She leaned closer, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm. “You know,” she began, her tone casual, almost too casual, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

He tensed immediately, his instincts screaming that whatever she was about to say would only make things worse. “Don’t,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse. “Just… don’t.”

Her smile widened, and there was a glint in her eyes that made his stomach twist. “Oh, come on, Y/n. You’re going to want to hear this.” She paused, letting the tension build, savoring it. Then, softly, almost sweetly, she dropped the bomb. “I’m pregnant.”

The room seemed to tilt. Y/n stared at her, his mind struggling to process the words. Pregnant. The word hung in the air between them, heavy and unrelenting. He shook his head, disbelief coursing through him. “No. No, you’re lying.”

Seola laughed lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. “Why would I lie about something like this? It’s true. I found out last week.” She reached for his hand, placing it gently on her stomach. Her skin was warm beneath his palm, and for a moment, he felt frozen. “There’s a little piece of us growing right here. Isn’t that amazing?”

He jerked his hand away as if burned, scrambling to his feet. His chest heaved as he backed away from the bed, his mind racing. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after everything. “You… you can’t be serious.”

Her expression shifted, her playful smirk fading into something sharper, more intense. “Dead serious,” she said, her voice low and steady. “And it’s yours. I haven’t been with anyone else since we…” She trailed off, letting the implication sink in. “You’re the father, Y/n.”

His knees threatened to buckle. He sank into a chair, his hands gripping the edge of the seat so tightly his knuckles turned white. Father. The word reverberated in his skull, each repetition louder than the last. He felt sick. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He had finally moved on, found someone who truly cared about him. And now… now this.

Seola watched him closely, her gaze calculating. She slid out of bed, standing naked before him without an ounce of shame. She knelt in front of him, her hands resting on his thighs, her touch both grounding and suffocating. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” she asked softly, her voice dripping with false innocence. “A family? A future together?”

He shook his head, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “No. Seola, no. That’s not… we’re not…”

She tilted her head, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But we could be,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath hot against his ear. “Think about it, Y/n. You could have me all to yourself. No more fighting. No more games. Just… us.”

Her words were like a poison, seeping into his veins, clouding his thoughts. He wanted to push her away, to scream that this wasn’t what he wanted. But the way she looked at him—like he was the center of her world—made something inside him waver. For years, he had loved her. Or at least, he thought he had. And despite everything she had done, some small, stupid part of him still craved the warmth she once offered.

As if sensing his hesitation, Seola pressed further. She kissed him, soft and slow, her lips moving against his with practiced ease. He tried to resist, but his body betrayed him, responding instinctively. When she pulled back, her eyes were dark with satisfaction. “See?” she murmured, trailing her fingers along his jaw. “You still want me. You always have.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. How could he deny it when his body screamed otherwise? When every fiber of his being seemed drawn to her, despite the chaos she brought?

Seola stood then, pulling him to his feet. Her hands slid up his chest, her touch deliberate, possessive. “Let me remind you,” she whispered, her voice a dangerous purr. “Let me show you why you belong to me.”

Before he could protest, she kissed him again, harder this time, her teeth grazing his bottom lip. His hands hesitated at his sides before giving in, gripping her hips as if clinging to life itself. She smiled against his mouth, triumphant. “That’s it,” she coaxed, guiding him back toward the bed. “Let go, Y/n. Just let go.”

He was falling, spiraling deeper into her web. And as she lowered him onto the mattress, her hands roaming greedily over his body, he knew he was lost. The guilt, the doubt, the fear—it all melted away under her touch.

For now, at least, she had won.

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner

@pedrospookie made the cutest fucking mood board for this fic, she also gave me so much inspiration for this! Let's all thank her for her perfect brain.

Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose

Rating: explicit -

kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions besides having hair long enough to hold and fall into your face, the reader is actually crazy, talks to herself- hears little voices in her head. You gotta know this going into it)

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.

w/c : 9k (whoops)

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

warnings/tags: non-con/dub-con/ altered mental state(?) throughout the entire thing. stockholm syndrome, violence (reader and Joel both get hurt) Joel is an unwilling participant... or is he? cockwarming, unprotected P in V, dirty talk- more to come.

authors note: Hey! I know a lot people get icked out by the idea of non-con or dub con, and that's fine, but I like it, so I'm gonna write this. I don't think any of this should be acted out ITRL. DON'T KIDNAP PEOPLE!! This is your last and final warning just so everyone is aware of what's going on. this is unbeta'd, poorly proofread and probably incoherent. I love you all so, so, so much.

The weather is finally starting to change, it's not as hot as a pigs asshole anymore, and you wake up feeling refreshed, rather than sticky and sour from sleeping in a pool of your own sweat all night long.

The first thought that comes to your head though isn't the changing weather, or how you'll eventually need to break out your warmer clothes soon, nope— you don't give a shit about any of that.

It's just Mister-man that you're thinking about.

He might be the most pretty thing you've ever seen. With his shoulder length, brown and gray curls, and his patchy facial hair that matches so nicely. The thought of how rough and scratchy it would feel against your tongue makes your spine tingle.

Mister-man is a big boy. Hefty, broad, and looked so strong whenever he came into the mall.

You've been watching him for a while. He comes around every three or four days snooping in all the stores for supplies.

It's like he doesn't even know you're here…or if he does, he doesn't care. Rude! You're a pretty girl!

He's just coming to take our stuff, just like the rest of the monster-men out there. If he finds us, he might wanna take-

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" You put your hands over your ears, even though those voices just get louder when you do that.

Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…

Yes, he would. He's a man.

"It's too early for this," You grumble, sitting up in your bed.

The mattress store is nice and clean, just how you left it last night before you crawled into bed. You think about how it would be alarming if it wasn't exactly how you left it before you went to bed. You did your nightly walk-through to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and that there weren't any extras hanging about.

As you get dressed, you think about what the dark voice was about to say. You know exactly what Mister-man would try and take from you if he found you. What all the other men in this fucking place want from you.

It's hard to make any of that matter as you skip to your hiding spot in the rafters above the food court. That's where he always enters from, even though the easier entrance with less glass and boards to climb through is on the other side of the mall.

It's a good thing you set up a trap there too, if he comes in through that entrance, at least you'll hear the snare go off and hopefully get to him in time to get his gun and knife.

Mister-man is a creature of habit, he doesn't like to switch things up, Sug. He'll come through this door.

He might. He might not. Mister-man might be playing your game better than you, kid.

"Well then, it's a good thing I thought of everything," you murmur, climbing up the discarded scaffolding to get into the rafters.

It's not scary up here, you like the thrill of knowing if you made one mistake—

Goner!

Splat!

"I've never fallen though!" You giggle, settling in to the perch just above the now blown out glass doors. It's a comfortable little spot, and you've arranged some blankets and pillows from the mattress store up here so you can nap if you want. There are some snacks, and bottles of water in case you have to stay up here for more than just a couple hours, keeping an eye out for Mister-man.

People must have stayed here in the mall during the outbreak, or right after because the doors are boarded up the best they can be, and the tables and chairs from the food court are set up all around like a barricade.

It was perfect, less work for you to have to do, and no one else bothers to come in here anymore— it's either too far, too hard to get too, or not worth the pay out.

Not for our lovely, handsome, soon to be perfect, Mister-man; the reason he comes every week is so sweet.

You wondered why he kept coming back when there really isn't much to scavenge anymore: every single store had been picked through before you got here, and you went and took the last of whatever anyone else didn't want or need and squirreled it away in a nice hiding spot.

Mister-man came every three or four days-- so that he could sit his ass in a comfortable recliner for a couple hours.

Remember that time he took a nap?

"Of course I do! How could I forget?!"

It's the cutest thing, and you love to watch him relax. Rest. Let his guard down for a little while.

"Slept like a lil baby that day," you mumble, feeling the heat spread up your neck and behind your cheeks. It's impossible to not smile at the memory of Mister sleeping in his chair, arms behind his head, snoring loudly.

His hair was real soft...'n he smelled so..

Why does he let us get so close? It's gotta be a trap.

Oh shut up, maybe he wants us to get close!

"I don't think he can hear me too good," you breathe out to the empty mall. The sun is starting to shine directly in your eyes— which means Mister-man will be here soon. "Always lookin' over his left shoulder. He never looks over his right, me thinks he can't hear outta that ear."

Mister has been coming for a couple months. He first started when the snow started to melt. And he kept coming through the spring when everything was wet and soggy, and he'd traipse mud through the mall like this wasn't your house!

That's how you knew he had been there though, so you waited to see if he'd come back-- and he did.

Mister-Man kept coming, even when the summer got so hot it was almost unbearable. Venturing outside was almost dangerous, but Mister always came.

Just to sit in his chair.

The air is filled with the sounds of birds singing, and insects buzzing in the lazy, summer heat. The mornings aren't too bad anymore, but the afternoon is still sweltering.

The late afternoon's are even worse when the heat finally settles, and everything gets sticky, and feeling all wet even though it's not wet outside! It's hot, but the air feels thick and damp somehow.

Awh, looks like he ain't coming today, Sug.

Good-fucking-riddance.

"He'll show up. If not today… tomorrow…or the next day. Or next week! He always comes, sillies. Gettin' me all nervous for nothin—"

Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.

Mister-man is coming. You can hear him before he even crawls through the hole in one of the boards. He has to slide the table he sets up every time he comes and goes.

Once he's upright, brushing himself clean of any debris that he might have picked up on his crawl into the mall, he starts to walk.

It's not hard to stay quiet, you know exactly where the spots that creak are, and where things might break and fall apart if you were to put too much weight on them.

It's easier to follow him around as he slinks through the abandoned shopping center than you thought, as long as you stay on his right side. You've been watching and learning, and had a long time to figure him out.

Mister is so cute, walking real slow with his back to the wall, his head on a constant swivel. You wanna call out to him and tell him it's just the three of you in the mall.

He continues to sneak very quietly.

Can't hide from us.

"He sure can't," you giggle, almost silently.

Mister-man pauses, and looks over his left shoulder, as if something caught his attention. He looks all around, head twisting in either and all directions. At one point, he looks right up at where you're standing.

It's like he's looking right at you, like he can see you flitting through the rafters right above him.

Mister-man just shakes his head, as if he was hearing things, and continues onward towards the furniture store.

Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.

"He sure can't."

Mister doesn't make it inside the furniture store today, unfortunately for him.

When Joel wakes up, his head is fucking pounding and— he's upside down. Shit.

Not again.

"What the fuck?" Joel croaks, his hands feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as he tries to lift them from where they're dangling over his head. His shoulders hurt, and his back aches. His ankles feel like they're on fire.

There isn't much he can do but hang here, waiting for his vision to un-blur and for the throbbing in his head to go away.

Probably get gutted like a pig.

Finally, after blinking a million times, Joel can see things clearly.

You- a young woman- with a gun in your hand, another strapped to the outside of your thigh, and a fucking machete strapped across your back.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Joel shouts, his hands now easily flying to the holster—It's empty. The pack he had been carrying on his back is gone too.

Joel watches as you look at him like he should already know what you're doing: a half smile plastered onto your pretty lips, the crinkle at the corners of your eyes, your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, couching in front of his pack.

"Lookin' through your stuff," you croon to him.

Joel's blood boils. What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck are you? How did you manage to get him all strung up, hanging from the ceiling?

He says nothing as you stay picking through his backpack, taking out every single thing he has in there. His map, compass, the backup flashlight, the gas-mask— which you're putting on?

Why? There weren't any spores in here— were there?

"This thing is fuckin' cool!" Your voice is muffled, and you stand up straight. Then you hold your hands out at your sides, and spin in a circle.

"Hey!" Joel barks at you, flinching away from the revolving barrel of your pistol with each rotation you make. "Stop swinging that thing around, would ya'!?" Joel shouts as you continue to spin.

You stop suddenly, and stare at him through the big, dark lenses of his gas mask. "You know all about swinging around, don'tchya?" You giggle at him.

Joel literally swings back and forth as you say this, very slowly spinning around as he sways, and the throbbing in his head only makes him more angry.

"Cut me the fuck down, keep what'chya want— I don't got time for all this," Joel grumbles, lifting his head so he can look at the rope tied around his ankles. It's a good knot, and without a knife, Joel isn't going to get down on his own, not without his knife.

He reaches behind him to feel for it on his belt—

"Lookin' for this?" Your still muffled voice questions Joel as his fingers brush across the empty space on his waist where his knife would be.

He tips his head almost all the way back, and then to the side so he can see you— and is greeted by the sight of you, still in the gas mask, and now, holding his knife by the blade with your thumb and index finger. All he can do is sigh, close his eyes and wonder how a trip to sit in his favorite recliner led to this.

"Now, I ain't really wanna hurt'chya— I was hopin' you was gunna say knocked out long enough for me to cut'cya down and—"

Joel doesn't wanna hear anymore. "Just cut me the fuck down— people are gon' come lookin' for me if you—"

You apparently don't wanna hear what Joel has to say anymore either, because you start to talk over him. "—we're just gunna go—"

Joel doesn't care, doesn't want to listen to your muffled voice— he wishes you would take his stupid, fucking gas mask off and talk to him like a normal person. He's gotta be able to barter with you somehow. "—don't let me go. If it's food 'n water ya' want, I can get ya' some—"

The two of you are just talking louder, and louder, until the both of you are shouting over the other, neither one of you actually hearing what the other is saying.

"—let me go!"

"—stay forever!"

The two of you stop and stare at each other in silence for a moment. Joel can't really comprehend what you just said, "Stay forever?"

"Yep!" You exclaim happily.

Did he say that aloud?

"You 'n me, together forever, Mister-man," you sigh dreamily at him.

It's not what you say, it's how you say it— like you really believe what you've just said. Like…it was something you had been thinking about, for a while.

"Huh?" Is all he can say, still slowly swaying and spinning. He has to turn his head almost completely around before he whips it to the other side, he wants to keep his eyes on you at all times. You seem un-fucking-predictable.

"Ain't'chya so excited!?" You squeal, and it makes Joel's head ache.

"Gon' fuckin' strangle you once I get down from here," Joel half grumbles, half chuckles under his breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching you rummage around for something in his bag.

"That's why I gotta do this," your muffled voice sounds sad as you pull something out and whip it behind your back, hiding it, and that makes Joel nervous.

"Do what?" Joel tries to see what you pulled out of his backpack.

"Gotta close your eyes," you shrug your shoulders, and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

Joel blinks at you, just staring at him through the gas mask. He's not completely unsettled by the sight of you in a gas mask, he's seen women wearing them plenty— it's the fact that you have him completely at your mercy and he can barely see your fucking eyes.

He's so fucking stupid for coming out here alone all the time, Tommy and Ellie both warned him- both told him that something would happen to him out here. He'd hurt his back— or worse. And no one would know where to find him- because this was his secret hideaway. A place to escape the responsibilities of being a dad, a grandpa, and a big brother.

Joel loves Ellie, JJ and Tommy more than he ever thought possible— and loves that he got to be around them everyday— it was just starting to be a lot.

If Joel had the means to move that recliner into his house in Jackson, he would have— but it's too big, too heavy and way too fucking far.

Now look at him, upside down!

"Ya' ain't gunna wanna see it comin'." You give Joel a small warning. "Please just close them," you whine, starting to nervously dance on your tip toes.

"No." Joel growls, arms still crossed over his chest.

"'Kay!" You exclaim, running over to Joel. "Warned ya'!" You pull the brick Joel had put in his pack for emergencies.

"Wait! Wait—"

Cripes-all-mighty, Mister-Man is heavy as hell!

It takes everything you have inside of you to drag him to the mattress store. By the time you get there, your shirt is soaked through with sweat, your hair clings to your forehead and the side of your face. Every muscle aches and feels as if it's being torn from the bone it's clinging to.

Huffing and puffing, you drag him through the sea of mattresses until you get to the staircase that leads into the basement office.

"Sorry, Mister-Man," you grunt and push him down the stairs—

He's fine! You lined the stairs, and the bottom where he landed with mattresses a couple days ago-- after you brought his favorite recliner down here. All by yourself. Did it just for Mister-Man, because you want him to be comfortable! You want him to feel nice, and relaxed, and safe here with you.

Once you have him nice and secure to his chair— you wait.

He hit his head pretty hard when you snared him— you didn't think of that part. Then he had to go and wake up! Like a dumb idiot! He could have just stayed asleep, then you wouldn't have had to hit him again!

Thank goodness for that brick he keeps in his backpack, which, what the fuck is that about? It's a good weapon, but it's heavy, and made his backpack harder to carry than you would like to admit.

You were also lugging that giant of a man around, ya' did good, Sugar.

Yeah, ya' did good, kid.

You wrap your arms around yourself and sigh, "Thanks."

You wanna tell the voices in your head that you love them, but you don't really always love them. Sometimes you hate them, and wish they would shut up, and sometimes they don't talk when you need them to— finicky fuckers! And they almost never see eye to eye, and it's exhausting. So you just say thanks.

Mister-man is so pretty up close. Even more pretty than you could have ever thought or dreamed of. He doesn't look like he's shaved or cleaned up his beard in the last couple days, and his hair was combed back away from his face when he got here today— but now it's a mess, matted to his forehead in drying blood, falling into his eyes.

"Shit," you whisper, taking in the sight of him all beat up—

Sug, you gotta clean him up— make him pretty again.

The sweet voice is right!

Mister-man looks so sad all bloody and a mess.

"I'll be right back," you murmur and press a gentle kiss to his forehead through his blood stained hair, and then double check all of the ropes around his wrists and ankles. 

He's secure, time to go get him lookin' nice again. 

When you come back, your bag is filled to the brim with supplies from the the multiple stores that still have things inside them. You got him a comb, and a spray bottle that you already filled with clean water. You were able to find some clean clothes that look like they'll fit him. 

He's also awake. 

"Hi, Mist—"

"Let me go." 

"—er-man!" You finish through the interruption. "I'm gunna clean you up now, and then we can have dinner. 'Kay?"

Mister-man stares at you.

"Oh!" You rip the gas mask off and place it on his lap. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to steal it. I promise." You cross your heart with one index finger. 

"Let. Me. Go." 

You wince with each barked word. "I. Don't. Wanna." 

"If I ever get outta here, m'gon' fuckin' kill ya'," he growls. 

You frown, pinch your eyebrows together and mock his thick, country twang. "M'gon' fuckin' clean ya' up real good, 'n then me 'n ya' can have fuckin' dinner." You growl back at him. 

"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"

"Why!? So you can kill me?" You shake your head at him, giving him a small smirk. "Not gunna happen, Mister." 

His eyes go wider than you've ever seen them, as if he might be nervous. "What th'fuck you gon' do to me then, huh?" 

"Clean. You. Up. Then. Have. Dinner. Did I say it too fast the first time, or can you really not hear too good?" You cock your head to one side, and look at him quizzically.

"Th'fuck did ya' just ask me?" Joel feels his chest going tight-- this hasn't happened in fucking years. It can't be happening right now.

"I talk real fast sometimes, and I don't realize it, and so sometimes all my words come out real jumbled to--"

"'Bout my hearin'?" Joel's working overtime to suck the air in, to bring precious oxygen to his brain. His head is still pounding, and now he can't fucking breathe, and he can't even imagine what kind of sick, twisted shit you're going to do to him.

Joel watches your eyes drop to the ground by his feet, and it's almost like you pull your body in on itself somehow, retreating into a place where you're trying to hide from him in plain sight. "I been watchin' you when you come in here... just act like you can't hear all that good outta your right ear," you say in a voice so small Joel can barely hear it.

"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.

Who the fuck are you? How long have you been watching him? How come he's never seen you before? Never even seen a trace of another person around here, just the stray raccoon or possum.

Joel's blood boils when you nod your head at him, still unable to look him in the eye. "Ya' should be ashamed. Whatever it is ya' wanna do to me is probably fucked--"

"I'm not ashamed," your voice snaps, and finally you lift your head to meet Joel's gaze. "Not even a little."

"Actin' like it," Joel's voice is snappier, and louder, and it makes you flinch.

"Maybe a little embarrassed--"

"Ashamed, fuckin' embarrassed, same fuckin' thing." Joel rolls his eyes at you.

"Not really," you shake your head from side to side and raise both of your eyebrows at him. "Not at all, actually."

"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"

"Would you shut th'fuck up..." You mock Joel. "I'm tryin' to do somethin' nice for you, and you keep telling me to shut the fuck up!"

"Do somethin' nice f'me?!" If this wasn't almost thirty years after the fucking apocalypse happened, Joel would think he was on some hidden camera show.

"Yeah!" You hold out the supplies you had brought back from wherever the fuck you had run off too while Joel was unconscious.

"Doin' somethin' nice would be lettin' me go, sweetheart." Joel switches his tone- does something he wouldn't normally do in a situation like this.

Your eyes light up. They crinkle in the corners a little, like they did the first time he saw you, but you're not upside down this time. The corners of your lips are trying to curl up, but you're actively trying to stop them.

"Don't call me that, 'less you mean it."

With the comb, water bottle and first-aid kit in hand, you take your place behind him and inspect the wound. 

It's a surface wound, but dirty from the brick and still very bloody. 

It's a painstaking process, because you don't want to be the cause of his pain anymore. Not ever again if you can help it.

Really, that's up to Mister, but he'll find out on his own soon enough! He just has to play nice, be sweet and kind— be the Mister you want him to be, and he'll be perfectly happy here with you. Life here with you in the mall could be perfect! He just needs to be perfect. He's almost there, he just has to keep his mouth shut. 

He's not quiet, not at all. He hoots and hollers at you to stop, to let him go, that he's gonna gut you like a fish if he ever gets free from here.

The way he talks, his voice feels like the deepest note on a piano, or the thickest string being plucked on a guitar. It vibrates in the spaces between your ribs, and forces all the air out of your lungs when he talks.

He's taking your breath away... how romantic.

The sweet and airy voice in your head is right, he is taking your breath away. You wish he would stop saying those mean and terrible things to you-- they're making you hurt inside, where your stomach is.

Guilt. You should just kill him right now--

"Hurt him?"

Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.

Look'it those big brown eyes. Like a baby cow. All wet 'n big, kinda scared lookin'.

Ugh, shoot him right between those beautiful brown eyes, kid. You can do it.

He ain't hurt you yet, Sug...

Because she tied him up--

As she should, she's gotta feel him out a little, make sure he's really not gonna hurt her.

How is he ever going to hurt her if he's tied up?

"Okay, enough!" You almost shout-- there they go! Never seeing eye to eye, making things harder than they needed to be!

"I'll yell all I fuckin' want," Joel does holler, loudly. So loud. He's going to draw attention.

"Do I need to get the brick again?"

Joel stops shouting.

He really can't hold back the pained sounds coming from his throat as you attend to his wound.

You're being so, so gentle!

He's acting like a giant baby.

"M'hurtin' you?" You mumble as you drag the damp cloth along his forehead carefully, cleaning the moderately large gash you left there with the brick. It's swollen, and bruised now... you feel so terrible.

He'll forgive you, Sugar.

Mister-man doesn't say anything, he just flinches away from your touch for the millionth time.

"M'sorry, didn't mean t'hurt you this bad." You slowly start to work the comb through his hair, spraying it down with water when you needed to. You're careful to never pull on his hair too hard, and work the tangles out meticulously so you don't bring him any more discomfort.

"Got'chu some medicine." You reach into your pocket and pull out two white pills.

"I ain't takin' nothin' y'give me, fuckin' crazy bitch." He grumbles.

Mister watches you walk around to the front of him, and kneel between his legs.

"S'just regular," you hold your hand up to his face so he can inspect the pill on his own. "Nothin' strong like they had in the QZ's," it's a gentle explanation as he studies the medicine in your palm. "Can find some for ya' if you wanted me to, m'real good at findin' stuff."

"Find it in your heart t'let me outta here," Joel gives you the sweetest, crookedest smile that makes you stomach feel like it grows ten sizes, and your heart feels like it's racing something else inside of you.

There are sweet wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the lines on his forehead deepen, and he has the softest dimple on his left cheek.

Sug, he's so pretty.

Kill. Him. Before. He. Kills. You.

"So pretty," you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and rest one of your elbows on his knee, propping your head up on the heel of your hand. The pills are still right in front of Joel's face, and his eyes flash between them, and your face.

"Not takin' them" he grumbles, twisting his head away from your hand.

"Suit yourself," you put the pills back into your pocket, dipping your head down to press a soft kiss to his knee. "M'gunna go get us dinner, I'll be back."

Joel stares at the tray of food you set down on the table you dragged over to be directly in front of him.

"Where's the protein?" Joel looks up at you from the plate of crackers with peanut butter, a small bowl of raspberries, two packets of expired pretzels you would get on an airplane, and a full bottle of labelless whiskey.

"S'in the peanut butter," you say through a mouthful of your own cracker.

Begrudgingly, Joel opens his mouth when you hold a cracker up to his lips. "Where's the meat?"

The crackers are dry, and kind of stale somehow? The peanut butter is still nice and creamy, just the way Joel remembered it before the outbreak.

"Where would I find meat?"

Joel pinches his brows together and blinks at you. "Ya' live in the woods, got a gun or two-- fuckin' know how to set a snare--"

You gasp softly, and rest one elbow on the table and point at him with a lazy index finger, "You 'spect me to go out there and kill an innocent lil friend? They ain't ever done nothin' t'me. Why would I go out 'n hurt 'em when I ain't got no reason to?"

Joel continues to blink, trying so hard to keep his eyes on you and not the ropes you have him tied down with so tightly they're starting to dig into the skin on his forearms-- painfully.

"Ya' kiddin', right?" He watches as you place a raspberry directly into the peanut butter on the cracker and hold it out for him.

"Issa good combo, try it." You nod your head at him, urging him to open his mouth.

Joel doesn't want to, doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing he needs you, and is going to keep needing you until you decide to kill him, or set him free.

He opens his mouth though, because Joel hasn't had a raspberry in years and he loves them, and the sight of that plump, juicy berry sitting so comfortably in that pillow of delicious, creamy peanut butter is making his stomach rumble. Loudly.

"Want some?" You hold up the bottle of whiskey, screw off the cap and take a swig. "See, it's safe," you look at him through your lashes, and give him a one-corner-of-your-mouth-smile.

Joel nods his head, because what else was there to do if he was going to be a prisoner here? He tried so hard to free himself of the restraints while you were gone, but you know how to tie a knot, and Joel just ended up giving himself rope burn.

An hour later, Joel feels pretty good, but not good enough to forget the situation he's in, but the booze is making you very chatty, and he might actually be enjoying the conversation.

"'N I get power from the solar things up on the roof, I think."

"Ya' think?" Joel smirks at you, he can't help it.

"I dunno how the solar works," you exclaim, holding one hand towards the ceiling. "It's the sun and black screens," you give the ceiling the middle finger and groan. "Barely works when the sun is out-- I just wanna watch my movies--"

"What kinda movies ya' got?"

He wishes he never asked.

You're sitting between his legs on the floor-- reaching behind you to feed him raspberries, never taking your eyes off the screen.

Joel thing's about biting your fingers off, thinks about taking the tips right off with his front teeth.

What would you do if he did that? Joel is still tied up, and he would just have raspberries and bloodied fingertips in his mouth, and then possibly a crazy, unpredictable, angry woman who would try and kill him.

Joel has seen angry people every day for close to thirty years... he knows what they look like, what they sound and act like--- you don't sound or act angry.

"Love this part," you sigh, leaning back into him, and resting your head on his knee.

Joel looks up to the screen, watching Cinderella transform into her beautiful ball gown.

Joel wishes he could reach out and run his fingers through your hair.

No he fucking doesn't? What the actual fuck? What did you put in the food, or the whiskey to make him feel this way?

Joel clenches his hands to fists on the arms of the recliner, and tenses his jaw-- grinding his teeth in the process.

You continue to drink throughout the movie, and when the credits are rolling-- you stumble to your feet, and then into his lap.

"Get off'a me," Joel gripes as you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face.

"Just wanna cuddle," you murmur, curling yourself up into his chest, yawning sleepily. "F'just a lil bit."

"Get off'a me, ya' fuckin' nut!" Joel shouts, and regretfully, tries to headbutt you.

His cheekbone, the side of his nose and part of his forehead connect with the top of your skull in a dull, aching thud.

You scramble off his lap, and fall to the floor, one hand holding the top of your head where Joel had just whacked you. The right side of his face is throbbing, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding, or he's crying- he doesn't know- he doesn't care. He just wants to go home.

"What the fuck!?" You shout back at him. "Mister, I ain't been mean to you at all, minus the brick- okay? What the hell is your problem!?"

Joel can't help but laugh, it starts off as a chuckle, but quickly matures into full on guffawing. "Y'fuckin' insane, ya' know that?" Joel rumbles through his fit.

Through the tears in his eyes, Joel can see you glaring at him.

Okay, he hurt her, can she kill him now?

Sugar, he ain't mean it... not really... he just needs some time to adjust.

He could have really hurt her, are you serious?

He's just nervous! Give the man a break--

Tired of giving men breaks- tired of letting them get away-

"Both of you, knock it off." It's a stern warning to the voice as you glare at Mister.

He stops laughing and blinks at you. "Huh?" He cocks one eyebrow up high, "Both o' ya?"

His question doesn't register, all you can think about is how disappointed you are in him.

"I was gunna let'chya sleep in the big bed with me," you huff, climbing to your feet. "Ain't gonna do that no more."

"I ain't wanna sleep in the big bed with y'crazy fuckin' ass, anyway!" He screams at you.

"What're ya' bein' so fuckin' mean for? I cleaned ya' up, made ya' pretty again-- fed you dinner 'n shared my drink with you!"

Do not cry! What're you doing!? Don't let him see you cry! Get out of here, right now!

The dark voice is right, the burn in your nose and the sting in your eyes are tell tale signs of tears- and you hate them. Hate the way they make your face wet and sticky, hate how they make your heart hurt, hate how your head feels like it's ten pounds heavier when you get done crying.

He'll come around, Sug. Gotta give him some time. If ya' stay nice-- it'll happen sooner than you think.

"I like bein' nice," you murmur, not taking your eyes off Mister.

"Th'fuck are you talkin' about!?" He exclaims, eyes wide, almost obsidian with rage and confusion.

"G'night, Mister. We'll try again t'morow."

Mister doesn't rest, doesn't relax, doesn't settle down at all.

When you open the door to his room, he's still screaming his head off.

"Hey!" You shout back at him, grabbing his attention. "We got raiders 'round here. We got infected movin' in and outta here all the time-- you know how fuckin' loud you are?"

"Hopefully they all hear 'n come runnin'. I'd love to see you get torn to shred-"

"'Kay, m'real sorry ya' feel that way. Even sorrier that I gotta do this."

Mister doesn't stop fighting you the entire time you shove the bandanna into his mouth. He even bites down on your index and middle finger as you stuff the last corner of fabric between his teeth.

Hit him.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to stop yourself from the back of your hand connecting with his cheek.

"Now, you gunna play that game? I can play, too," you inspect your finger and the deep indentation he left that's already starting to bruise.

The duct tape is hard to rip, and you need to use your teeth to cut a strip to go over his mouth.

Mister is mumbling something around the bandanna, but you can't understand him, and honestly are still mad about your fingers-- they hurt! Really bad!

"Glad I still got that medicine... I'm gunna fuckin' need it!" You dig around in your pockets and look for the two white pills. Your fingers throb while you look, the sensitive skin; tender to the touch as it brushes against the fabric inside your pockets.

Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.

"I'm sorry!" You find the pills, throw them into your mouth and swallow dry. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you. I do not like doin' it, I mean it." You take a couple steps towards him, and drop to your knees between his legs again.

Mister watches, his whole body still as you rest your head on his knee again.

"Just want ya' 'round. M'sorry," you close your eyes, not wanting him to see them fill with those traitorous tears. "Jus' real lonely out here. Miss havin' someone t'talk with...'n snuggle up to at night."

The fuckin' duct tape makes it impossible for Mister to say anything--which is the worst. You wanted someone to talk with, not at.

"I'll take the tape off in the mornin', and we can try again over breakfast, 'kay?"

Mister doesn't make a single sound for the rest of the night.

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Honestly, he barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night.

How can he not like it just a little bit? You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister. Please?" You fucking whimper,

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through the thin fabric of your shorts, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his kiss, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans low in his throat when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

The sound that leaves you makes Joel throb in your hand, "Ya' want me t'put 'em inside?" You whisper, the silky smoothness of your hands on him, stroking him so slowly is making his head spin.

"Jeeesus, yes-- fuckin' c'mon- do it," Joel lets his head fall back against the recliner, and watches as you pull your shorts to the side, and lift yourself to hover over him. "C'mon..." Joel eggs you on in a whisper. "Y'can do it, crazy girl."

"Don't call--" you pause when you notch the head of him at your entrance. "--me crazy."

Joel groans loudly as you sink down and let every wet, soft part of you engulf him. He throbs again when you whimper and whine, eyes clenched shut, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you inch your way down his length.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine, leaning forward to rest your head on Joel's.

He could headbutt the shit out of you right now, but fuck, the way you're looking at him, with real tears in your eyes, not just from drinking.

"Hey, ya' doin' real good, sweetheart, keep goin'-- nice 'n slow," Joel encourages you, because he doesn't want it to stop either. "Jus' like that, crazy girl."

God damn, is crazy pussy always this good? He wouldn't fucking know, he wouldn't ever get involved with you if he knew you back in Jackson- but out here, after almost three weeks with you... it's hard to deny the physical needs of a man. And you're so fucking soft and wet.

The two of you groan in unison when you fully seated. The velvet walls of your pussy are fluttering, and clenching around him as you adjust to his length.

"You're so big," you hum, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Didn't think ya'd wanna do this," you whisper into his mouth. "Wasn't gon' take it from ya-- don't like that."

"Take what'chya need from me, whenever ya want it, shit," Joel tries to buck his hips up into yours to give you what you want but you whine in protest.

"Still hurts."

Joel settles his hips and leans into the best he can being tied down, his fingers grip the armrests of the chair tightly, groping it like he would be groping you if he could.

"Untie me," he murmurs while grinding up against you, not pulling out of you at all, just letting you feel him, letting you open up around him so it'll start to feel good.

"No," you nip at his bottom lip now, but you suck it into your mouth and tease him with your tongue as your walls start to rhythmically clench around him.

"Fuck, ya' doin' that on -ur-ose?" Joel groans with his bottom lip still being lapped at, The feeling of your tight, wet sucking him in deeper somehow- like it's fucking bottomless almost makes him come right then.

You pull back, his lip slips from between your with a wet pop "Mhm, ya' like it?" You clench harder around him and then release, and then do that over, and over again.

"Fuckin' untie me, wanna touch you- gotta feel how soft ya' are all over, c'mon," he's begging, he needs to feel the swell of your ass in his palm, or one of your tits spilling between his fingers as he grips you.

"No, you'll just try 'n leave me-"

"No, no, no-- I'll stay 'n... uh.. I'll... um- uh--oh, I'll play nice wit'chya" Joel racks his brain with anything that he could say that would possibly give him a chance at being able to really touch you.

"Lyin' t'me," you moan, and Joel throbs inside of you.

"Not lyin'-"

You pull back from his face at an alarming rate, and you scan his face slowly, as if you were drinking in every feature, savoring the flavor-- Joel watches you swallow hard and imagines that it's his load you just took down--

"Untie me, let me touch ya' a lil bit," Joel whispers, keeping his eyes locked on to yours. "Make ya' feel real good, promise." Joel licks his lips as he watches you struggle internally with the decision. "C'mon... gotta feel how soft ya' are, crazy girl. Just one hand."

"Fine."

You stay seated in his lap, his cock still throbbing inside of you as you work on the knot that will free his right hand. He's trembling in the anticipation of it all.

As soon as the pressure is gone off his wrist, Joel reels his arm back as far as he can, and sends it flying forward with as much force as he can muster after not eating meat for almost an entire month.

You scream as his fist connects with your right eye, and go flying to the floor.

Joel might be completely sober right now, and he knows he needs to move fast before you get up and probably shoot him for lying to you, and then punching you.

Yep. Shoot him. Shoot him right between his perfect, brow, baby-cow eyes. End it.

The dark voice in your head is right, but it's almost impossible to think about anything else but the pain shooting into your brain from your right eye socket.

"You motherfucker," you sob. The pain is electrifying- and you can't even see out of your right eye anymore!

That was your least favorite eye!

Kill. Him.

When you sit up, Joel is working on the knot around his left wrist.

You stumble to your feet, holding your hand over your eye trying to keep the actual ball in, in case it falls out, and walk over to the table with his book bag on it. You rummage around until your fingers wrap around the item you're looking for.

When Joel sees what you're carrying, not even attempting to hide it behind your back, he quickens his efforts on the knot.

Your left hand isn't your dominant one, but your right is busy keeping your eyeball in your head because it most surely got knocked loose or something.

You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.

"S'what ya' get for almost takin' my eye out!"

While he's still asleep, you take this opportunity to cut the jeans he's wearing off of him. You carefully unbutton the green and red flannel he was wearing and slip that off of him fully intact.

Once he's fully secure, with a new restraint around his chest to keep him fully pinned down to the chair, and the bandanna and tape back around his mouth-- you shut all the lights off, every single one, and leave him down there to think about what he did.

He's gonna learn to play nice, and if he wants to play rough first... so can you.

The air is thick with tension and stench of his sweat and fear.

The big-guy should be kind of scared- you didn't want it to come to this, but he just cannot participate nicely!

You circle your Mister-man slowly, drinking in every detail of him. His broad chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles taut and straining as he fights against the restraints for the thousandth time.

No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot break free. Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings about it, and he's trying to let you know.

He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair, that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists. It's unfortunate, but he keeps wriggling around! If he just stopped, it'd all be fine!

You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna play nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"

His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot respond, not really, his voice is saying things, but it's muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth.

He's still clad in only boxer shorts, a thin gray t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.

It really shouldn't be so hot-- but it is. You can't stop thinking about what he said the other night.

"Take what'cya want from me, sweetheart. Whenever you want it."

You wonder if he really meant that, because he punched you in the face right after.

But... he got excited! He wanted it, Mister-man kissed you first.

Oh Sug, he's down bad.

Please kill him. Shoot him right now, then you can just move to a different part of the mall. It's very simple.

He's really mad; which makes no sense! He punched you right in the eye! What is he mad for!?

"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, Mister," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.

Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.

The perfect basement office of an old mattress store in an abandoned mall about a two hour hike outside of what used to be Jackson, Wyoming?

There's no spores, there's no mildew or stink! It's clean, you make sure to keep everything so clean for him.

Despite his insessant pestering about meat for some reason, he's well fed! He gets to drink whenever he wants!

Why is he so upset!?

Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.

Soon.

Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.

He's just gotta wear something else first.

You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.

He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.

"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.

He's going to try-- he always does.

Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.

"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."

Joel mumbles something else, muffled through the duct tape. It doesn't really matter what he's saying, all that matters is how warm he is. How he makes you feel so safe and comfortable.

It's easy now, with the threat of being zapped, to rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle the tips of your noses together.

"You gunna be good for me, Mister-man?" It's a purr as you press a kiss to the duct tape covering his mouth. "Or am I gunna have to train you how to be good?"

omg this might be the longest tag list i've ever done let me know if you want me to take you off, add you, if I forgot you-- I'm SORRY!!!

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22

[onebadassunicorn]

All I Want Is You

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: argument/fighting, implied affair/cheating, angst

word count: 3.8k

Taglist: @firefly-forest @salvatoresister1 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @batboyslutt @tiredsleepyhead

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

******

Chapter 7

Azriel POV

Azriel stepped into their home just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the rooms in dim, golden light. His leathers were torn, his knuckles bloodied, and his body a tapestry of fresh bruises and aching muscles. His shadows clung to him tightly, darker and heavier than usual, mirroring the storm inside him.

Y/n looked up from where she had been tidying the living room, her heart stopping at the sight of him. She was used to seeing Azriel bloodied and worn after missions, but something about his posture tonight—the tension in his shoulders, the way his wings drooped—told her this was worse than usual.

“Azriel,” she said softly, setting aside the book she had been holding and crossing the room to him.

He didn’t speak, his golden-hazel eyes meeting hers briefly before flicking away. His shadows flickered as if unsure whether to draw her closer or keep her at a distance. She reached for him anyway, her hand gently cupping his jaw.

“You’re hurt,” she murmured, her thumb brushing over the stubble on his cheek.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice rough and low. But his eyes betrayed him, the weight of the mission, the memories it had stirred, etched into their depths.

She didn’t press him. She knew better than anyone how Azriel dealt with his demons. He would tell her when he was ready. For now, he just needed her presence, her grounding touch.

“Come with me,” she said softly, taking his hand and leading him toward the bathroom.

******

Azriel POV

She filled the tub with warm water, adding a few drops of lavender oil to soothe his frayed nerves. Azriel stood silently, his gaze fixed on the floor as she moved around him, her movements calm and steady. She helped him remove his leathers, her hands gentle as she peeled the bloodied fabric from his bruised skin.

When the tub was ready, she turned to him. “Get in,” she said softly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Azriel obeyed, sinking into the water with a soft sigh. He rested his head against the edge of the tub, closing his eyes as the warmth seeped into his aching body. She moved to leave, intending to give him some space, but as she turned, his hand shot out, wrapping gently around her wrist.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability that made her heart ache. “Sit with me.”

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. She climbed into the tub in front of him, settling herself between his legs. Azriel immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

He exhaled deeply, his breath warm against her neck. “You’re all I need right now,” he whispered, his voice rough but soft.

Y/n relaxed into him, her hands resting over his arms as his shadows curled around them protectively. She could feel the tension in his body begin to ease as he breathed her in, his nose brushing against her hair.

For a long while, they sat in silence, the warmth of the water and the closeness of their bodies washing away the edges of his pain. She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t push for explanations. She simply was—a steady, grounding presence in the storm of his mind.

********

Azriel POV

When the water began to cool, she helped him out of the tub, grabbing a towel to gently dry him off. Her touch was soft and unhurried, her fingers lingering on the bruises and cuts as if she could heal them with her care alone. Azriel stood still, letting her tend to him, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with more emotion than those two words should carry.

She looked up at him, her lips curving into a small smile. “Always.”

Once he was dry, she led him to their bedroom. Azriel climbed into bed, pulling her down with him. As soon as she settled under the covers, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. He curled his body around hers, his wings draping protectively over them both.

Burying his face in her hair and shoulder, he breathed her in deeply, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet room. “I love you, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin. “More than anything. More than the stars, the shadows, or anything else in this world. You’re my anchor. My light.”

Tears stung her eyes at the raw sincerity in his words, and she reached up to rest her hand over his. “I love you too,” she whispered.

Azriel tightened his hold on her, his breath steadying as the storm inside him finally began to settle as they drifted off to sleep, tangled together in the quiet sanctuary of their love.

********

Y/n POV

The tension had been building for days, simmering just beneath the surface of every interaction between Azriel and you. It was in the way he lingered longer on missions, the way his shadows seemed more restless than usual, and the way your patience was wearing thin under the weight of his silence.

That evening, the storm finally broke.

Azriel stepped into your cottage, his leathers dusty and his expression tight. His shadows coiled around him, alive with the tension he carried. You stood by the window, your arms crossed and your face set in a storm of your own.

“You’re late again,” you said, your voice steady but laced with frustration.

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I told you I’d be back when I could. I didn’t realize we were keeping score now.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, turning to face him fully. “This isn’t about keeping score. It’s about you constantly shutting me out. You’re always late these days. Do you even realize how hard this is? For me? For the children?”

His shadows flickered in response to your rising tone, swirling defensively. “I’m not shutting you out. I’m doing my job, Y/n. You knew what you were getting into when we started this.”

Your eyes flashed with hurt. “I knew you had responsibilities. I knew you’d be busy. But I didn’t sign up to be left in the dark while you bury yourself in missions and avoid your family.”

Azriel’s golden-hazel eyes burned as he turned to face you. “I’m not shutting you out. I’m protecting you—protecting all of you—from things you don’t need to know.”

“Protecting me?” You scoffed, your voice breaking. “From what? From you? I don’t need protection, Azriel—I need a partner. Someone who lets me in, who doesn’t leave me in the dark while he carries everything alone.”

Azriel took a step back, his shadows retreating slightly. “I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “I’ve spent centuries keeping people safe by keeping them away from the darkness. It’s what I am, Y/n.”

“Then you need to figure out who you are with me,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. “Because this—this distance—it’s breaking us.”

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, his shadows swirling wildly now. He opened his mouth as if to speak but stopped himself, his expression hardening.

“I can’t do this right now,” he said, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

“Azriel, don’t you dare—” You started, your voice trembling with both anger and desperation.

But he was already moving toward the door, his wings flaring slightly as he turned back to you. “I need air,” he said, his tone clipped. “Before I say something I’ll regret.”

And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stood frozen for a moment, the weight of his absence crushing you. Tears slipped down your cheeks as you sank onto the couch, your arms wrapping around yourself. The silence of the room was deafening, your heart aching with the space he’d left behind.

You curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest and cried yourself to sleep.

*******

Y/n POV

The change in Azriel had been gradual at first—small things you had tried to brush aside. He began staying out later, his shadows more restless than usual, his answers clipped and evasive when you asked where he had been. He smiled less, touched you less, and the loving warmth that had always existed between you both began to cool.

At first, you told yourself it was the pressure of his work. Azriel had always carried his burdens quietly, and you had learned to give him space when he needed it. But as the days turned into weeks, you couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

He was pulling away.

And then there was Elain.

The soft-spoken woman had always been around, a friend to the Inner Circle and a beacon of warmth in her own way. You had never felt threatened by her—until now. You began to notice how Azriel’s shadows seemed calmer when Elain was near, how he lingered in her presence, how his eyes softened in a way they hadn’t for you in months.

The final straw came when Rhysand pulled Azriel aside during a meeting at the River House. You hadn’t been there, but Cassian had told you what Rhysand had said.

“You’re about to screw up the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” Rhys had warned, his voice low and filled with uncharacteristic anger. “Y/n is your mate, Azriel. Not Elain. The Cauldron doesn’t make mistakes. You’re letting your doubts poison everything you’ve built, and I won’t stand by and watch you destroy your family.”

But Azriel hadn’t listened.

When Azriel didn’t return home that night, your worst fears were confirmed. You stayed up all night, pacing the floors of your shared home, your thoughts spiraling into dark places. Azriella and Eryan had fallen asleep in your bed, their tiny bodies curled up around you as if sensing your distress.

By dawn, you couldn’t take it anymore. You dressed quickly, gathered the children, and winnowed to the House of Wind.

********

Y/n POV

The House of Wind was quiet, the usual bustling energy of the Inner Circle absent. You moved through the halls with determination, your heart pounding in her chest. You carried Eryan on your hip, while Azriella walked beside you, clutching your hand.

“Where’s Daddy?” Azriella asked, her wide eyes filled with confusion.

“We’re going to find him, sweetheart,” You said, your voice trembling but steady.

It didn’t take you long to find Elain’s room. The faint sound of muffled voices—and something else—came from behind the closed door.

Your heart stopped.

You pushed the door open without knocking, the sight before you hitting you like a physical blow.

Azriel and Elain were tangled together in the bed, their bodies bare and entwined. Elain was on top of Azriel, riding him while he gazed up at her, caressing her breasts. Elain’s soft gasps filled the air, and Azriel’s shadows flickered faintly around them. It was clear they had been at this all night.

You felt the world tilt beneath your feet. “Azriel,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Both Azriel and Elain froze, their eyes snapping to the doorway. Azriel’s golden-hazel eyes widened in shock and horror as he saw you standing there, Eryan in your arms and Azriella clutching your leg.

“Baby, I—” Azriel began, his voice hoarse.

But you didn’t let him finish. “Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. “Don’t you dare try to explain this.”

Rhysand and Cassian appeared moments later, clearly having sensed the commotion. When they saw what was happening, both men froze.

“Mother above,” Rhysand muttered, his voice low and deadly.

Cassian’s face twisted in rage. “What the hell, Azriel?” he snarled, stepping into the room.

Azriel scrambled off the bed, reaching for you. “I can explain—”

“Explain?” Your voice rose, your tears spilling over as you backed away. “You spent all night with her, Azriel! While your children were asking where you were, you were here.”

Rhysand’s expression darkened, and his power radiated through the room. “Azriel,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Get dressed. Now.”

Cassian looked as though he was moments away from punching Azriel. His hands clenched into fists as he turned to you. “Do you want me to take you and the kids somewhere else?”

You shook your head, your legs trembling beneath you. “I’ll take care of it,” you said, your voice cracking. You turned to Azriel, your eyes blazing with fury and pain. “You’ve made your choice. Don’t come home.”

With that, you winnowed away, your heart shattering into pieces as you clutched your children tightly.

********

Azriel POV

The silence that followed her departure was deafening. Azriel stood there, his face pale, his shadows writhing around him in chaos.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rhysand demanded, his voice sharp and filled with disappointment.

“I…” Azriel’s voice faltered, his eyes darting to Elain, who looked stricken. “I thought… I thought the Cauldron got it wrong.”

“Got it wrong?” Cassian roared, stepping closer. “Y/n is your mate! Your mate, Azriel. And you just threw her and your children away for—her?” He stopped himself, his gaze cutting to Elain.

Rhysand’s power rippled dangerously through the room. “You’d better hope she forgives you,” he said coldly. “Because if she doesn’t, you’ve lost everything.”

Azriel sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, the weight of his actions crashing down on him.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel stepped into their home, his shadows unusually subdued, curling tightly around him as if sensing the storm brewing in his chest. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the walls, but the house was eerily silent.

Too silent.

The usual sounds of laughter, tiny feet running through the halls, or Y/n humming softly in the kitchen were gone. The warmth he had always associated with this space felt drained, leaving behind a cold, hollow shell.

“Baby?” he called out, his voice echoing through the empty rooms.

No answer.

Azriel moved through the house, his heart beginning to pound. The living room was untouched, but something was missing—the toys that usually cluttered the space were gone. He opened the door to Azriella and Eryan’s shared room and felt his chest constrict. The beds were made, but the shelves that once held their favorite books and toys were empty.

His shadows darted anxiously around the room, reflecting the panic rising in him.

“Y/n!” he shouted again, his voice breaking this time.

He rushed into their bedroom, but it, too, was empty. Her clothes were gone, the small trinkets she kept on her nightstand missing. The sight of the barren space made his knees buckle, and he sank to the floor, his hands clutching his hair.

She was gone.

They were gone.

Azriel’s shadows swirled wildly around him, a chaotic reflection of the turmoil inside him. He had done this. He had driven her away.

His eyes fell on a piece of paper folded neatly on the table. With shaking hands, he picked it up, unfolding it to reveal her handwriting.

Azriel,

You told me everything I needed to know this morning. I won’t let myself—or our children—be second to anyone. You’ve made your choice, and I’ve made mine.

Don’t look for us. Don’t contact us.

I hope you enjoyed your time fucking Elain. I hope it was worth losing everything.

Y/n

The paper slipped from his hands as he stared blankly at it, her words cutting into him like the sharpest blade.

His mate.

His family.

Gone.

Azriel stumbled to his feet, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself. The weight of his actions crashed down on him fully for the first time. He had pushed her away, thinking he was following some misguided truth, and in doing so, he had lost everything that mattered.

He stood in the center of the empty house, the silence deafening. His shadows swirled sluggishly around him, as if even they had lost their strength. He clenched his fists, his golden-hazel eyes burning with tears he refused to shed.

He thought of Azriella’s laugh, the way her wings fluttered excitedly whenever she saw him. He thought of Eryan’s quiet, thoughtful questions, the way he always reached for his hand. He thought of his mate—her fiery spirit, her unwavering love, and the way she had always been his light in the darkness.

And he had destroyed it all.

Azriel sank onto the couch, his head in his hands as the enormity of his loss consumed him. For centuries, he had lived in shadows, and for the first time, he realized he had let those shadows blind him to the light he had been given.

“Mother above,” he whispered, his voice broken. “What have I done?”

But the house remained silent, offering no answers, no solace.

Just the crushing weight of his own regret.

********

Y/n POV

You jolted awake, your chest heaving as you sat upright in the couch. Your heart pounded like a war drum, the echoes of your nightmare clinging to you like a second skin. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for him—for Azriel—but the cottage was empty.

The dream had felt so real. The look in Azriel’s eyes as he held Elain in his arms, her straddling him as he fucked her, the moans she made, the look he gave her as she rode him, the devastation of coming home to an empty house, the note that cut your soul to ribbons—it all replayed in your mind, sharp and vivid. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched your knees to your chest.

“Azriel,” you whispered into the empty room, your voice trembling.

The front door creaked open. You heard the soft rustle of boots on the floor, the faint hum of his shadows reaching out to you as if sensing your distress.

“Y/n?” Azriel called softly, his voice carrying through the quiet house.

You couldn’t stop the sob that escaped your lips. A moment later, Azriel was in the living room, his golden-hazel eyes filled with concern as he took in the sight of you, trembling and tear-streaked. His shadows curled around you protectively, like they, too, were trying to soothe you.

“Baby,” he murmured, crossing the room in a few quick strides. “What’s wrong?”

You launched yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest. His strong arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from whatever had hurt you.

“I had a dream,” you choked out, your voice muffled against his shirt. “It was awful, Azriel. You left, and—and you were with Elain. I walked into her room, and you were fucking her. The way you looked at her...You… you chose her over me and the kids. And then we were gone, and you came back to an empty house, and I—”

Your words broke into another sob, your body trembling in his embrace.

Azriel’s heart shattered at the pain in your voice. He tilted your face up, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears. “Y/n,” he said softly, his voice steady and warm, “look at me.”

Your tear-filled eyes met his, and he cupped your face with both hands, his shadows still swirling around them like a cocoon.

“Baby,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “that was just a dream. A terrible, awful dream. But it’s not real. It will never be real.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “It felt so real, Azriel. I was so scared. I thought I’d lost you."

He pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’ll never lose me,” he whispered, his voice breaking with the weight of his words. “Do you hear me, baby? Never. You are the love of my life. My mate. The one thing I waited for, longed for, prayed for, for centuries.”

Your lips quivered as you listened, your hands clutching his tunic tightly.

“I have spent my life in shadows, baby,” Azriel continued, his golden eyes locking onto yours. “And then you came along, and you were my light. You gave me a family, a home, a reason to believe I could be something more. There is no one else for me. Not Elain. Not anyone. Only you. Always you.”

Your tears began to slow as his words sank in, your chest heaving as you clung to him. “You mean it?” you whispered, your voice small and vulnerable.

Azriel leaned in, his lips brushing over yours in a kiss so tender it made your heart ache. “I mean it,” he murmured. “I would never sacrifice what we have, what we’ve built, for anyone else. You are my everything, baby. You, Azriella, and Eryan—you’re my world. Nothing else matters.”

You nodded, her fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “I love you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I doubted—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “You’ve been through so much, and I haven’t made it easy. And then me leaving earlier when we were arguing didn't help. But we’ll get through this together. I’ll never let anything come between us, baby. I swear it.”

Your lips trembled as he leaned in, capturing them with his own. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, a bridge between the hurt and the healing. But it deepened, your emotions spilling over as you both clung to each other.

Azriel scooped you into his arms, carrying you to your shared bed. His hands traced your skin as if committing you to memory all over again, his lips murmuring apologies and promises against your neck. You responded in kind, your touch reassuring him that you were still there, still his.

Your lovemaking was slow, deliberate, and full of emotion—a reaffirmation of your bond, your love, and your commitment to each other. When it was over, Azriel held you tightly, his face buried in your hair.

“I’ll do better,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I’ll let you in, baby. No more walls, no more running away from arguments.”

“I trust you,” you replied, your hand resting over his heart. “We’ll figure this out together.”

He held you close as you finally began to relax, your breathing evening out as the nightmare faded into memory. Azriel kissed your hair, whispering soft reassurances until your tears were completely gone.

As you both laid in your bed, your head resting on his chest, Azriel’s arms remained tight around you. His shadows danced gently around you both, their protective embrace a silent promise that the light you both shared would never be extinguished.

And as you drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, the shadows and light found harmony once more.

Chapter 8

[aonemanarmy]

If Jenova were capable of true emotion then in that moment she would've felt a sense of sadistic glee at her triumph over Lucrecia. To the eldritch abomination the scientist was merely a means to an end, a foolish creature that had thought herself capable of using Jenova to achieve her own selfish ambitions. She had thought herself to be so intelligent, so superior that she was above her own specimens, but in reality she was never in control and had dared to dabble in things that were better left alone. Now, due to her own hubris she had lost everything and Jenova wasn't about to surrender her prized puppet to the woman.

Sephiroth belonged to her.

Regardless of the fact that Sephiroth had seized the reins of control from her, Jenova still would not relinquish her hold of the man. Naturally, there was no true emotional connection or bond there, but the madman was a powerful tool and she would wield him in whatever way she saw fit – it would only take some more time before she could fully reassert control.

'He was mine the moment you created him for me – or have you forgotten?' Jenova knew that Lucrecia hadn't forgotten, since the whole reason Sephiroth existed was because the scientists had sought to recreate the Ancients. Little did the humans know that Jenova wasn't of Cetra origin, but rather something else entirely and the very entity that had been responsible for the Cetra's destruction. 'It is too late for you to regret things now.'

As Jenova toyed with Lucrecia the madman also struggled against the pain that the creature inflicted upon him coupled with the onslaught of old memories that bombarded his tortured mind. It was almost too much to take in all at once and it felt like his mind was being torn apart all over again.

Professor Gast wasn't like the others.

In the midst of that internal struggle he dimly heard Vincent's words which caused a new wave of bitterness to fill him. Yes, Gast hadn't been like the others at first; Sephiroth could recall in his early years that the man was kind and didn't intentionally harm him, but then one day he left and never came back. For the longest time he'd wondered why Professor Gast had left him behind to be tormented at the hands of Hojo without so much as saying goodbye, but he'd learned the truth of things just recently through Cloud and it was yet another knife buried in his fragile psyche.

“True, the man was far kinder a master than the others, but in the end he was little different than all the rest.” Sephiroth let out a bitter laugh at the remark, shaking his head as he did so. “When he was granted the opportunity to fulfill his own self-interests he took it without any hesitation and abandoned me. All so he could go off and have his own happy little family once he could no longer benefit from the project.”

It hardly mattered that Gast never got to enjoy his new family for very long, because he still had the luxury of experiencing happiness that Sephiroth had never known. Even now Sephiroth knew that he would never truly experience happiness, at least not until Meteor wiped humanity from the face of the world and rid the planet of their taint once and for all. Only then could he be happy.

“And yet, you still live.” Sephiroth turned his attention back to Lucrecia, still not quite believing what she said, but deciding to humor it as if it were true. “So tell me then, where were you? Why did you never come for me?”

Why did you abandon me too?

The unspoken question had always haunted Sephiroth when it came to thinking about everyone around him that was supposed to care for him. Anyone that should've been there for him never was and as such he'd grown to realize that such a life was never meant to be. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he wasn't someone to live in denial even in the face of an ugly truth.

He'd always been alone and he always would be.

Images of the past flashed before Vincent’s mind, bringing him back to those days of agonizing over Lucrecia’s plight. The feeling of helplessness once again wormed its way into Vincent, gripping his throat with the pangs of regret. Her pleading voice, her trembling hands that sought to hold her beloved son, the fear of her once again being forever denied as her right to motherhood--- it tore Vincent to pieces.

Tears streamed down Lucrecia’s pale delicate skin, chilled by the breeze that carried the voices lingering in the cave. She looked as though she would collapse from the weight of emotions overwhelming her senses. It took everything in Vincent’s will-power to hold himself back from rushing to her side to engulf her in his arms. This was between her and Sephiroth; he was merely the enabler. Sephiroth’s discomfort slowly began to unveil. The more Lucrecia pleaded with Sephiroth and revealed their bond, the more Vincent could notice Sephiroth’s expression crease with disdain. Vincent was well aware that the reception wouldn’t be mutual, but the longer Vincent observed, the more he began to sense Sephiroth’s anger rise. Whether it was due to the overwhelming realization, a steadfast denial, or the cruel bending of reality by Jenova’s works, Vincent could only fathom. Seeing Sephiroth take a step back and grip his head, Lucrecia looked on helplessly, at first confused about what her son was going through. But just as her motherly instincts kicked in, Lucrecia rushed forward and extended her hand in an effort to comfort Sephiroth. But just as her hand was about to touch the soft silver tresses of Sephiroth’s head, Lucrecia froze in utter horror. That voice… what is this feeling…? Is it… Lucrecia gasped sharply in terror once she realized who the voice belonged to. Trepidation seized hold of her, and a cold shiver went down her spine. “N-no… this can’t be…” Her voice trembled, her efforts to compose herself not yielding the necessary results. “Lucrecia?!” Alerted at once to her affliction, Vincent momentarily forgot his aching legs and rushed to her side, biting back a searing pain that reminded him he was not fully healed. He caught hold of her shoulders in an attempt to steady her, but Lucrecia immediately attempted to push Vincent away. “Lucrecia, please—what’s wrong?” Vincent maintained his grip, not wanting her to fall and unwilling to let her fight this on her own. Even if Vincent couldn’t hear Jenova’s voice, just from his own experience, and knowing how Jenova cells affected their victims, he had an idea of what Lucrecia was going through. “Stop it--! You don’t own him! He’s not yours!” Lucrecia cried out in anguish, knowing her words were reaching the alien dwelling inside her, but also knowing she was mostly helpless to resist it, let alone affect its intensions. Vincent knew she was fighting a battle he couldn’t fight for her. All he could do was assure her that he was there for her. Sephiroth’s voice diverted Vincent’s gaze; the betrayal and bitterness dripping from his words in copious amounts. It cut deep into Vincent’s heart, but he knew it was searing Lucrecia’s even deeper. “Sephiroth…” Lucrecia wept, looking up at her son through a blur of tears. As painful as those words were, she didn’t have a heart to deny them. “I… I just…” Even if she had been denied access to even see Sephiroth, she knew all too well what had been done to him. After all, she was once a scientist who was all too willing to put aside morals in the name of science. That was, until she first felt the kick of her son in her womb. Vincent felt Lucrecia’s body suddenly sink under the weight of sorrow and defeat, prompting him to ease her down as she knelt on the ground, her head lowered in dejection. “I’m so sorry…” Lucrecia’s voice faded, overcome with grief and regret, allowing her tears to flow freely. She knew there was nothing she could do. Jenova’s words did little to hurt her. But Sephiroth’s tore wide the wound that had never healed. Kneeling beside Lucrecia, Vincent looked up at Sephiroth; his brow creasing pensively. “That’s not true.” He bore his eyes into Sephiroth, mainly directing his energy towards the entity he knew was striving for Sephiroth’s mind. “Professor Gast wasn’t like the others. And had you not been torn from Lucrecia, you would have known differently.” Vincent knew he couldn’t convince Sephiroth. But he wasn’t about to stand by and let Sephiroth dwell on lies, either.

[tomlivingspace]

Tbh in cannon that " Dw Ivy I'll stay in the den for you <3 " always rang as a blatant attempt at getting Ivy to have kits with him.

I Hc that because Ivy never really wanted the kits and Fern was never going to actually step up as a father beyond claiming them as his, the kits just kinda... never knew their parents? Ivy was always out and only really stopped to feed them, and Fern was sweet to them, but always made excuses on why he couldn't stick around to play or nap.

And I imagine Ivy would get more flack from the clan than Fern bc " Oh silly Ivypool! You know men don't do that stuff! But it's in your nature to care for them! Don't you love them? " and Ivy realizes that no. She doesn't love her kits, at all.

Idk, I feel like Ivy never really fit in with clan structure to begin with and after the df thing she tries to mold herself into a better ( more forgivable ) warrior, which meant taking and mate and having kits ( conforming to expectations )

Idk, just an interesting thought.

SO THIS IS ONLY KIND OF TANGENTIALLY RELATED I GUESS it just made me think about sparkpelt's ppd and how she might reach out to ivypool just because ivypool DIDNT spend her kittens' entire kithood in the nursery . but she has a paranoia that she's still "evil" deep down. so she over-corrects not realizing that sparkpelt is attempting to reach out. but that sort of thing is also a kind of defense mechanism to keep anyone from getting too close. i think thats a big reason why her relationship with dovewing never improves too.

[saioratral]

PARING: yuuta okkotsu x f!reader

PROMPT: stories- not a reality SYNOPSIS: giving my readers a reality check of who they are following

WARNING: insecurities and the biggest warning, me NOTE: i make a pretty good plot, netflix should be knocking on my door. wrote this to fuel my favourite emotion: depression <33 genuinely dont give two fucks if anyone reads this. i dont need comfort messages/asks or the 'don't say that about yourself ☹️' bullshit- im not asking for that + it's not gonna change how i see myself

the room didn’t even feel like a room to anyone who stepped inside. clothes messily placed on her chair, but she didn’t mind. her gaze was locked on the computer screen, her fingers moving across the keyboard as though they knew the layout better than her textbooks

she typed again, her imaginary life with yuuta. the little cottage by the river, ducks swimming by- according to her notes. her fictional self is her favourite self. she loves writing about her muse, yuuta being her escape from her heavy thoughts 

but behind the screen, she was just a mess. she covers her insecurities with flattering words. how could she be pretty when the world only saw the mess of her real self? her online persona was a carefully constructed lie, a shield to keep others from seeing the truth. after all, why should she look ugly to them? she didn’t want to scare anyone away

little miss perfect, pretending to be smart for others. that’s all she’s good at anyways, people would remember her at least, use her and not discard her when they got bored. "grow a spine," they told her every day. but she didn’t. she carried no opinions, just a deep need to fit in

what she wanted, more than anything, was to be loved. to have friends, to be someone’s favorite girl, like the main character of a shoujo anime

she imagines herself in yuuta's arms, feeling his comfort, his imaginary embrace making her feel wanted. together, they watch the sunset from the window, the soft glow of the fading light making life seem perfect. next, they’re in the kitchen, she sits on the counter while yuuta mixes batter for her favorite cake. he let her taste it, but only if she kissed him in return

the scene shifts. now, they were in a fancy, high rise building for dinner. she’s wearing a pink dress, hair tied up with a matching ribbon. she’s so pretty in his eyes, the candle light dinner gets better and better and soon they are on their way home. yuuta’s jacket draped over her shoulders as they walked beneath the streetlights, stumbling upon an empty playground

she sits on the swings, pushing herself back and forth, a wide grin on her face. yuuta sits on the swing beside her, holding her heels in his hand as he watches her joy. he really does love her smile, she looks so beautiful in his heart eyes- of course she would be. she’s the writer. it was her world. she decides what happened next

call her a pick me, call her lazy, call her ungrateful, call her selfish, call her ugly, call her boring, call her cringe, make fun of her taste- she’s just a girl sitting in her room, writing silly fics about her yuuta for a mere 2 digit following of strangers 

© saioratral 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images used are from pinterest

[graceisinthelibrary]

How about #2 from the prompt list.

Sorry, but this took a while and it's too long... It's set between the episodes 5.5 and 5.6.

“You’re burning up! Like a match!” 

“Nonsense! Bugger off!” The mere idea was preposterous. Siegfried stared at his brother, the smug beggar, and wished him to the moon or at least back to Doncaster. He did his best to ignore the heat in his cheeks and hoped his beard would sufficiently cover his unease, before anyone else noticed it. 

Tristan chuckled and picked up the manuscript, the tome, as Siegfried had baptised it and gave the title a closer look. “Ancient Persia, eh? A memoir… anything racy?” With another giggle he dropped the volume to the desk. Dust exploded, dancing in the sunlight of the late spring morning. 

Siegfried wished his embarrassment about his feeble attempts at dating were less distinctive. It rubbed him the wrong way that everyone thought he was a lonely old man without any prospects in love. Well, he was getting older, no doubt about that. His aching bones spoke volumes about his age and so did his reading glasses, but none of this meant he wasn’t interesting to women. He was rusty, admittedly. But he wasn’t past his prime. Mrs Hall had said so, Carmody had reminded him about it, but Tristan had a field day with it. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard Mrs Hall moving about. She was giving the dining room a thorough dusting and although she would never say anything to embarrass him, he knew she was well aware of his interest in Miss Grantley. There was nothing happening in this household that she wasn’t aware of. He felt the heat in his cheeks intensifying as he tried to fathom whether she had an opinion about the matter or not. 

Did she think of him as a fool for trying his luck? 

Did she find him pathetic by getting into Miss Grantley’s good graces by reading her book? 

Tristan apparently did and he knew Helen good enough to know, she was thinking the same. James was perhaps the only one who didn’t bother to phrase his opinion and he was glad for his partner’s discretion. 

He had read his way half through the manuscript by now and didn’t know what to make of it. Catherine Grantley’s grammar lacked some things to be desired, and the story of her life seemed indeed racy. A bit too racy for his taste, but then what did he know about life and love in Persia? He wasn’t stuffy, but he wasn’t sure he enjoyed various descriptions of liaisons in the desert. 

In the corner of his eyes he watched Mrs Hall as she picked up Evelyn’s picture and cautiously cleaned it. She placed it gently back on the piano before she moved on to the next object, a small clock. The almost loving way with which Audrey Hall looked after Evelyn’s memory touched him and made him wonder about Miss Grantley and the late husband she barely remembered. 

The phone rang and sensing this was the opportunity to get rid of Tris, he barked at his brother to answer ‘the bloody phone’. Tris’ refusal, rooting in his amusement, vanished when Mrs Hall used her feather duster and her stern gaze on him. Once again she had saved him, but he didn’t want to show her how much Tristan’s teasing bothered him. 

“Just ignore him,” she said softly. “You know how he is.” 

“You mean he’s an annoying busybody. Worse than the vicar’s wife!” 

“He means well. He wants you to be happy.” 

“Well, I would be a lot happier if people stopped bothering me!” He snapped. Mrs Hall was the last person who deserved his gruff, but he didn’t know how to cope. He stared at the manuscript and sighed, annoyed with himself. “Is it that bad?” She asked, leaving it open if she was referring to the book or the woman herself. 

“Bosworth was right, you know.” He shoved the book into his drawer and shut it forcefully. “I’m all played out. Maybe I should join him for some bingo session on Friday night in the church hall.” 

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “You better not. You have no idea how the widows long for an eligible widower who’s still in possession of his own teeth and hair.” Despite his wish to be grumpy she just made him laugh. He looked at her and realised how cute she looked. The duster was stuck under her armpit and one of the feathers had come loose and was entangled with her hair. He longed to pull it out, but that would perhaps be considered overstepping. There was a roguishness about the way she smiled at him, that restored his good mood though and so he let her go without mentioning the feather. 

His eyes followed her trail down the hall. Suddenly he thought that he maybe should tell Miss Grantley about her grammar mistakes and some minor content-related improvements for her literary work. 

On her way into the kitchen Audrey thought about Siegfried and his sudden wish to impress that archeologist or whatever that lady did for a living. She couldn’t help but feel that she had put the bug in his ear when she had told him not to compare himself to Bosworth and that there was plenty in life ahead of him. And she had meant it. Their temper aside, the men didn’t have much in common. 

So, why did it bother her that he was trying to get into the good graces of this exotic stranger? From what Carmody had told her, Miss Grantley was an alien figure to begin with. Nice, but also… aloof? If Richard Carmody noticed as much she must be a handful. 

Lost in her thoughts, she entered her pantry and listlessly collected the ingredients she needed to prepare lunch. As she put the pan on the stove, Siegfried entered the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. 

“I can do that,” she offered and looked at him. 

He just smiled and shook his head. “Mrs Hall… May I?” 

Confused, she blinked, as he raised his hand and pointed at her head. 

“Course…” 

He slowly pulled out the feather and showed it to her. “A bit rogue that one,” he said. She took it and smiled at him. “Thank you for restoring me dignity.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Hall,” he said and when she crooked her eyebrow, puzzled, he added, “For being you.” 

[themiserablechick]

NSFW

Porn with plot 😁

Tashi Duncan x fem!reader

Tashi had a boyfriend, you knew that you’ve met him in passing he was tall and good looking and if you were to believe what Tashi said he had a big dick. Sometimes after he visited you both would crowd on the same single so you could braid her hair or do her nails and she would tell you all the ways he fucked her. Sure it was probably just girl talk but you couldnt help but feel warmth bubble up inside you. You felt bad when your hand wandered in between your thighs in the middle of night thinking about your roommate and her boyfriend.

Tashi liked girls or you theorized that she liked girls, maybe she just liked you. When you came back from parties she always kissed you. Not little baby pecks, she would lick into your mouth tasting like jungle juice. She would strip to her underwear and insist you share a bed that night. And for a long time that’s all it was a drunk kiss, cuddling.

After some big fight with Patrick she came to the dorm upset you could see it even if she wouldn’t say anything. So you did what you always did you stripped so you could lay next her skin to skin. You didn’t ask her any questions at least right now, you’d talk about it later. You just curled yourself around her. After what felt like forever she turned around so you were facing each other you didn’t want to say anything for fear you would break whatever trance she was briefly under. She leaned in and kissed you like how she always did when she was drunk but she wasn’t, emotional maybe but completely sober. Her hands found your waist and pulled you impossibly closer until you were on top of her.You pulled back to see her.

“Tashi are you…”

She cut you off “can you please just fuck me?”

She didn’t really say it as a question she meant it as a statement

“Ok” you nodded shuffling down her body.You nosed at her cunt through her underwear where there was already a wet spot you mouthed over her for a while until you could tell she was growing impatient. You peeled her underwear off and licked at her slurping up all she would give you because it might not happen again. You fucked her with your tongue darting in and out of her. Her hands flew to hair pulling you closer

“Fuck-your so much better than him, fuck me better, please”

You licked at her clit and pushed your fingers inside of her she whimpered under you. Her legs shaking as she reached her orgasm

“Fuck please please please—“

When she did you didn’t care you lapped at her more until it all became to much and she had to push you of off her. You leaned up to kiss her again so she could taste herself

“Do you come that much when your boyfriend fucks you?”

She didn’t answer she just let you paw at her tits and hump your still clothed pussy against hers. You took your underwear off and threw them somewhere across the room getting lost in the feeling of rubbing yourselves against one another you started babbling

“Fuck-always want you so bad” you nip at her neck “touch myself thinking about you” you pick up your speed you both climaxing at the same time your mixed moans filling the room. You collapsed on top of her slight sweaty and sticky. After a while you got up and shared a shower you kissed some more in there and after you went to In n Out and watched shitty Reality TV on the small television in your dorm.

You never talked about it after. It was just one fight with Patrick they were still together, you would still sleep in the same bed she would kiss you sometimes but that was it. You felt kinda empty like it had been the start of something new when really it was just a mistake.

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Thirty Four

Floch stood outside the closed door, his ear pressed close enough to catch every word of Eren and Aurora’s conversation. His face twisted in displeasure as he listened to the emotional exchange. Aurora was crying, pleading, and what did Eren do? Comfort her. Forgive her. Let her off with nothing more than a scolding. Floch’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Two months. She had lied to Eren, to all of them, for two whole months about something so critical it could have endangered the entire operation. If Porco had attacked the compound, if the Queen had been harmed—Floch didn’t even want to imagine the chaos that would have unfolded. And yet, here was Eren, brushing it all aside because it was Aurora. His precious wife who, in Floch’s eyes, could do no wrong.

Floch rolled his eyes, his disdain growing as he recalled Aurora’s earlier hysteria about a "ghost." He thought it was nothing more than a convenient ploy to make herself appear vulnerable and sympathetic, diverting Eren’s attention from her wrongdoing. And of course, it worked. Eren, blinded by love, fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

"Ridiculous," Floch muttered under his breath.

His thoughts turned darker as he considered what Aurora’s presence had done to Eren. The once single-minded soldier, determined to secure Paradis’s future at any cost, was now "playing house," coddling his pregnant wife when he should be focused on the mission. Floch’s lip curled at the thought. It wasn’t just Eren either—now even Queen Historia was entangled in some idiotic romantic drama with the Jaw Titan.

“We’re fighting for our survival,” Floch thought bitterly. “And they’re losing themselves in love stories.”

He could feel his frustration boiling over, but he knew better than to voice it. Eren wouldn’t listen. His judgment was compromised. Floch sighed through his nose, straightened his posture, and cleared his throat sharply.

Knocking on the door, he waited a beat before pushing it open. He found Eren sitting on the edge of the bed next to Aurora, his hand still resting protectively over her baby bump. Aurora’s tear-streaked face turned toward Floch, but he ignored her entirely, his gaze fixed on Eren.

“Eren,” Floch said crisply, his tone tinged with impatience. “The scouts are waiting. Captain Levi is ready to begin Galliard’s interrogation.”

Eren’s jaw tightened slightly, his expression unreadable as he looked at Floch. Without a word, he rose from the bed, straightening his posture as his piercing green eyes locked onto Floch.

“I’ll be there,” Eren said firmly, his voice low but commanding.

Floch gave a curt nod but couldn’t resist letting his gaze flicker toward Aurora one last time. He didn’t trust her—not now, not ever. She was a distraction, dangerous, a liability, and he feared what further damage her presence might cause.

Eren caught the subtle shift in Floch’s expression, his brow furrowing slightly, but he chose not to address it. Turning back to Aurora, his expression softened, and he cupped her face gently.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, his tone softening for her.

Aurora nodded, her eyes still glossy from their earlier conversation. “Okay,” she whispered.

Eren stepped past Floch, his demeanor sharpening as he left the room. Floch trailed after him, his own thoughts still simmering with resentment.

As they headed toward the basement where Levi and the scouts awaited, Floch dared to speak up. “You’re being too soft on her,” he said quietly, his tone just barely masking his disapproval.

Eren stopped mid-step and turned, his expression so cold it made Floch’s words catch in his throat.

“Watch your mouth,” Eren warned, his voice sharp and cutting. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

Floch swallowed hard but didn’t reply, his frustration bubbling just below the surface as he followed Eren the rest of the way in silence.

But Eren’s irritation simmered beneath his calm exterior as he walked alongside Floch toward the basement. His annoyance wasn’t new—Floch had a knack for getting under his skin—but the audacity to involve Aurora in his petty critiques was the last straw. It was one thing for Floch to be insubordinate or to question orders, but dragging Aurora into it? That was a line Eren wouldn’t tolerate being crossed.

Truth be told, Floch’s attitude grated on him. Ever since Floch had taken it upon himself to hunt down Levi and Mikasa without permission, Eren had found it increasingly difficult to even look at the man. Floch’s actions were reckless, and his blatant opposition to Aurora, though subtle, wasn’t lost on Eren. Yet, as much as Eren disliked him, he grudgingly acknowledged his utility. Floch had proven to be an effective leader for the Jaegerists, rallying them when the old brass faltered. His conviction, while often misguided, was unshakable, and the Jaegerists followed him without hesitation.

It was convenience, nothing more. Floch was a tool, a necessary evil to keep the Jaegerists in line. Beyond that, Eren couldn’t care less about him.

The sound of their boots echoed against the stone walls as they approached the basement. The air between them was thick with tension, but neither said a word. Floch’s silence was unusual—likely a calculated move to avoid provoking Eren further after his earlier remarks. Eren’s expression was unreadable, his green eyes fixed ahead, but his clenched fists betrayed his simmering anger.

When they reached the basement, Mikasa was already there, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Her dark eyes flicked between Eren and Floch, immediately sensing the tension between them. She raised a brow slightly but said nothing, opting instead to observe.

Eren pushed the heavy door open, revealing the dimly lit space where Levi was waiting. Porco was restrained in the center of the room, his limbs still healing from Levi’s earlier assault. His sharp gaze flickered to the newcomers.

Levi stood near Porco, arms crossed, his expression as sharp as ever. “Took you long enough,” Levi said flatly, his voice carrying its usual edge. “I was starting to think you were having a tea party upstairs.”

Eren ignored the remark, stepping inside and allowing the door to close behind him. Floch followed, his posture rigid as he positioned himself near the wall. Mikasa remained in the doorway, her gaze shifting between the occupants of the room.

Porco’s smirk widened as his eyes landed on Eren. “Jaeger,” he drawled, his tone mocking. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Eren didn’t respond immediately, his gaze locking onto Porco with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. “You’ve been real comfortable here for someone who was supposed to kill Historia,” Eren said coldly, his voice low and dangerous.

Porco’s smirk didn’t falter. “What can I say? Your queen has a way of changing a man’s priorities.”

Levi’s expression darkened, his hand instinctively moving toward his blade. Mikasa tensed slightly, her eyes narrowing at Porco’s remark. Floch’s lips curled into a sneer, his disdain for Porco evident.

Eren took a step closer, his green eyes burning with barely restrained fury. “You don’t get to talk about her,” he said, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Not after everything you’ve done.”

Porco raised a brow, his smirk finally fading. “Funny. You’re angry with me, but your real problem should be with the people around you. Your wife, your queen—seems like everyone’s keeping secrets from you.”

Eren’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. The mention of Aurora was like a spark to dry kindling, reigniting his simmering frustration. Mikasa noticed the subtle shift in his posture and took a small step forward, ready to intervene if necessary.

Levi’s voice cut through the tension. “If you’re done playing therapist, we’re here to get answers, not hear your opinions.” His tone was icy, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Eren exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze never leaving Porco. “Start talking,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of anger. “Why are you really here? And don’t waste my time.”

Porco’s gaze flickered between the group, his smirk replaced by a wary expression. The tension in the room was palpable, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone. Floch shifted uncomfortably against the wall, his usual arrogance momentarily muted by the intensity of the moment.

The tension in the room thickened as the door creaked open and Hange and Armin stepped inside, their expressions somber. They exchanged brief glances with the others before focusing on Porco, who sat chained and bloodied in the center of the room. Mikasa stood behind him, her blades drawn, her sharp gaze fixed on his every move.

Levi leaned against the table, his arms crossed, his glare unwavering. “You’re going to tell us everything,” he said coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Every detail of what you’ve done since you landed on Paradis. And if I even think you’re lying, you won’t have hands to bite anymore.”

Porco’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Start talking,” Levi snapped.

Porco took a deep breath, his gaze briefly flickering to Eren, whose narrowed eyes burned with distrust. “After the Cart, Armored, and I failed to capture your wife or kill your queen during the first attack, I stayed behind. I... I couldn’t leave,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been hiding in the woods near the compound, meeting with Historia.”

“And what exactly have you two been doing?” Levi pressed, his voice sharp.

Porco hesitated, glancing at the floor. “Talking. Planning. We tried to figure out a way to stop all this—stop the Rumbling, stop Marley, stop the killing. But every plan we came up with fell apart. Every path led to someone dying, whether it was Paradis or Marley. There’s no winning here. Someone has to lose. And the truth is, it’s going to take blood to end this, no matter which side you’re on.”

The room grew heavy with his words, the weight of the revelation settling on everyone’s shoulders. Armin shifted uncomfortably, his brows furrowed as he exchanged a worried glance with Hange. Mikasa’s grip on her blades tightened, her knuckles whitening. Even Levi, usually unshakable, looked grim.

Eren’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “We already knew that,” he said bluntly, his tone laced with impatience. “You’re wasting our time. Tell us something useful. When is Marley launching their attack?”

Porco’s eyes met Eren’s, and he let out a dry laugh. “You’re just as ruthless as they said. But fine, I’ll tell you. Marley’s gathering their forces. They’ll launch a full-scale attack in five months. Maybe six if their alliance with the Global Allied Forces holds steady.”

Eren’s jaw tightened. “And Zeke?”

Porco hesitated again, glancing between the faces in the room. “Zeke’s on his way here. He’s supposed to rendezvous with your forces in two months.”

The air in the room shifted. Levi’s eyes narrowed. Mikasa adjusted her stance slightly, her blades glinting under the dim light. Hange rubbed her chin thoughtfully, her mind already racing with the implications.

Armin broke the silence, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “So it’s true. Zeke’s still part of Marley’s plan. Eren, you... you don’t have to do this.”

Eren’s gaze snapped to Armin, his green eyes hard. “Do what?”

“The Rumbling,” Armin said, his voice firm. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t,” Eren replied sharply, his tone cutting. “You’ve seen what Marley and the world think of us. You’ve seen what they’re willing to do. They’re not going to stop until every last one of us is dead. The Rumbling is the only way to ensure Paradis survives.”

Armin stepped closer, his expression pleading. “Eren, you’re talking about genocide. Millions of people. There has to be another solution. We just... we need more time.”

“Time we don’t have,” Eren shot back. “You think Marley’s going to give us time to figure this out? They’re coming, Armin. They’re bringing their armies, their bombs, their hatred. And when they get here, they won’t care about negotiations or peace. They’ll destroy us. All of us.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Eren’s words hanging heavy in the air. Hange adjusted her glasses, her expression conflicted. Mikasa’s gaze flickered between Eren and Armin, her own thoughts carefully guarded.

Levi finally spoke, his voice low and steady. “We’re not here to debate philosophy. We need to focus on the threat at hand. If Zeke’s coming in two months, we need to prepare. The enemy isn’t going to wait for us to sort out our moral dilemmas.”

Eren nodded, his gaze shifting back to Porco. “You’re going to tell us everything you know about Marley’s plans. Every detail.”

Porco stared at him for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Fine.”

As the interrogation continued, the tension in the room remained thick. But for Eren, his thoughts kept drifting back to Aurora—her fear, her tears, her guilt. He pushed the thoughts aside, forcing himself to focus. There was no room for weakness now. Not with everything at stake.

…

Meanwhile, Historia paced the confines of her quarters, her chest tight with guilt. Aurora’s distressed face lingered in her mind, the hurt and fear in her friend’s eyes weighing heavily on her. She had been selfish. No matter how much she justified her actions with Porco, involving Aurora had been wrong. She should’ve handled it on her own.

Determined to set things right, Historia squared her shoulders and moved toward the door. Two Jaegerist guards were stationed outside, arms crossed, their postures rigid.

“Where are you going, Your Majesty?” one of them asked, stepping into her path.

“I’m going to see Aurora,” Historia said firmly, her tone brooking no argument.

The second guard frowned. “Under Floch’s orders, we’re to keep you confined to your quarters.”

Historia’s jaw tightened. “Confined? Am I a prisoner now?”

The first guard hesitated. “It’s for your safety, Your Majesty—”

Historia’s voice sharpened, cutting through his excuse. “I am the Queen of the Walls. My safety is my concern, not Floch’s. I will not be confined in my own home.”

The guards exchanged uncertain looks, but neither dared defy her further. With a nod of dismissal, Historia brushed past them, her steps resolute as she made her way to Aurora and Eren’s quarters.

But when she reached the door, she hesitated. Guilt and shame pooled in her stomach. She had been a horrible friend, asking Aurora to carry her secret for months. What had she been thinking? Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly.

The door creaked open, and Aurora stood there, her eyes wide with surprise. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed red from crying. 

“Historia?” Aurora’s voice was soft, almost disbelieving. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” Historia said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She shut the door behind her and turned to face her friend. “Aurora, I owe you an apology.”

Aurora blinked, taken aback. “Apology?”

“Yes.” Historia’s voice trembled slightly, but she pressed on. “I was selfish. I never should’ve asked you to keep my secret. It wasn’t fair to you, and it put you in an impossible position. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I used that kindness for my own benefit. I’m so sorry, Aurora.”

Aurora stared at her, her hands resting protectively over her growing baby bump. Her lips trembled, and she shook her head. ���I just wanted to help you, Historia. You’ve been such a good friend to me, the first real friend I’ve ever had. I didn’t want to let you down. But I—” Her voice broke, and she looked away. “I realize now that I shouldn’t have kept it from Eren.”

“You’re right,” Historia said softly. “You shouldn’t have. I should’ve handled it on my own. I didn’t think about what it would mean for you to keep this secret. I put you in an awful position, and I hate that I did that to you.”

Aurora’s gaze flickered back to Historia, tears shining in her eyes. “Eren was so hurt. He’s never talked to me like that before. It’s my fault.”

“It’s my fault,” Historia said firmly, taking a step closer. “Don’t blame yourself for my mistakes. I dragged you into this mess, and I’m going to fix it. I promise.”

Aurora looked at her for a long moment before finally nodding. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Historia reached out and took Aurora’s hands, squeezing them gently. “You’re a better person than I deserve as a friend. I’m so sorry, Aurora. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

The two women stood there for a moment, a fragile but genuine understanding passing between them. For the first time in weeks, Aurora felt a flicker of relief. Maybe, just maybe, they could both find a way to fix the chaos that had unfolded.

…

Back with the scouts, the room was thick with tension as Eren, Levi, Hange, Armin, and Floch huddled together, discussing their next moves. The interrogation of Porco Galliard had been exhausting, yielding a trove of critical information about Marley’s military plans and the timeline of their invasion. Six months. That’s all they had left. But Zeke’s arrival in two months complicated things even further.

Hange leaned against the table, arms crossed, her brows furrowed in deep thought. “Porco’s information is valuable, I’ll give him that. The details he gave us about Marley’s military coordination could give us an edge if we use them strategically.”

Armin nodded in agreement, his hands clasped in front of him as he spoke. “If we combine his knowledge with ours, we might be able to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve the Rumbling. Maybe... maybe there’s a way to target Marley’s leadership or military infrastructure without resorting to genocide. If we’re smart about it, we can buy time.”

Eren let out a sharp exhale, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His green eyes were dark with mistrust. “Porco’s information is only as useful as the truth behind it. How do we know he’s not feeding us lies to stall or manipulate us? He’s a Marleyan soldier—one trained to hate us.”

Mikasa stood beside Eren, her hand on her blade’s hilt, her expression unreadable. “Eren’s right. We can’t let our guard down around him. Just because he’s in chains doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.”

Floch scoffed from his corner of the room, his face twisted with disdain. “You’re all wasting time debating whether or not to trust him. It’s simple. We feed him to someone loyal to us, someone we can actually trust, and gain the Jaw Titan’s power for Paradis. We don’t need him alive.”

Hange turned sharply toward Floch, her voice laced with irritation. “Do you ever stop thinking with your fists, Floch? Porco’s not just a titan shifter. He’s a resource. If we lose him, we lose access to Marleyan strategy, insights, and potentially any connections we might exploit. We can’t afford to squander that.”

Armin interjected, his voice calm but firm. “And feeding him to someone isn’t as simple as you make it sound, Floch. Choosing a successor isn’t something we can do lightly. If we make the wrong choice, we could end up in a worse position.”

Floch crossed his arms, glaring at Armin. “You’re just delaying the inevitable, Armin. He’s the enemy, and keeping him alive is a liability. What if he escapes? What if he betrays us?”

Levi, who had been silently observing the argument, finally spoke, his tone icy. “Porco isn’t going anywhere. As long as I’m here, he won’t get the chance to try anything. But Floch isn’t entirely wrong. The Jaw Titan’s power in the hands of someone we trust would give us an edge.”

Eren’s gaze hardened as he leaned forward, addressing the room. “Zeke’s arrival changes everything. Once he’s here, I’m going to make contact with him and activate the Rumbling. That’s the only plan that guarantees our survival. We can’t afford to waste time chasing alternatives that won’t work.”

Armin’s frustration bubbled over, and he slammed his hands on the table. “And what about the rest of the world, Eren? Do you really think wiping out countless lives is the only way to secure peace? You’re not even giving us a chance to find another way!”

Eren glared at Armin, his voice cold and resolute. “I’ve given you plenty of time, Armin. You’ve spent months trying to come up with a better solution, and where has it gotten us? Nowhere. Marley is coming for us, and we can’t negotiate with people who want us dead. It’s us or them.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Eren’s words settling heavily over them. Hange sighed, rubbing her temples. “We need to think about the bigger picture. Porco’s information could give us leverage, but we need to be smart about how we use it.”

Floch, unrelenting, muttered under his breath, “Or we could stop wasting time and take action.”

Levi’s sharp gaze snapped to Floch, silencing him immediately. “Enough. We’ll keep Porco alive for now. But if he so much as twitches the wrong way, I’ll handle it personally.”

Hange nodded, trying to lighten the mood slightly. “And maybe we should all take a moment to breathe. We’re not going to solve this tonight.”

Eren, still seething, turned away from the group. “I’m done here. You can keep debating if you want, but I’ve made up my mind.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the door, his mind already racing. He couldn’t shake the image of Aurora’s tear-streaked face from earlier. He’d deal with her betrayal later. For now, his focus had to be on the battle ahead.

Mikasa watched him leave, her expression unreadable. “He’s not going to change his mind.”

Hange sighed, leaning back against the wall. “No, he won’t. But we still have to try.”

As the door shut behind Eren, the room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of their collective decisions hanging heavy in the air.

But Eren halted in his tracks as he stepped into the hallway, surprised to see Historia standing there, her posture tense and defiant. Right behind her was Aurora, her head bowed slightly, still trailing after the queen. She was supposed to be resting, and Historia wasn’t supposed to leave her quarters under Floch’s orders. What were they doing here?

Eren’s brow furrowed in irritation, his voice sharp. “Historia, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in your quarters.”

Historia didn’t flinch under his tone. Instead, she straightened her back, her chin held high. “I’m here to see Porco.”

Aurora shifted uncomfortably beside her, avoiding Eren’s gaze. The tension between them from earlier was still palpable, and Eren’s jaw clenched as he glanced briefly at his wife before returning his glare to Historia.

“No,” Eren said bluntly. “You shouldn’t even be here right now. Porco’s fine, but you’re not seeing him.”

“I don’t need your permission,” Historia shot back, stepping closer. “I’m the queen, Eren. I have a right to see him.”

Eren’s frustration bubbled over. “The only thing you have a right to do is stay safe. You should be guarded right now, not wandering around the compound.”

Historia didn’t back down, her voice firm. “I’m not here to argue about my safety. I want to see Porco.”

Eren scoffed and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “The answer is still no. He’s under heavy surveillance for a reason.”

At that moment, the door to the interrogation room opened, and Levi emerged, dragging Porco by his chains. Porco’s eyes immediately darted to Historia, his expression softening for a brief moment before he forced himself to look away. Levi’s sharp gaze flicked between Historia and Porco, his irritation obvious.

“Great,” Levi muttered under his breath. “More love drama. Just what we need.”

Historia stepped forward, her determination unwavering. “Captain, I need to speak with him.”

Levi raised an unimpressed eyebrow, his tone flat. “No, you don’t. And he’s not speaking to you.”

“Why not?” Historia demanded, her voice rising in frustration. “You’ve already interrogated him. What harm could it do?”

Levi rolled his eyes, his patience clearly wearing thin. “For starters, he’s under surveillance. Until he proves he’s not a threat, he’s staying far away from you. That’s non-negotiable.”

Historia clenched her fists, her face flushing with indignation. “I can make my own decisions, Captain.”

Levi’s tone grew sharper. “Not when they involve endangering everyone else on this island because of some foolish romance.”

Porco bristled at Levi’s words, his voice tight. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Levi turned to him with a steely glare, his blades glinting faintly at his sides. “And you—shut up. You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”

Historia opened her mouth to argue further, but Levi held up a hand, cutting her off. “Enough. I need to debrief you, alone.”

Historia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me? You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will,” Levi interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We need to make sure your stories line up. I’m not taking any chances that you’ve been influenced by this idiot.”

Porco stiffened at the insult, but Levi’s cold glare kept him silent. Historia, however, wasn’t so easily silenced.

“I’m not some criminal, Captain,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Levi’s expression didn’t waver. “Maybe not, but I’m not risking the safety of everyone here just because you decided to play house with the enemy.”

Historia’s cheeks flushed with both anger and embarrassment. She turned to Eren for support, but his expression was unreadable. His gaze flicked briefly to Aurora, who stood silently beside Historia, her hands resting protectively over her bump.

“Captain Levi’s right,” Eren said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “You need to clear this up.”

Historia’s shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining out of her. She gave Levi a sharp nod, her eyes blazing. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Levi gestured for her to follow, giving a sharp tug on Porco’s chains as he began dragging him back toward the holding cell. As they moved away, Floch appeared in the hallway, his expression smug as he took up position near Historia’s quarters, clearly prepared to enforce Eren’s earlier orders.

Eren turned his gaze to Aurora, his expression softening slightly. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aurora, you should be resting. Go back to our quarters.”

Aurora hesitated, glancing at Historia’s retreating figure before nodding reluctantly. She began to turn away, her heart heavy with guilt and worry. As she walked back down the hall, she could feel Eren’s eyes lingering on her, the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing heavily against her back.

Her steps grew heavier with each passing second as she walked toward the quarters she shared with Eren. Her mind, already fragile from the guilt and tension between them, spiraled into a whirlwind of tormenting memories.

The lies to Eren—her partner, her husband—gnawed at her conscience. The chilling image of the "ghost" haunted her. The memory of being hunted and nearly kidnapped flashed vividly, her breaths growing shallow. She could still feel the weight of the blade in her hand when she nearly killed Captain Levi, the Premier’s blood on her hands when she ended his life, and the chaos of the raid on Liberio filled her ears with the echoes of gunfire and screams.

Her knees wobbled as the image of the Marleyan soldiers she killed in the cabin surfaced, their lifeless faces etched in her memory. Then came the memory of Eren, his hands wrapped around a man’s throat, the life draining from his victim’s body as she watched helplessly. She was drowning in the horrors she had lived through—her life as a slave, her mother’s slow and agonizing death, and the sight of her father being consumed by Lara Tybur, who became the War Hammer Titan.

Her breaths hitched as the memories kept coming, crashing over her like relentless waves. Aurora’s steps faltered, her shoulders trembling as sobs wracked her body. She stopped entirely, clutching her baby bump instinctively as her vision blurred with tears. She couldn’t breathe—her chest was tight, and her heart pounded erratically. Panic clawed at her, gripping her throat like a vice.

Eren, who had been watching her walk away, immediately noticed her faltering steps and the way her shoulders shook. The sight of Aurora breaking down struck him like a dagger to the heart. In an instant, he was moving, his feet carrying him to her side in long strides.

“Aurora,” he said firmly but gently as he reached her, his hands immediately coming to rest on her shoulders. She flinched slightly at his touch but turned toward him, her tear-streaked face crumpled in anguish. Her wide, panicked eyes met his, and Eren felt his chest tighten.

“I-I can’t,” Aurora stammered, her voice shaking. “I can’t do this anymore, Eren. It’s too much—everything is too much.” Her words were barely coherent between her sobs.

Eren cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he said softly, his voice steady even as worry churned in his stomach. “Breathe, Aurora. You need to breathe. Deep breaths, okay? Focus on me.”

She tried to do as he said, but her breaths were shallow and erratic, her body trembling. Eren leaned closer, his forehead touching hers as he whispered, “You’re safe, Aurora. I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen to you or the baby. Just breathe with me.”

He inhaled deeply, exaggerating the motion for her to see, and then exhaled slowly. Aurora struggled but tried to follow his lead, taking a shaky breath in and letting it out unevenly. Eren stayed with her, breathing with her until her panic began to subside. Her sobs quieted to soft whimpers, though her tears still fell.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for everything—for lying, for putting everyone in danger, for being weak—”

“You’re not weak,” Eren interrupted, his tone firm. “You’ve been through hell, Aurora. Anyone would break under what you’ve had to endure, but you’re still standing. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Aurora shook her head, tears spilling anew. “It doesn’t feel that way. I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Eren’s hands moved to cradle the back of her head, pulling her into his chest. “You don’t have to hold it together all the time. That’s why I’m here, Aurora. To catch you when you feel like you’re falling.” He rested his chin on top of her head, his arms wrapped protectively around her. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not alone in this.”

She clung to him, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as she cried into his chest. Eren held her tightly, his own heart heavy as he felt the depth of her pain. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, “You’re not weak, and you’re not alone. We’re in this together, Aurora. Always.”

Aurora’s breathing gradually evened out, and she nodded against his chest, her sobs subsiding. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I love you, Eren,” she whispered, her voice raw.

“I love you too,” he replied without hesitation, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “More than anything.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment before guiding her back toward their quarters. “Come on. Let’s get you off your feet. You need to rest.”

Aurora nodded, letting Eren lead her back inside. Despite the lingering weight of her emotions, she felt a small flicker of comfort in his unwavering presence.

He guided Aurora to their room with gentle care, helping her ease into the bed. He brushed her hair from her face as she sat on the edge, her eyes still puffy and red from crying. Her body was exhausted, but the whirlwind of emotions and memories left her mind restless. Eren knelt in front of her, unlacing her boots and setting them aside before wrapping her in the warmest embrace he could muster.

“You’ve done enough for today,” he murmured softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “You need to rest.”

Aurora nodded weakly, letting Eren guide her into the bed. He pulled the blanket over her and slid in beside her, wrapping his arms protectively around her. She nestled into his chest, her head tucked under his chin, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear began to soothe her frayed nerves. His fingers combed gently through her hair as he whispered, “I’m here, Aurora. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Her breathing evened out, and before long, she slipped into a deep sleep. Eren sighed in relief, holding her a little tighter. His heart ached seeing her like this, but he was grateful that, at least for now, she had found a little peace in his arms.

But Aurora’s "dreams" were unlike any she had ever experienced before. The warmth of Eren’s embrace faded, and she found herself standing in an otherworldly expanse. The sky above was dark, but not menacing, illuminated by a network of glowing paths that stretched infinitely in all directions, crisscrossing the air like celestial rivers. At the center of this ethereal realm stood a massive, otherworldly tree-like structure, its gnarled roots and branches twisting and sprawling in a way that defied logic. The sight was breathtaking, and Aurora was struck with awe and confusion.

“Where… am I?” she whispered, her voice echoing faintly.

Her wonder quickly turned to unease as she caught sight of her "ghost." The pale blonde girl stood a short distance away, her vacant, sorrowful eyes fixed on Aurora’s belly as usual. Aurora stiffened instinctively, her heart racing with fear. But this time, something held her back from running or screaming. There was no malice in the child’s gaze—only overwhelming grief and sadness.

Aurora’s breath hitched as she forced herself to stand still, her eyes never leaving the ghostly figure. “Who are you?” she asked softly, her voice trembling but curious. “What do you want from me?”

The girl didn’t answer. Instead, she took a hesitant step forward, her bare feet soundless against the shimmering path. Aurora’s pulse quickened as the girl closed the distance between them, her small hand reaching out. Before Aurora could react, the girl’s cold fingers brushed her forehead.

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck Aurora. Her vision blurred, and a jarring sensation overtook her as she felt her consciousness being yanked out of her body and placed into another. Her surroundings changed abruptly. She was no longer in the strange, celestial realm but in a dark room illuminated only by the dim glow of an oil lamp hanging on the wall. The air smelled faintly of coffee, and she saw a steaming mug on the table in front of her.

Aurora’s senses felt strange and foreign, as if her body didn’t belong to her. She noticed the petite, frazzled-looking brunette standing across from her. There was something hauntingly familiar about the woman, but Aurora couldn’t place where she’d seen her before.

Her gaze drifted to the mirror on the wall. She turned to it hesitantly, and when she saw her reflection, a scream tore from her throat. Staring back at her was a tall, scruffy man with long, unkempt blonde hair and a beard. His piercing eyes held a resemblance to Eren’s, but they were sharper, colder. Aurora stumbled back, her hands flying to her face, only to find that the reflection moved with her.

“What is this?!” she cried out, her voice echoing unnaturally. Her senses spun as panic clawed at her chest.

…

Aurora jolted awake with a scream, her body trembling violently as she clutched at her chest. She was back in her bed, in her quarters, but the feeling of displacement and the terrifying vision of the man in the mirror lingered. Her heart pounded wildly, and her skin was clammy with sweat.

“Aurora!” Eren exclaimed, sitting up in alarm. He reached for her, his hands resting firmly on her shoulders. “What happened? Are you okay?!”

She stared at him, her wide, terrified eyes searching his face as if trying to confirm that he was real. “I-I don’t know,” she stammered, her voice shaky and raw. “I saw… something… someone.”

Eren pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he rocked her gently. “It was just a nightmare,” he whispered, though his own worry crept into his tone. “You’re safe now. Whatever you saw—it’s not real.”

Aurora clung to him, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. “Eren, it felt so real,” she murmured. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Eren’s jaw tightened as he held her close, stroking her hair in an attempt to calm her. His mind raced with questions and unease. Something was clearly happening to Aurora, something beyond her control. And Eren vowed to get to the bottom of it—whatever it took.

…

Meanwhile on the other side of the sea in Liberio…

The dimly lit room was suffocating, its silence broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall. An oil lamp flickered faintly, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with unease as Pieck and Reiner stood before Zeke Jaeger. A steaming mug of coffee was on the table in front of him and the air was thick with tension, their faces grim. Marley’s plans to massacre the Eldians were no secret to them, and the weight of their next steps pressed heavily on their shoulders.

Pieck crossed her arms, her usual sly demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. “We can’t do this alone, Zeke,” she began, her voice steady but low. “You know what the generals are planning. They want to wipe us out—our families, everyone in the internment zone. They’ve decided they don’t need us anymore.”

Reiner, standing beside her, nodded. His jaw was clenched, the familiar haunted look in his eyes even more pronounced. “This isn’t just about Paradis anymore. They’re not going to stop with the island. Marley wants to end every Eldian life—ours included.”

Zeke sat at the table, his fingers laced under his chin as he listened. The light of the oil lamp above cast shadows on his face, obscuring his expression. He looked contemplative, though not in the way Pieck and Reiner had hoped.

Pieck leaned forward, her tone growing more urgent. “You’re the only one who can help us, Zeke. You’ve always been a step ahead. If we can find a way to stop this genocide, we need to act now.”

Zeke’s eyes shifted to meet hers, but there was something detached in his gaze. He exhaled slowly. “I’ve known about Marley’s plans for some time now,” he admitted.

Reiner stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides. “And you’ve done nothing? They’re planning to kill everyone. Your own people.”

Zeke’s lips curled into a faint, almost pitying smile. “I don’t think you understand, Reiner. My plan goes far beyond what Marley intends. If we succeed in making contact with Eren, we can use the Founding Titan’s power to put an end to this cycle of hatred. No more suffering, no more war, no more Eldians.”

Pieck frowned, confusion lacing her features. “What are you talking about?”

Zeke leaned back in his chair, his voice calm but laced with conviction. “The Euthanasia Plan,” he said. “With the Founding Titan’s power, we can render every subject of Ymir incapable of reproduction. Marley won’t need to fear us anymore. The world will no longer have a reason to hate Eldians, and we’ll fade away peacefully.”

Reiner’s face twisted with rage. “You’re talking about killing our people—our future—just to appease Marley?”

Zeke raised a hand to silence him. “I’m talking about salvation. You don’t see the bigger picture, Reiner. The hatred won’t stop. This is the only way.”

Pieck opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Zeke’s body stiffened. His eyes widened as if he’d been struck, and he let out a strangled scream that echoed in the small room. Pieck and Reiner exchanged alarmed looks as Zeke’s hand shot to his forehead.

“Zeke!” Pieck stepped forward, her voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

But Zeke wasn’t in the room anymore.

He was standing in a place he’d only seen fleetingly in the past: the Paths. The dark sky stretched endlessly above him, and the massive tree-like structure loomed in the distance, its roots sprawling in every direction. Zeke’s heart raced as he took in the scene, his mind spinning with confusion and dread. Why was he here now?

Then he saw her.

A little girl stood nearby, her blank eyes staring ahead. The sight sent a chill down Zeke’s spine—he recognized her. She was the same child who appeared each time he visited the Paths, the very essence of the Founding Titan’s power. Ymir Fritz.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

Standing beside her was a woman—petite, graceful, and radiant. Her distinct platinum blonde hair shimmered faintly in the dim light, cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene yet haunting. Something about the shape of her face struck Zeke as eerily familiar.

His breath caught in his throat. “No… it can’t be.”

The woman’s resemblance to Dina, his mother, was uncanny. But it wasn’t Dina. And that hair… Zeke had heard stories of her—Eren’s wife. Aurora Jaeger.

“What is this?” Zeke whispered, his voice trembling. “Why is she here?”

His mind raced with possibilities. This should have been impossible. Aurora wasn’t a Titan shifter. She wasn’t even supposed to have access to the Paths. Unless…

The thought made Zeke’s stomach drop. Could she be a member of the royal family?

Before he could process the revelation, the little girl reached out and touched Aurora’s hand, and the scene began to blur and fade. Zeke felt himself being pulled back, the ethereal world of the Paths slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Zeke jolted back into his body with a gasp, his eyes wide and wild. He was disoriented, his heart hammering in his chest as if he’d run a marathon. Pieck was leaning over him, her brows furrowed with concern.

“Zeke!” she exclaimed. “What happened? You screamed.”

Zeke’s hand went to his chest as he tried to steady his breathing. He looked at Pieck, then at Reiner, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. His mind was spinning, replaying the vision over and over.

Aurora Jaeger… in the Paths.

It was impossible, yet it had happened. And if she was truly connected to the royal family… the implications were staggering.

His mind was spinning like a wheel in mud, unable to find traction. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he paced the dimly lit room. The oil lamp on the wall flickered, casting jagged shadows that seemed to taunt his chaotic thoughts. Pieck and Reiner exchanged confused glances, their concern mounting as they watched him unravel.

“Zeke,” Pieck said carefully, her voice calm but firm. “What the hell just happened? You looked like you saw a ghost.”

Zeke froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing as if she’d hit too close to the truth. He turned to her slowly, his face unreadable, but the tension in his body betrayed his inner turmoil.

“Did you…” He hesitated, his voice tight. “Did you see anything unusual? Hear anything?”

Pieck frowned, crossing her arms. “No. You screamed, asked “What is this?” and went pale. That’s why I’m asking you what’s going on.”

Reiner stepped forward, his towering frame looming over Zeke. “We don’t have time for you to keep secrets, Zeke. If something’s wrong, you need to tell us.”

Zeke’s jaw tightened as he weighed his options. Should he tell them? Could he tell them? This wasn’t just about him anymore; this revelation had seismic implications. If Aurora Jaeger was connected to the royal family, it changed everything. It wasn’t just a coincidence that she had appeared in the Paths. It couldn’t be.

“I… need to think,” Zeke finally said, his voice low but steady. He turned away from them, running a hand through his hair as he tried to organize his thoughts. “Give me a moment.”

Pieck’s brow furrowed deeply. “You need to think? Zeke, you screamed like you were dying. What happened to you? Are you sick? Did something happen in your head?”

“Pieck, I said I need a moment!” Zeke snapped, the rare outburst startling both her and Reiner into silence.

Pieck exchanged a wary look with Reiner, who crossed his arms but said nothing. She sighed and leaned against the table, keeping her sharp eyes on Zeke as he turned his back to them.

Zeke’s mind raced as he replayed the vision in the Paths. The little girl—Ymir Fritz, without a doubt—had been standing there. That part wasn’t new to him. But the woman… Aurora. Her platinum blonde hair, her serene yet otherworldly presence—it couldn’t have been a hallucination. She wasn’t a Titan shifter. She shouldn’t have been there.

Unless…

Zeke swallowed hard, his throat dry. The only explanation that made sense was one that filled him with equal parts dread and fascination: Aurora Jaeger must truly be tied to the royal bloodline.

But how? His mother, Dina Fritz had been the last known royal, and she was long dead. His mother had told him once she had a younger cousin who supposedly died that she grew up withm but she never went into detail about her. And besides, the intelligience they from the Tyburs shows that Aurora Jaeger was born to an Eldian slave who worked for the Tyburs and a Marlyean who also worked for the family. Those two were far from any royal connections.

 It didn’t add up, yet the Paths didn’t lie. Ymir Fritz didn’t manifest someone there unless they were significant.

“Zeke!” Reiner’s sharp tone cut through his spiraling thoughts, grounding him back to the present. “Enough. You need to explain what’s going on.”

Zeke sighed heavily and turned back to face them, his expression grim. “I… I saw something,” he admitted, his voice quiet but deliberate.

“What kind of something?” Pieck pressed, her arms still crossed but her posture less rigid.

Zeke hesitated. Should he tell them everything? The weight of the revelation pressed against his chest. He settled on partial truth. “It was in the Paths,” he said. “Something… unexpected happened.”

“The Paths?” Reiner repeated, his eyes narrowing. “You mean the Coordinate?”

Zeke nodded. “It’s more than that. It’s a connection to Ymir Fritz. To the Founding Titan’s power.”

“And what did you see?” Pieck asked, her voice cautious now.

Zeke’s eyes flickered toward them, measuring their reactions. “Aurora Jaeger,” he said finally, his words heavy with implication.

Reiner and Pieck froze, their confusion palpable. “Aurora?” Pieck said, disbelief coloring her tone. “Eren’s wife? How? She’s not a Titan shifter.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Zeke said, pacing again. “But she was there. In the Paths. Standing beside Ymir Fritz.”

Reiner’s brow furrowed deeply, his arms falling to his sides. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would she be there?”

Zeke’s lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s only one explanation I can think of. She might be… connected to the royal bloodline.”

Pieck’s eyes widened slightly, but her skepticism remained. “That’s a pretty big leap, Zeke. Aurora was a slave in Marley. How could she be related to royalty?”

“I don’t know,” Zeke admitted, frustration leaking into his voice. “But it’s the only thing that makes sense. Ymir doesn’t bring just anyone to the Paths. It has to mean something.”

Reiner shook his head, his expression clouded with doubt. “This doesn’t change anything. Royal or not, Aurora’s not going to stop Marley’s plans or help us figure out a way to end this.”

Zeke stopped pacing and looked at them both, his gaze intense. “It changes everything,” he said. “If Aurora has royal blood, it means she has a connection to the Founder’s power.”

Pieck and Reiner exchanged uneasy looks, the gravity of Zeke’s words sinking in.

“So what do we do?” Pieck asked finally, her voice quieter than usual.

Zeke’s expression darkened. “We find out the truth. And we use it to our advantage.”

~

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[amourquinn]

𝐀𝐂𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 ; quinn hughes

chapter one

「 author’s note 」 the first chapter is a throwback!!

↤ prologue - next chapter ↦

2020, BARCELONA

Marc sat in the living room, his elbow propped on the armrest of the couch, his chin resting on his hand. The television flickered in front of him, muted, but he wasn’t paying attention. His thoughts were elsewhere, heavy with concern for his daughter. The Camila he knew—the vibrant, lively young girl who filled their home with laughter—was a shadow of herself now. Ever since she had returned from Michigan, she had locked herself away in her room, only emerging when absolutely necessary. And even then, her presence was fleeting.

Valeria entered the room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She paused when she saw Marc’s distant expression and sat beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“¿Qué pasa, amor?” she asked softly, tilting her head to meet his gaze. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

Marc let out a heavy sigh. “It’s Camila. I’m worried about her, Valeria. She’s been in her room all day again. She barely eats. She barely talks. I don’t know how to help her.”

Valeria nodded slowly, her lips pressed together in a tight line. She had been watching their daughter retreat further into herself since their return to Barcelona. At first, she thought it was just the shock of the breakup, but weeks had passed, and Camila’s sadness had not lessened. If anything, it seemed to grow heavier with time.

“lo sé,” Valeria said gently. “She’s hurting, Marc. The breakup with Quinn… it’s not something she’s handling well. But she’s so young. She doesn’t know how to process all of this.”

Marc leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t want to lose her to this sadness. She’s barely herself anymore. I tried talking to her, but she just shuts me out. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Valeria sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Then, she stood up with purpose, her expression soft but determined. “Hablaré con ella. But first, I’ll make her something to eat. Maybe a warm meal will help her open up.”

Marc nodded, grateful for his wife’s unshakable intuition when it came to their family. “Thank you, my dear.”

She gave him a small smile and headed toward the kitchen. In moments like this, Valeria knew that actions often spoke louder than words. Her daughter needed comfort, not lectures. And nothing brought comfort like food made with love.

Valeria moved quickly, preparing a comforting meal: sopa de fideos, a simple Spanish noodle soup that always reminded her of home. As the warm aroma of simmering broth filled the kitchen, Valeria felt a spark of hope. Maybe this small gesture could begin to ease the weight pressing on her daughter’s heart.

When the soup was ready, Valeria ladled it into a bowl and placed it on a tray alongside a small plate of sliced bread. She carried the tray down the hall, pausing outside Camila’s room. The door was closed, as it always was these days. Valeria knocked softly.

“Camila, soy mamá,” she called gently. “Can I come in?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Valeria thought she wouldn’t get an answer. But then, a faint voice came from the other side. “Come in.”

Valeria pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly shut. Camila was curled up on the bed, her back against the headboard, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her small frame. Her hair was unbrushed, her eyes red and tired. A laptop sat beside her, forgotten.

“Hola, mi amor,” Valeria said softly, her heart aching at the sight of her daughter. She placed the tray on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. “I made you some sopa de fideos.”

Camila glanced at the tray but didn’t move. “Thanks, mamá,” she said quietly, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

Valeria reached out to brush a strand of hair from Camila’s face. “You haven’t eaten much lately, mija. You need to take care of yourself. Even if you’re feeling sad, your body still needs you to be kind to it.”

Camila lowered her gaze, her fingers picking at the edge of her hoodie. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Valeria sighed softly and moved closer, placing a comforting hand on her daughter’s knee. “Camila, I know you’re going through a lot right now. And I know the breakup with Quinn has been hard for you. Pero quiero que sepas algo, mi niña—you are not alone. We’re here for you. I’m here for you.”

Camila’s lip trembled, and tears welled in her eyes. “I feel like I ruined everything, mamá. Quinn was so good to me, and I just… I let him go. I pushed him away. What if I made the biggest mistake of my life?”

Valeria’s eyes softened, and she pulled Camila into a gentle hug. “Ay, mi amor, no digas eso. You made the decision you thought was right for you at the time. That doesn’t make you a bad person. Relationships are complicated, and sometimes, even love isn’t enough to make things work.”

“But I still love him,” Camila admitted, her voice breaking. “And now it’s too late. I can’t take it back. I can’t fix it.”

Valeria pulled back to look into her daughter’s eyes, her hands resting on Camila’s shoulders. “Escúchame, Camila. Life isn’t about looking back and wondering ‘what if.’ It’s about moving forward, even when it’s hard. You have to forgive yourself, mija. Holding on to guilt will only weigh you down.”

Camila nodded slowly, her tears spilling over as she leaned back into her mother’s embrace. For a long moment, they sat in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the house around them.

After a while, Valeria spoke again, her tone lighter. “You know, Isabel called earlier. She and some of the family are coming over for dinner tonight. I thought it might be nice to have everyone together. And guess what I’m making?”

Camila pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes. “What?”

“Seafood paella,” Valeria said with a small smile. “Your favorite.”

A flicker of light returned to Camila’s face, and for the first time in weeks, she smiled—just a little, but it was there. “Really?”

“Sí, really,” Valeria said, her voice teasing. “I thought it might cheer you up a little. You’ve always loved it when we make paella together, remember?”

Camila nodded, the memory of family dinners and laughter filling her mind. “Thanks, mamá.”

Valeria cupped her daughter’s cheek, her thumb brushing away the remnants of her tears. “That’s my girl. Now, eat some soup, take a shower, and get ready to see everyone. Poco a poco, mija. One step at a time.”

Camila gave another small nod, her heart feeling just a little lighter. As her mother left the room, she looked at the bowl of soup on the tray. It wasn’t just food—it was love, warmth, and hope, served in the simplest way.

For a moment, she felt like she could take a breath. Maybe the road to healing wouldn’t be so impossible after all. Maybe, just maybe, she could find her way back to herself.

And for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to believe it.

⋆˙⟡

The warm afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the backyard. The faint hum of conversation and laughter drifted from the patio, where family members gathered, enjoying Valeria’s cooking. The earlier tension that had clouded the house seemed to have lifted, replaced by a soothing sense of togetherness.

Camila sat on the edge of the pool, her feet submerged in the cool water, watching Isabel swim a lazy lap. Her childhood best friend had arrived earlier that evening with her usual boundless energy, enveloping Camila in a tight hug the moment she walked through the door. The embrace had been a balm for Camila’s weary heart, a reminder that there were people who still saw her, who still cared.

“¡Vamos, Mila!” Isabel called, splashing water in her direction. “Don’t just sit there. Get in!”

Camila rolled her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. Isabel always had a way of lightening her mood, even when she didn’t feel like smiling. “I just got in five minutes ago, Isa. Give me a break.”

“You call that swimming?” Isabel teased, pulling herself up to sit beside Camila. Her dark curls were dripping wet, and her cheeks were flushed from the heat. “I thought you’d have more stamina after living in the U.S. for so long.”

Camila gave her a playful shove, laughing softly. It felt good to laugh, even if it was just for a moment. “I didn’t spend all my time swimming in Michigan, you know.”

“No?” Isabel asked, her tone curious. “Then what did you do over there? You’ve barely told me anything since you got back.”

Camila hesitated, her smile faltering for a brief second. She had been so consumed by her emotions that she hadn’t even thought about catching up with Isabel. But now, sitting beside her oldest friend, the weight on her chest felt just a little lighter. Maybe it was time to share, to let someone in.

“Well,” Camila began, dipping her toes into the water. “I studied at the University of Michigan. That’s where I met most of my friends, and there was that one guy, Quinn.”

Isabel perked up at the mention of a name. “Quinn? Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping a secret boyfriend from me all this time.”

Camila let out a quiet laugh, though there was a bittersweet edge to it. “He’s… my ex, actually. We were together for a while.”

Isabel’s eyes widened, and she turned to face Camila fully, leaning forward with curiosity. “Ex? Espera, espera, start from the beginning. I need all the details. What was he like? How did you meet?”

Camila took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the rippling water in front of her. The memories of Quinn felt distant yet vivid, like a dream she couldn’t quite shake. “We met through some mutual friends at a lake house. He was—he is—an amazing guy. Kind, funny, hardworking. And he plays hockey, professionally. That was his whole world.”

Isabel whistled, impressed. “A hockey player, huh? Sounds dreamy. So what happened?”

Camila bit her lip, her heart squeezing at the question. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she could talk about it. But then she glanced at Isabel, who was watching her with genuine concern and interest. If there was anyone she could trust with this, it was Isabel.

“It just… didn’t work out,” Camila said softly, her voice tinged with regret. “We were young, and we weren’t there anymore. He was so focused on his career, and I didn’t know where I fit into all of that. I felt like I was holding him back. And he deserved someone who could support him fully, someone who wouldn’t feel… lost.”

Isabel frowned, her brows knitting together. “But what about you? What did you want?”

Camila looked down at her hands, her fingers trailing through the water. “I don’t know, Isa. Back then, I thought I was doing the right thing—for both of us. But now… now I wonder if I made a mistake. If maybe I should’ve fought harder for us.”

Isabel reached out and placed a comforting hand on Camila’s shoulder. “Mila, you can’t blame yourself for how things turned out. It sounds like you were trying to do what was best for both of you. And honestly? That takes a lot of strength.”

Camila nodded, though her chest still felt heavy. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice quieter. “He wasn’t just my boyfriend, Isa. He was my first… everything.”

Isabel’s brows lifted in understanding, and she didn’t say anything, letting Camila continue at her own pace.

“My first boyfriend. My first kiss. My first… time,” Camila admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly as she said the words. “He was the first person I ever really let in. And I trusted him with all of it. That’s what makes it so hard, Isa. Letting him go felt like letting go of a part of myself.”

Isabel’s expression softened, her teasing demeanor replaced by genuine care. “Oh, Camila… that’s a lot to process. No wonder it’s been so hard for you. But you know what? Your firsts don’t define you. They’re just part of your story. And even if Quinn was your first everything, that doesn’t mean he has to be your last.”

Camila smiled faintly, her heart warming at Isabel’s words. “Gracias, Isa. I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime,” Isabel said, flashing her a bright grin. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she added, “But seriously, a professional hockey player? You’ve been holding out on me. Was he cute?”

Camila laughed, the sound genuine and light. “Yes, he was cute. Extremely cute.”

“lo sabía!” Isabel exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “And let me guess—he had that whole ‘brooding athlete’ vibe, right? Like, quiet but secretly sweet?”

Camila shook her head, still laughing. “Not exactly. He was more of the steady, dependable type. Always there when you needed him.”

Isabel sighed dramatically. “Ugh, why do all the good ones have to be in another country? You’ve ruined me, Mila. Now I’ll never settle for less.”

Camila rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well,” Isabel said, standing up and stretching, “perfect or not, it sounds like he was important to you. And that’s what matters. But you know what else matters? Living your life, aquí y ahora. So how about we stop moping and actually swim? I didn’t come here to sit around!”

Camila laughed again, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. “Fine, fine. Let’s swim.”

The two of them dove into the pool, the cool water washing away the lingering heaviness in Camila’s chest. And as Isabel splashed her playfully, laughing and shouting, Camila realized something: maybe moving on didn’t mean forgetting. Maybe it just meant learning to carry the memories with grace.

For now, that was enough.

2020, MICHIGAN

The sound of skates slicing across ice echoed through the empty arena, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of a puck against the boards. Quinn weaved through the neutral zone with practiced ease, his movements sharp and deliberate, though his mind was elsewhere. Across the rink, Jack and Luke passed the puck back and forth, exchanging bursts of laughter as they tried to outmaneuver each other.

It was supposed to be a casual skate, just the three of them blowing off steam after weeks of busy schedules. But for Quinn, it felt more like a futile attempt to distract himself from the gnawing ache in his chest. No matter how many laps he skated or how many shots he took, his thoughts always circled back to her.

It had been weeks—months, really—since the breakup, but the pain lingered like a dull bruise. Every once in a while, it would flare up, sharp and insistent, reminding him of what he’d lost. Today was one of those days.

“Quinn!” Jack’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. “You good?”

Quinn blinked, realizing he had drifted to a stop near the blue line, his stick resting idly on the ice. He forced a nod, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Jack skated over, his younger brother’s sharp eyes scanning him with concern. “You’ve been ‘just thinking’ a lot lately.” he hesitated before asking. “Is this about Cam?”

Quinn sighed, taking off his hockey glove and raking a hand through his short hair. There was no point denying it. Jack had always been perceptive when it came to him, and besides, Camila had been on his mind constantly since the day they parted ways.

“It’s nothing,” Quinn said, his voice low. “Just… wondering how she’s doing.”

Jack tilted his head, leaning on his stick. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. Luke and I can both tell you’ve been off since the breakup.”

As if on cue, Luke skated over, his expression curious. “What’s going on?”

“Quinn’s overthinking,” Jack supplied before Quinn could answer.

“I’m not overthinking,” Quinn muttered, though the weight in his chest said otherwise.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then what’s on your mind?”

Quinn hesitated, staring down at the ice. The breakup had been his decision as much as Camila’s. They both knew their priorities didn’t align—his relentless focus on hockey, her uncertainty about where she fit into his life. It had felt like the right choice at the time, but now, all he could think about was what might have been.

“I just keep wondering if I screwed up,” Quinn admitted finally. His voice was quiet, but the rawness in his tone made both of his brothers pause. “She deserved better than what I could give her. But… I don’t know. Maybe I should’ve tried harder. Maybe we could’ve made it work.”

Luke frowned, his brow furrowing. “You can’t beat yourself up over it, Quinn. If it wasn’t the right time, it wasn’t the right time.”

“Yeah,” Jack added, his tone more direct. “You both did what you thought was best. It’s not like you didn’t care about her.”

“I did care about her,” Quinn said, his voice heavy. “I still do.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the faint hum of the arena’s cooling system. Jack exchanged a glance with Luke before speaking again, his tone gentler this time. “Have you talked to her since? Like, at all?”

Quinn shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “No. I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Well,” Jack said carefully, “she updated me a few weeks ago.”

Quinn’s head snapped up, his heart thudding in his chest. “What did she say?”

Jack shrugged, trying to play it casual. “Just that she’s doing well. She’s reconnecting with her old friends and family. Sounds like she’s figuring things out.”

Quinn’s chest tightened. He could picture her in Spain so vividly—her sun-kissed skin, her laughter carried on the Mediterranean breeze. It was the kind of life she deserved, one full of color and adventure. “I’m glad she’s doing well,” he said quietly. “I hope she’s happy.”

“You really mean that?” Luke asked, tilting his head.

Quinn nodded, his gaze distant. “Of course I do. I mean, it hurts, but… I want the best for her. Always.”

Jack’s expression softened, and he hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I miss her too, you know.”

Quinn turned to look at him, surprised by the admission. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “She’s one of my best friends, Quinn. You know that. It sucks that things didn’t work out between you two, but… I miss having her around.”

Luke nodded in agreement. “She was always fun to have around. Felt like part of the family.”

Quinn’s heart ached at their words. Camila hadn’t just been a part of his life—she’d become a part of theirs too. And now, her absence was felt in more ways than one. “I miss her too,” he admitted quietly. “More than I can even explain.”

Jack clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. “We all do. But she’s still out there, living her life, and I’m sure she still thinks about you, Q. Just because you’re not together doesn’t mean she’s forgotten you.”

Quinn nodded, though the weight in his chest didn’t ease. “Thanks, guys.”

Jack gave him a small smile. “Anytime.”

They skated for another hour, the familiar rhythm of the game helping to clear Quinn’s mind, if only temporarily.

⋆˙⟡

Later that night, after the arena lights had dimmed and the three of them had returned to the quiet of their home, the ache resurfaced.

Quinn lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by. His phone sat on the nightstand, tantalizingly close. He tried to ignore the urge, but eventually, he gave in, reaching for it and opening Instagram.

He hadn’t looked at Camila’s profile since the breakup. It felt too raw, too close. But tonight, he couldn’t help himself. His thumb hovered over her name for a moment before he tapped it, bracing himself for the flood of emotions.

Her profile picture hadn’t changed—it was still the same radiant smile he remembered so well. But it was her most recent post that caught his attention. A photo of her at the beach, the sun setting behind her as she stood barefoot in the sand. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her hair tousled by the breeze, her expression serene.

Quinn’s heart ached as he stared at the image. She looked happy—truly happy—and he wanted to believe that was enough for him. But a small part of him couldn’t help wondering if she ever thought about him, if she missed him the way he missed her.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. This was what he wanted for her, wasn’t it? A fresh start, a chance to chase her dreams without the weight of his career holding her back. She deserved all of it and more.

But still, as he set his phone down and turned off the light, the image of her lingered in his mind. And as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t shake the quiet hope that, somewhere in the depths of her heart, she still held a piece of him, too.

© amourquinn

[420days]

CHAPTER 2

excuse any errors or mistakes

tags: @bebesobrielo @trentybenty @amandairene88 @kiki1704 @paigereeder @uceyliyahh @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @chloeijuana @tian-monique

"What about this?" Simone asked Bianca as she pulled the dress out of her suitcase "I feel like this is an appropriate outfit for the interview.

Simone had landed in Tampa the night before and was currently in her hotel room trying to find something to wear to the venue where the meet and greet would take place.

"I like that. It's cute, you're not doing too much, and you still look good. Maybe you can find a boo out there too," Bianca raised her eyebrows at her.

"Girl ! I'm not here for none of that. I'm honestly more excited to see all the little kids with there merch and stuff.”

"Mmmh, I forgot you love the kids." Bianca nodded her head into the phone. "They’re gonna be so happy to see y’all.”

When they got off the phone, Simone began doing her hair, parting it down the middle and hotcombing the top so it was flat. She swooped her baby hairs and perfected her makeup.

After getting dressed, Simone arrived at the Stadium around nine-thirty, earlier than necessary but just how she liked it. She appreciated having time to settle in, get familiar with her surroundings, and find something to eat.

She instantly noticed how packed it was, with volunteers running around setting things up. Unsure of what to do or who to help, she spotted a woman walking past with a badge around her neck. The woman was dressed in a black pantsuit, matching heels, and her hair slicked into a low bun.

"Um, excuse me," Simone said, stopping her.

"Yes?" The woman gave Simone a blank look.

"I was invited here for an interview. I don't really know who I'm supposed to talk to or what I'm supposed to do."

Sighing, the woman took the clipboard from under her arm and looked up. "What's your name?"

"Simone." She slightly rolled her eyes at the woman who seemed to be uninterested.

"Oh yes! I can see your name right here on the list. Come over here so I can get you settled in." The woman waived Simone over to the backstage area.

The woman clipped a microphone pack to the back of her shirt and led her to the dressing room that was set up for her and Roman. There was all kinds of snack and drinks set up on the table so she helped herself to the fruit along with a bottle of water. As she was snacking there was a knock at the door. It was the same woman from earlier with Roman not too far behind her.

“It will probably we another 30 minutes until they’re ready for you guys but I’ll come check on you guys in a few.” She told them.

“Hey.” Simone smiled when he walked into the room.

“Hey Simone, how are you?” He spoke to her.

“Well and yourself?”

“Ah, I can’t complain. Have you been here long?” He kept the conversation going.

"Not really, I just got here and I had to walk around for a little bit to find somone that works here. They didn’t give any instructions on what to do when we got here.”

“That’s the same thing that happend to me. I was looking for you when I came in.” He told her as he sat down in the seat next to her.

“They need to give the champs better treatment.” She pursed her lips causing him to let out a laugh.

-

“She was definitely flirting with you.”

“You think so?” Roman raised an eyebrow as he opened the car door for Simone to climb inside. He hosnlty wants laying the woman any attention and thought she was unprofessional.

“Yes! She wasn’t even asking me any questions for real but that’s fine. I get it.” She held her hands up defensively.

“Oh, you get it?” He chuckled as he ran his hand over his beard and got comfortable in his seat.

“I mean yeah I’m not gonna sit here and lie like you’re not attractive but she should’ve been doing her job.” Simone giggled before pulling her hair over her shoulder.

“You’ve been blunt your whole life?” He asked her after a moment of silence passed between them. Roman knew he had to break the ice with Simone if he wanted to get to know her.

“I wouldn’t say blunt but definitely outspoken. I feel like people make normal things awkward for no reason. I’m not going to lie about someone being fine, respectfully of course. Not to be disrespectful towards your wife or anything.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m divorced.” He spoke.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Simone spoke not knowing if it was a sensitive topic for him. She went through a breakup herself last year so she knew it could be touchy.

“Don’t be, it’s all good. Are you seeing anyone?” He asked catching her off guard but she felt like she had to quickly clear it up.

“Nope. ” She shook her head and looked down at her freshly manicured nails.

“I’d love you take you out sometime and get to know you more if you’re up for it. I know we’re busy and everything.” He motioned towards their belts. “But I could make time.”

“That would be nice. I’d definitely be down for that. Would you want to take my number?” Simone smiled at him, slightly surprised that he was interested in him.

“Most definitely.” He nodded his head and took his phone out the pants pocket of his dress pants and handed it to her.

[quinnynation]

in the middle ᯓᡣ𐭩 colby brock & sam golbach one-shot

pairing : boyfriend!sam golbach x doberman!reader x colby brock

summary : colby expected this conversation to go way worse than it actually did

warning/extra tid-bits : no warnings but a disclaimer that this fic is about POLYAMORYYYY!! and just bc sam and colby are dating dobie that does NOT mean they’re dating each other <3

word count : 1,070

divider credit : pics from pinterest ,, dividers by @fleurwy

Nobody was mad. Which was interesting because this seemed like the perfect opportunity for fists to fly.

Two best friends in love with the same girl, a trope so common that Dobie refused to watch any movie or read any book that contained it. Yet, here she was. In the middle of Sam and Colby’s kitchen, leaning against the counter with both boys standing on either side of her- directly facing each other.

“We can figure this out.” Sam, her boyfriend, said adamantly. It was cute and Dobie hoped it was true because she would not be the reason Sam and Colby’s career fell apart. 

It was either Sam and Colby stayed together, or she left. Dobie decided that the moment that the boys told her of Colby’s feelings for her.

Dobie’s arms were crossed over her chest protectively, trying to hide the fact she was nervous. If Sam knew she was nervous, he’d be neurotic. If Colby knew Sam and Dobie were nervous, he’d be petrified.

She watched as the two best friends spoke calmly to one another, Colby explaining how he came to realize his feelings for Dobie while also explaining the guilt that weighed heavy on his shoulders for falling for his best friend’s girlfriend. 

Dobie would have been lying if she said she wasn’t at least a bit flattered that both boys seemed to have grown absolutely infatuated by her. 

“And I know- trust me, I know this is the shittiest thing I could do to you- to both of you.” Colby confessed, his blue eyes turning misty. Dobie frowned; she hated when her friends cried. 

Mostly because she didn’t want her friends feeling any sort of negative emotion, but also partly because she’d always seemed to lack in the whole “comforting” department. It’s not that she didn’t try, it’s just that her way of comforting included cracking jokes- which wasn’t always appropriate.

“You could’ve murdered us, that’d be way shittier than this.” Dobie joked, making Sam and Colby turn to her with concerned expressions.

See, not always appropriate.

“Sorry, bad joke.” Dobie chuckled, looking down at her combat boots before looking up and sighing- placing her hands on her hips. 

“Look I…” She racked her brain for what she could possibly say to make this better. To smooth over this hurdle and just, continue on. 

“I’m not mad at you, Colby.” She started, looking towards the brunette man. Dobie’s eyes trailed over to her blonde boy, “You two are best friends, I’m not- I won’t come between that.” Her words were firm; holding no room for argument.

If this were any other situation, Sam would’ve found it hot.

Dobie’s foot tapped against the kitchen tile and Colby felt ashamed at how his heart matched the beat of the thumps. “Please, not even demons could come between us.” Colby said, an attempt to lighten the mood.

The quirk of Sam’s lips told him he was successful. Dobie dipped her head down as she laughed, the corners of her eyes wrinkling.

The three stayed silent for awhile, waiting for someone- anyone to come up with a solution for this mess they were in. It was obvious that nobody had one, yet they all trusted each other enough to rely on each other for one.

Dobie’s eyes widened. They all trusted each other.

“The three of us.” She spoke up, pushing herself off from the counter and allowing a smile to infect her face. Colby and Sam’s brows knit together, “What?” Sam asked- Colby nodded along, equally as confused.

“I mean- it’s the best idea we’ve had so far.” Dobie shrugged happily, looking between the two men. “Dobie, what idea?” The brunette asked, it took everything in him not to smile at how relieved Dobie seemed.

“D’you guys remember that story I told you two, when we visited the conjuring house- the first time?” Dobie asked, looking between both men swiftly. Colby thought for a moment, “About the time you almost hooked up with-” 

“No, Colby, the other one.” Dobie’s tone was one of playful annoyance, which made Sam stifle a laugh. Both men thought quietly before Sam spoke up, “About your girlfriends in high school?” He asked- head tilted in a way that made the top of his hair flop over ever so slightly.

Dobie nodded, walking over to her boyfriend and snaking her arm around his shoulder- “Exactly!” She called out, smiling brightly.

“I’m confused.” Colby said honestly, Sam nodded. Dobie sighed, dropping her hold on Sam and walking over to the brunette boy. Dobie grabbed Colby’s hands and gently tugged him over to Sam’s side of the kitchen, once there she grabbed Sam’s hand with hers.

Colby’s hand in her left, Sam’s in her right.

“I’m okay with having multiple partners.” She spoke slowly, knowing for some people it was a complete turn-off. However, she trusted these boys to listen and not judge.

Sam was quiet, thinking deeply about her proposal. Colby spoke first, “I’m not dating Sam.” 

Dobie and Colby laughed at Sam’s joke-hurt expression, “Well good news, dingus, that’s not how all polycules work.” Dobie informed.

“I can date both of you, without you two dating each other.” She added, Colby thought for a moment.

Could he really do that? Could he really just…share a girlfriend?

“I mean, we already share a channel.” Sam

joked, making Dobie throw her head back with laughter. “And a house.” He added- this time making Colby laugh.

Colby supposed both things were true, he’d trusted Sam with his career, his living space, and even his life at times.

If there was anyone Colby trusted being in a polycule with, it would be Sam and Dobie.

“I..” Colby shook his head, this was not the direction he expected this conversation to take. “Okay, fuck it.” He shrugged, laughing as he looked between Sam and Dobie.

Sam laughed, leaning into Dobie’s side- relieved that the three were able to come to a conclusion that didn’t involve the end of Sam & Colby.

The three were exactly sure how this would play out, but the three trusted each other and that’s what mattered.

Later, when Colby turned on Dobie’s favorite movie he couldn’t help but smile as Dobie curled into his side. Surprisingly, he found he didn’t mind when Sam curled up into Dobie’s side- a bucket of popcorn on his lap.

Dobie found she didn’t mind being in the middle.

a/n : hey so i love them the most actually

taglist !! : @mattsbows @justagirlexisting @cyberskulzzz

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 9; "Never seen that color blue."

“No, yeah, of course! Noo…no! Thank you! I seriously appreciate all of your help and understanding during this! I hope you have a wonderful day! Yeah, aw, thanks! You, too! Yeah- okay- bye!”

My faux smile dropped as soon as my hand did, phone falling to a silenced settle on my left thigh. I breathed a shallow breath of somehow anxious relief, so ironic that it made me want to scream.

Max reached across the bed and rubbed my knee comfortingly, “You okay?”

I wanted to snort, yell, kick my feet, and laugh hysterically. Throw a temper tantrum, wish on a star, kiss a fucking frog. Fall on my knees, beg the skies. Change fate's cruel course of time.

But my expression was blank as I shrugged, “What can ya do?”

The corner of his lips lifted into the saddest smile. His thumb brushed my skin, “It’s gonna be alright. Once you settle back in, things will start to feel normal. You can start…moving on. And, hey, I’m visiting in just a month. You have that to look forward to. School starting, your new role at the clinic. So many good things, Daz.”

He was right- I had so much to be excited about. I really should’ve felt excited, grateful. A better woman would have. A better woman would have seen the blessings all around her and felt so full of life and love. God, she would’ve respected herself enough to not be in this situation in the first place.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel resentful, knowing that I would trade all of it for-

for him.

For Oliver.

I would give up everything for just another moment, hanging onto his lips like a vine. Just a second of growth, even if being ripped away meant digging up the roots and my leaves dying.

I just gave Max that fake smile, knowing full well he was aware that it meant nothing. “You’re right. It’ll be good for me to be home.”

He squeezed my knee before removing his hand. “You wanna finish packing? Or maybe take a break? Get some food?”

I glanced around at the mess of clothes across Sam and I’s hotel room. My bags lay open, a few piles of my stuff already stuffed inside. But there was more than half to be done. So much to be done before I went…before I went home tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Less than 12 hours from now. I’d be heading back to reality. Closing the doors on Europe, on everything and everybody I’d be leaving here.

There was just one week left on the European leg of the two. Tomorrow morning, everyone will be leaving for Germany. I’d go to the airport with them, like normal, but depart at a separate gate, at the same exact time. Those who needed to know, well, I was going to tell them. And those who needed to know the reason why would, too. Sam was going to think I was going home because of an offer for a higher position from the clinic I worked at. But this was only partially true. Training for that wouldn’t even start for another 3 weeks. School wasn’t for a month.

I was leaving for me- for clarity, fresh air. Oliver was right- London was foggy, full of pollution and shitty, selfish men.

I needed to get away, out. Back to routine and home. Back to what I knew- what wouldn’t hurt me.

I looked back to Max, “I'm gonna finish packing. Get it over with. Before Sam gets back. I think it might hurt his feelings to walk in and see this…mess.”

Mess might have held a double meaning. I had looked better, for sure. Max understood, I think, for he knocked his shoulder against mine, then stood from the bed. “We got it, Daz.”

I stood up quickly, knowing the only way to get started was to just start. Stand. Move. (I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.)

It took us another hour or so to finish stuffing my belongings into their bags. I had bought maybe one too many souvenirs, so we struggled to find a place for everything. When we were done, I slew myself across the end of the bed, breathing heavily, sweating a little bit.

Max groaned from the floor, “Why do you own so many things?!”

“Dude, I don’t even know. It’s gonna take me 12 years to unpack!”

He chortled, half-heartedly, patting his stomach as an afterthought. “I am soooo hungry. What do you wanna eat?”

I sat up as he did so, shrugging a bit, “You pick. I don’t have the energy for all that.”

“I’m good with the hotel restaurant if you are.”

“Fuck it.”

So, we sludged our way downstairs. I hadn’t been leaving my room much, worried you-know-who would cross my path and shake things up again. Though, I doubted he was looking for me. He hadn’t so much as texted me since last week. Oliver was probably sulking, convincing himself that he was the victim in this whole thing. The thought made my blood rush a little bit. I clenched my fist as the elevator doors closed, trying to focus on breathing and not screaming.

The past three had been probably one of the worst of my life. I was so…so sad. So angry. Confused. Nothing made sense, yet all of my fears had come true. It was like I knew all the answers, but my bones felt so put off by how they manifested themselves. Like, what do you mean the cold, dark, distant boy turned out to be a cheating, manipulative liar? Right on the money.

My rational mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that it still felt so…disappointing? Wrong? Fucked the fucking fuck up.

The doors slid open. I followed, quietly, behind Max as we headed for the inlet to the left of the front counter. This was a usual part of my new found routine, grabbing food with Max. Albeit, sneakily, with numerous texts between the two of us (me, badgering him) ensuring nobody else (Oliver) was down here. In avoiding him, I had been avoiding everybody else, too.

I could already see their knowing looks. Sam could read me like a book. Ronnie was way psychic and usually felt the vibe of a situation long before it occurred. Adam, obviously, already was aware. And I'm sure he would have relayed the information to Cyrus.

I was exuding this aura of heartbroken, school-girl-fantasy-crushed, sad-puppy shit. I felt tired, and I’m sure my eyes looked it, too. Any passerby probably could have read my emotions pretty well. No matter, I’d be out of here soon. Back home. I could heal, rest, relax, find somebody else to fuck and get the fuck over this dumb ass white boy.

My dumb ass white boy. I’d tried not to think about him, so deeply sunk into this angry feeling that I couldn’t even fathom the idea of missing what had hurt me. Alas, every once and a while (between every other curse I thought of) something would flash through my mind. A distant memory, an image of his deep-ocean blue eyes shining with flames from the rooftop firepit, triggered by a breath, a catch of the wind, a sink in my heart. I’d feel a little moth flicker in my chest. An air bubble, taut in my stomach, would have me hiccuping from gushing tears in an instant.

I think it was the deep blue suede of the hotel bar’s stools that did it this time. I brushed a hand, slowly, watching the color shift from the movement of the fabric. The lighter color reminded me of a time he felt the way I did right now. Sadness. Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to him, maybe his depravity was not comforted by me. But that moment, when I held him, when he nuzzled his head into my neck and began crying-

“Wanna drink?” Max rested a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention back from where I was trudging through fleeting, erasing moments.

I ceased my body from flinching, willed away the wetness in my eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get a drink.”

Which was a mistake.

One drink turned to appetizers turned to three drinks turned to main courses, 5 drinks, 2 shots, and dessert. Before I knew it, Max and I were cackling over some typo on some Twitter post. I gripped his shirt sleeve and hoped I wouldn’t slide off the bar stool. For the first time in a week, I wasn’t concerning myself with the logistics of sticking around in this public area as long as we had been. I wasn’t even thinking of Oliver. In fact, Max and I were discussing some of our favorite shitposts about American politics. My mind was far away from dumb Brits and idiotic Europeans.

Of course, the world had a very funny way of spitting in my face.

Adam, Cyrus, and- low and behold- Oliver came strolling into the bar right when Max and I finished ordering another drink. I felt a little sick, watching as they neared us. Oliver wasn’t paying attention. He never did. His head, sunken into his hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. He moved like the Grim Reaper. I wondered if he had come to take my soul away.

Adam and Cyrus seemed…on edge. They noticed Max and I only after they’d made it halfway across the room. Adam hesitated on his next step, catching my eye, worriedly glancing between me and Oliver.

Max was aware, at this point. He cut himself off mid sentence, swiping a hand across his lips. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “Daisy…let’s go.”

His fingers brushed through mine in a desperate grasp to pull me along with him, towards the door. I was drunk. I was not thinking. I was hysterical, sad, heartbroken, angry. I tugged my hand away, instead flipping into the air to wave and cheerfully catch the group’s full attention.

“Cy! Adam!” I couldn’t quite catch his name on my tongue. I thought I might puke. “Hey, girl!”

Oliver looked up at the sound of voice. He stopped, but three feet from our little round table. The light, dim from the overhead lamps and LED strips behind the counter, caught the round pupils in his eyes. I watched as he blinked once, twice. Blue.

“Oliver!” There it was.

He met my eye. The corners of his lids wilted, like the petals of a flower, aged, saddened. Drops of rain dropping them in weight. Max looked between the two of us. Cyrus busied himself with buying a drink. Adam slouched in the awkward, pregnant air. Oliver ignored me, moved around our group to sit as far away as possible.

I clenched my jaw. Rage. Utter, pure anger. How dare he deny me even now? The fact that he had not come to my door in the past few days, on his knees, begging for my forgiveness- I was seething. And, now, he goes back to his old tricks. Pretending like I don’t exist.

I turned to Max, who was bracing for impact. His hands were wary, held up near me as if to catch my fall. I shrugged, smiled cheekily, wrinkled my nose. I bumped Adam’s shoulder with mine and declared, “Shots on me?”

He continued his smug slump in the bar stool for the next hour. Adam, Cyrus, Max, and I hung like the old pals we were, cracking jokes, swapping stories like we were surrounding a campfire. I glanced at Oliver every once in a while, hoping to accidentally make eye contact like we used to. He stared down at his phone or his glass. I was surprised the device worked considering he’d fucking forgotten my contact existed or something.

Ugh.

What a fucking ass hole.

Adam asked me a question, pulling my attention back in. “Are you excited for Germany?”

Oh. I’d almost forgotten all about this little plot. I knew that if I spoke loud enough, Oliver would hear. He’d react. I could almost hear it, the little hitch in his breath. The tickle in his throat. The flit of his tongue across his lips, the patter of his holey heart.

I felt my own chest jitter with the excitement, the want of a reaction I needed from him. The shock. The idea that I would be an ocean away from him. No longer at an arm’s length.

I turned towards Adam and rested my chin on my fist. I frowned, almost playfully, “Ugh, I hate having to tell you guys like this!”

Cyrus slowly lowered his glass from his lips, having been mid-drink, “What’s up?”

“I’m going home,” my brows furrowed in a naive look. Adam and Cyrus’ chins dropped a sliver. I pouted my lip, “Stop! I know! I’m so sad!”

I wanted to wait until the conversation was over to look down the bar, to see if even a fragment of what I was saying had affected him. But, I didn’t need to wait. Oliver had flinched. He literally flinched.

“Yeah, me, too,” Adam touched my hand. “Why so soon? I thought you were staying through August?”

“I was planning on it, but…they offered me a better position at the clinic I work at. I have to get home to start training,” I continued, a satisfied smirk teasing my mouth.

Cyrus lifted his glass, “Well, there’s nothing to be sad about, then! To your new job.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” the smirk slipped into a genuine smile. I really would miss these guys, but my drunken, stupid mind wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted more from Oliver. I wanted a white flag or a look or a…fuck, I wanted him.

I pushed, “I’ll really miss you guys. Max, with your corny-ass pick-up lines, Adam’s mom vibes, Cy’s ability to knock back more drinks than fucking- I don’t know, Spider-man, and not get drunk? Shit’s insane.”

I drank in the laughter for a moment, eyes lingering down the bar to Oliver. Then, I added a name to my list and narrowed my gaze, “Oliver,” he wouldn’t look. “With your need to ignore me in every room we’re in. I’ll really miss your cold fucking shoulder.”

Any laughter that may have hung onto our past moment faded. I heard Max take a sharp breath in through his teeth. Adam pressed his lips together. Cyrus looked over his shoulder at their friend. I didn’t know if he really knew, but he had to understand just a little bit. The vibes were always there. We thought we were sneaky, but we were so sickly up each other’s asses. We’d even run into Cyrus and Adam in the hallway that one time. I guess we were all really good at being hopefully fucking stupid and blind.

I leaned on my palm and stared that man down. I watched as he kept his chin, pointed ahead, like he was playing brave in the situation. His Adam's apple bobbed. Oliver clutched his glass, swung it back, slugged the liquid down. Slammed it back on the counter. Then, he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a wad of bills onto the bar. He adjusted his hoodie and left.

I was dizzy. I stuttered back a step. Max touched my wrist, murmuring something or the other about heading back upstairs. Telling me I was too drunk.

I felt slow, felt dizzy, felt scared, felt angry, felt sad. I felt so sad. I felt so angry and so sad and…

And, my eyebrows furrowed in anger, the shock erasing itself from my frame. I took a deep, drunken breath and followed his trail. Fast. Legs pumping, arms swinging at my sides.

He was at the elevator, looking down at his shoes. I couldn’t get his name out. I think if I did the tears were going to fall out, The sobs were going to ricochet through my whole body and knock me over and kill me and I’d die and I’d never get to see that dumb asses blue eyes any more. Ever again. I wanted to see his blue eyes again. I wanted him to look at me and see me for what he sees me as. I wanted him to touch my hip and wring my neck and tell me I was the only one he wanted. I’d take it. One more time, then he could go back to her. I just wanted a goodbye.

He was stepping into the elevator. The doors were closing. I jammed a hand between and he flinched, again.

I stepped in just as the doors began to shut again. His eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He was frozen. Frowning. He looked…sad.

I almost reached a hand out, almost caressed his cheek and pulled him into me. But, I didn’t. Instead, I said (yelled?), “What the fuck is your problem?”

He stammered, “Wha-what?”

I struggled to repeat myself. I needed to cry. It was going to open. But, for another moment, the anger took over, “You fucking heard me. What is your problem, Oliver? What the fuck did I do to deserve this kind of shit? I don’t wanna hear more sad excuses about your fucking mental health and your-your fucking anxiety. God, I- I fucking…I don’t even k- you fucking ignored me back there! I looked right at you and I said your name and I smiled at you and…I’ve been so nice to you. I’ve been nice to you all summer and you treat me like a piece of fucking shit. God, I’ve…I’ve told you so much. I told you about my mom and…and you laid there and you told me all this bullshit about how much you liked me! And then you…youre a fucking-”

I cut myself off, out of breath. I was sweating a little bit. I think I had spit a few times. And I paced the elevator so much that I was flush against the wall. I leaned my shoulders back against the cool metal, wringing my hands, tugging at my hair.

He didn’t say anything. I breathed, hard, I thought, long. I kept thinking, and I kept getting angrier. I turned back to him, rearing up again. I had more to say, I just, I just needed to get some more concise- more thoughtful thoughts, right, exactly. Yes. I can…

“And who the fuck is F-”

“Daisy.”

There it was, my name. It was my name, soft and angelic, and holy. And a moment on his lips that he carved out of time and held a space for, for me to hear.

I stopped. I felt nothing for a moment. I looked at him and he was already waiting to see my eyes. My bottom lip wobbled.

“You’re obviously upset. And, drunk. Why don’t we talk about this in the morning? We can both get some rest.” He was always so good at two very distinct things: pushing stuff (people) aside and speaking to me in a way that felt like a cloud was wrapping itself around me. Like the cloud wanted me to lay in its arm and would coo me to sleep. Like I was safe and loved and-

Loved.

He made me feel loved.

I straightened up a bit at the thought. I pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Who the fuck is Fiona? What the fuck was that all about? Oliver, I’m not going to stand here and beg for you to love me. Or beg for you to come back to me. I just want a goddamn apology. For wasting my time, for playing with my fucking heart. For stringing me along. You knew-”

The tears came. Perfect timing. “You fucking know that I love you. You have known for a very long time. And you are an idiotic fool if you still don’t believe it. But I am not going to play this game with you. I told you that already and now I seriously mean it. I broke my back this summer to make sure that I was who you wanted me to be. So I was cool and chill and could take as much space as you wanted me to. I went with everything you asked of me, I was there when you needed a warm body. I comforted you and…and tried to fucking fix you like I knew you wanted me to. But, I am done. I am done with this. I am done-”

My voice cracked. I swiped an angry, shaking hand across my face. Vision blurred. “I am done with you. This is ridiculous. I don’t know if you meant to, but you have manipulated this situation so that you have been the one benefiting. I’m tired of letting you think you’re some broken, sad puppy dog on the side of the road that needs to be taken care of. Grow the fuck up. And, now I find out that there’s some other woman? That I- I’m the other woman, maybe? That you’re cheating on her with me? That I’m your fucking slut? Side hoe?”

I had paced again, this time, towards him. He was taller than me, but my anger was making me taller. He was almost…cowering. I pointed my finger again, nearly chest to chest with him.

“Fuck you, Oliver. Fuck you and fuck London and fuck your stupid fucking music.”

The doors opened, on our floor. I walked out, but turned to face him before he was really gone from me. I wanted to see his eyes one last time.

He was crying. I popped an arm into the door again, buying myself more time to kick him while he was down. I thought this would bring me closure. I thought I’d feel better if he knew, truly knew, the entirety. Every thought. Every hurt I felt.

“You asked me at the beginning of the summer what I was searching for. I thought that it was you. And I thought that I had found you.”

I shook my head sadly. The doorbell on the elevator rang. I stepped back, “I was right. There is no deeper meaning. Goodbye, Oliver.”

I stood there for a second, as though I could still see his blue eyes, boring through the metal doors.

Then, I sludged my way to my hotel room. I opened the door, shoulders slumped, body aching. I knew my makeup was smeared all over my face. My hair was wrecked. I couldn’t stop sniffling or whimpering. I walked into the room.

Sam sat up in his bed. Ronnie was beside him. I barely made it two more steps before Sam caught me in his arms.

–

The sky was gray. The weather in Europe usually was, especially up here on this side of the continent. I wasn’t surprised when, on our drive to the airport, it started spitting rain. I shivered underneath the cover of my hoodie, yet walked slowly through the entrance.

I remember when I had first dropped down in London, wide-eyed, hopeful. I think it had been raining then, too. But, I hadn’t cared. Come to think of it, it was raining pretty much everyday we had been in London.

Oliver was right about a couple things.

Back then, just three months ago, I hadn’t cared about the sun’s shadow curving from behind the clouds, nor did I mind that it was usually quite chilly outside. Now, I felt anger, annoyance at the weather, at the people, at the world.

At him. The stupid weight of my suitcase. The drag in my step. The wetness of my clothes and the chill of the wind.

I felt older, in the worst way. I was a different age, considering my birthday had passed while I’d been here. But, I felt old in a way that was draining. I felt like I had wasted so much time, energy, and all I had left were weary bones and sadness. Just how much I had left, I didn’t know. But I did know that as soon as I got back home, I would be rotting in my bed for a day or two.

Sam, Max, and Ronnie came to the airport early with me. My flight time had been pulled forward by an hour, so I needed to get here sooner than I thought. I wasn’t complaining, though. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of the hotel. Out of here. Out of London.

I hurried the process of packing my last few things. Stuffed my breakfast down my throat. Impatiently waited in the taxi, knee bouncing, as Sam and Max loaded the trunk with all of our things. Ronnie slid in beside me and became the first reason that I cried that day.

She reared a look over her shoulder, out the back window, to check on Max and Sam. Then, with an awkward sigh, she turned her knees towards me, “Peaches?”

I glanced up from my lap and the bounce of my knee slowed, “Yeah?”

Upon noticing the somber gaze in her eyes, my brows furrowed. “What’s up?” I added, fully presenting her my full attention.

Ronnie rubbed her nose in a seemingly nervous manner, “I just wanted to say…um, ew. Sorry.”

I softly giggled at her disgust with whatever sentence she was trying to form. “What is it?”

She finally met my eye in a fervently forward manner, “I usually have fun on tour. But this summer was…it was extra special. Getting to know you has been…so cool. I don’t know. I just…I love you, Daisy. You’ve become like a sister to me.”

I couldn’t help but feel the tears well up in my eyes. “Oh, Ronnie,” I sniffled, hugging her around the shoulders.

She pulled me close to her and I swear I heard her sniffle a bit, too. “I’m sorry for not noticing what was happening. I should’ve been there for you more. I got caught up in my own-”

“Don’t even apologize,” I reared back with my reply, “No. It’s nobody’s fault. I’m not even blaming myself for what happened. It was a stupid, weird situation. It was my responsibility to come to you if I needed help. I just needed…I just need to go home now.”

Ronnie smiled a sad, peaceful smile. “I hope I get to see you again soon. I don’t know what I will do without your bright light.”

“Oh, you will. You guys will be in the US soon. Sam said he was gonna drop by. I am positive you’ll be there, too,” I dropped a sly wink.

Ronnie watched my face for a moment, “I mean, of course you know now. But…” she narrowed her eyes, grinning in shocked realisation, “Fucker. You knew the whole time?!”

“Of course I knew the whole time. Sam is-” I snorted, “Sam is not hiding his lovesick, puppy-dog eyes.”

Ronnie’s gaze widened slightly, “I-”

The doors of the taxi popped open as the boys joined us, Max in the back on my other side, Sam in the front. He saw our laughing, secretive expressions in the rearview mirror and turned back. “What are you two doing?”

I brushed my hands across my cheeks to clear whatever tears might’ve been rolling still, then shook my head. “Nothing, Sam-Ham.”

He turned his eyes to Ronnie and tilted his chin forward. She shrugged, a smug smile contorting her once saddened face. Ronnie dropped a wink, “Nothing at all.”

The second person to make me cry was Max. Out of everyone, he was probably my best friend at this point. We had spent so much time together, out drinking, dancing, holed up in my hotel room with trays of room service, movies on the tv. He had been there through one of the most terrifying, exhilarating, strange summers of my life. We were bonded forever, now. I could feel it.

He was helping me check in while Sam and Ronnie headed to drop off our baggage. They were all just planning on hanging for the extra hour until it was time to check in for their flight. I was grateful they all wanted to sacrifice the time for me. To them, though, I knew it was second nature.

Some people made it easy, loving me.

I shook away the thoughts because the attendant was handing me my ticket. She reiterated boarding time, twenty minutes from now, and wished me a safe flight. “Thank you,” I nodded before turning back to Max.

The tall blonde was watching me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears from just the way that his shoulders shrugged forward. It made my heart swell, knowing how much of an impact I had had on them.

He tried to straighten up as I looked him in the eye. Then, he opened his mouth to say something. I threw myself into his arms before he could. Hugging me tight, Max brushed a hand down the back of my head.

“Oh, sweet, lovely angel. I am going to miss you so.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else to start crying into his chest. Max felt the rock of my shoulders and sniffled into my hairline. “Don’t start, love. I won’t be able to stop, myself,” he chuckled shortly.

We stood like that for a few minutes, maybe more, before I stepped back. I rubbed my eyes on the inside of my sweatshirt, knowing my face was flushed and probably swelling. Max touched his fingers to my wrists and gently brushed aside my hands. He took in my visage, so delicately, and sighed. “Can I just say…”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed through a sob. More tears fell.

Max rubbed my shoulders, “No, no, no, love. It’s okay. No more tears, okay? We’ll be okay. Just…I just want- I need to tell you how important you are. I know you’re going to go home and things are going to start to settle and you’re going to start to think so many things about yourself. You are so easy to love, Daisy. It is like breathing to me, to Ronnie, to Sam, Sasha. It is breathing. And you are worthy of it, too. That’s all. I just…I just needed to tell you, okay?”

I didn’t say anything else. I just whimpered and pulled him in closer to me.

Sam was the worst.

Since the evening before, when I had broken down in his arms and told him, through my blubbering, a short synopsis of what had happened, we hadn’t spoken much. I didn’t know if it was simply because we didn't have enough time. But, I was feeling worse because of it.

I needed my big brother more than anybody else. Sam knew me better than anybody else, even if we hadn’t been around each other as often as we used to. He still understood me. We shared the same blood, for God’s sake.

Yet, as we sat there, in the waiting area of my plane’s gate, he didn’t even look at me. He stared down at the floor, hands folded in his lap. He sat across from Ronnie, Max, and I, making it known that he wanted nothing to do with the conversation. When he first sat there, the aisle a wide gap between us, I furrowed my brows. But, then, Ronnie and Max striked up some topic that I invested myself and my attention into.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal until they called for me. I stood up, faster than I should’ve, to be honest, and began to gather my things. Phone, bag, jacket, passport. I ran the list over in my head, three times over.

All the while, Sam slowly stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and watched his feet as he scuffed his sneakers across the carpeted floor.

I passed my eyes over him for a moment, holding my breath. Surely, my brother would have something to say to me.

He didn’t make a move.

I began walking the short distance to my gate. Before I moved to get in line, though, I turned back to my friends. Max jumped for a hug first, barely allowing me enough time to fully settle back on my heels. I dug my feet into the ground to gain traction as his ginormous body came toppling into my arms. Ronnie joined in the hug yet struggled to toss her arms over Max’s tall frame. He adjusted as we all shared a laugh and tucked her in beside me.

He called over his shoulder, voice muffled, “Get in here, Sam-Ham!”

I heard my brother elicit a laugh. It felt refreshing to hear. Then, I felt the hug grow tighter as he joined in on Max’s other side. We didn’t stay like that for long. It was stuffy and I wasn’t getting much air.

So, I tapped Max’s back and said, “Alright. Let me go.”

I gave individual hugs to everybody, voicing my own grateful, somewhat short, goodbyes.

Then, I turned to my brother. He evaded my eye contact for a moment or two. Then he pulled me in. Tight.

Out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if he ruined your summer.”

Tensing up from the words, the mention of him, I slowly pulled back from Sam’s embrace. He held onto my back, sort of cradling me. The guilt lying in his eyes was far worse than anything I’d ever seen flash across his face. My own gaze softened from the taut expression it had anxiously contorted to.

“What?” I breathily inquired, unsure if I had heard him correctly, saddened that he was obviously carrying so much hurt from my stupid mistakes. “Why? Sam, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, Daz, I just…” Sam’s arms fell from around me. I missed the warmth as soon as the chill of the vast room settled in around my sweatshirt. He ran a veiny hand across his forehead, “I'm supposed to be there for you. Protect you. And I already suck at the first part.”

“Sam,” I grasped his wrist, slipping his fingers between my hands. “It’s not your fault. It’s…honestly, if my summer was ruined, it was because of my own shitty decisions. Besides, you don’t suck at being there for me. I can’t believe you would even think that!”

I clasped his hand tight between mine, brows furrowed. To hear him blame himself, to hear him look this way…This whole summer, I had spent my time obsessing over somebody who didn’t even want me. I should have paid more attention to my brother, who was part of the reason I was here in the first place.

The farther I got from the start of this journey, literally and figuratively, the blurrier my original dreams became. There was no meaning to find here- only what was already there.

The thought made me lick my lips in nervous realisation.

Sam let out a frustrated, breathy chortle. “Don’t give me so much credit. I’ve been…gone. Running away from home. For so long. Worried about getting out of that apartment and town and away from…from anything that could remind me of her. Remind me of mom. I left you behind in the process.”

The wetness in my eyes began to pour over. “Oh, Sam,” my lips trembled out as I dove back into his arms. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as though an airplane would dive down and pull him away. I needed this. This kind of hug. This moment.

Clarity was nearer than ever before.

“Listen,” I pulled back, “I need you to understand, okay? My summer was not ruined. It wasn’t. This entire experience has been the most amazing, wonderful, awesome, cool time. I got to spend so much time getting to see you, getting to see your world. And, don’t ever blame yourself for getting away. You had to. I see it now- You had to come be a part of this wonderful band, go with them on all of their amazing tours. I see it on your face, Sam. This is what you’re supposed to do, okay? My mistakes are my own. Not yours.”

“I just…” Sam stared at the floor for a moment, tongue quick to go and defend his original claim But he paused and let the information process. “I…I just wish I could punch him in the face or something. What a douche. Dragging you into his mess. I should’ve known, too. The way he treated you- it was so obvious. For that, I am sorry, Daisy. I should’ve said something. Honestly,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I should beat his ass.”

Max and Ronnie, who had been trying to make it appear as though they were not eavesdropping, laughed at the last line. I opened up Sam and I’s moment by taking a step back. I gave them space to join us here. Ronnie clasped Sam’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder, “As funny as that would be, he is still your boss. And your bandmate,” she nodded to Max.

The tall blond rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep it civil.”

It was my turn to scold. I punched Max in the shoulder to gain his eye contact, “Don’t try. Just do it. He’s not a bad person. He just…sucks. A little bit.”

Talking about him, living in the truth of the situation, confronting all the dark realizations- it was a heavy weight to bear. I felt my shoulder slinking forward, as though I were Atlas with the dark, cloudy sky above me. Though I didn’t want to be rid of these three, I needed to be gone already. I needed to go before it all came crashing down again. I didn’t want anybody else to see me cry again. It was…embarrassing, to say the least.

So, I allowed one last hug from each of them and then turned towards my gate. I boarded the plane, mindlessly, going through all of the motions. Like I was used to leaving, like I was good at it. Like I was strong. But, I felt weak. I felt heavy and sad and angry and…

The city was gray. I remember it being sunny, summer-weather, though there had been a chill in the air. He always said it was. Maybe it always had been and I was…crazy. Wide-eyed. Desperate or naive or whatever.

But it was clear as day now, how dreary it looked from this airplane window. The wind whipped at the airline workers, shuffling luggage to their places, green vests billowing up. My breath fogged at the window which narrowed my pointed gaze. It seemed the plane was being pumped full of heat. I hadn’t realized it was that cold outside.

I guess fall was coming.

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your reminder to place your devices on airplane mode. We are approaching take-off,” a thick, European accent declared over the PA system.

I wrestled to retrieve my phone from my bookbag, which was squished in between my feet. When I was able to lift it towards me, the screen lit up. There was a buzz from the device that vibrated my hand then the appearance of a text message.

Oliver: Daisy, I need to tell you…

The message cut itself off, only the sneakpeek visible due to the system settings I had on my device.

It was ominous, though, like it had chosen to cut itself off there.

The tail end of that message could be- anything.

Daisy, I need to tell you…you’re a dumb bitch?

…I fucking hate you.

I love you?

Please, stay?

I don’t think I wanted to know.

My thumb hesitated over the screen, barely gracing it’s smooth glass. If I tapped on the message, if I saw what he said…would it change things?

Would it make me hate him even more?

Would it make me want to stay?

I didn’t want anything else to make my decisions anymore. I wanted to make my own choices, based on my own actions, thoughts. I was tired of living up to everybody’s image of me. If that was all I learned this summer, to be true to what I wanted, to be true to myself…then maybe this summer wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe there had been something to find- maybe that something was me.

The shaking in my hands must’ve made the screen react to a ghost of my fingerprint. The option to scan my face ID came as soon as a flight attendant passed by my section, a bright smile on their face.

“Hi, friend! Did you put your device on airplane mode?” They asked with a slight gesture towards my phone.

I glanced back at the screen as she pointed. The message was open. That’s where it had ended, what Oliver had sent to me. “I need to tell you something.” But, he was still typing, still coming up with words to say.

My hands moved quickly, sliding down the menu and thumbing the airplane option. If he were still typing, I couldn’t see it anymore.

And any messages he may try to send would go green, undelivered, lost.

Forgotten, in the skies, somewhere between London and Germany, during the beginning of a cold, cold autumn.

[fortytworedvines]

16 from the Drabble prompt list?

Drabble list - send me a number!

Thanks for the prompt! This one has become an M rating... 16 – “Stay still”

Audrey hacked at the brambles with determination. She’d neglected the garden this year and the brambles showed it. She was going to beat them back from their encroachment, though, she thought to herself as she wiped her sweaty forehead, it was a pity that her secateurs were so blunt.

Some of her hair had escaped from its pins with the ferocity of her work. Let this be a lesson to herself, she thought. Next year, she would stay on top of the garden – and she would keep her tools better!

She let her thoughts drift as she worked, not focusing on any one thing. She was in her own little world. Which made the shout, when it came, even more startling.

“Mrs Hall!”

The bellow made her jump. She whirled round and – found she couldn’t move. Brambles had caught her hair. “Blast,” she mumbled to herself. She dropped the secateurs and raised her hands to untangle herself, only to find that the shawl she’d flung on in deference to the November chill was firmly caught in the thorns too. She was stuck. If it had been an old shawl she might have torn it loose, but it was one of her favourites. Which, she acknowledged to herself, was not the most sensible thing to have come out to garden in.

“Mrs Hall!” The call came again.

“Out here!” she shouted back.

“Mrs Hall-”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he came down the path.

“Don’t laugh,” she warned him, noting the tug of mirth at the corner of his mouth as he reached her.

“Whatever have you been doing?” he asked, studying how she was tangled.

“Peeling potatoes, what do you think?”

“You have got yourself in a predicament.” Gentle fingers touched her hair. “Stay still,” he murmured. “I’ll have you out in a moment.”

“Thank you.”

It was hard to stay still when he was so close to her, leaning into her to unpick strands of hair from bramble hooks. She could feel his whole attention on her.

“It’s not often you have your hair down,” he said quietly. She felt him coil a strand around his finger. “You look lovely with it down, you know.”

She closed her eyes. “It fell out with the work. It’s impractical to wear it down.”

“But beautiful.”

Her heart thumped at his words.

His hands moved from her hair to her shawl. “Now this is rather impractical,” he said, running his fingers down her shoulders.

“I’ve realised that now, thank you,” she said with a tinge of sarcasm, and she felt him huff a laugh.

“I’m glad for it though,” he added.

He was working carefully – barely a tug on the shawl.

“Why?”

“It’s given me an excuse…” His voice was quiet but there was a tone in it that made her shiver. “You’re free,” he said. His hands lingered.

She turned around. He hadn’t moved away and they were face to face, toe to toe.

“Audrey,” he murmured. A lock of her hair had fallen forward and he brushed it behind her cheek. She could feel the tremble in his fingers. She looked up into his eyes – dark, with heat. Desire.

He was waiting for her, one hand on her cheek, one on her shoulder.

They were so close together that she didn’t have far to move. A whisper between them that she closed in less than one of her fluttering heartbeats.

“Siegfried,” she breathed, and brushed her lips over his.

He sighed into the kiss and the hand on her cheek slipped to cup her face, lift it more firmly to his.

He kissed her and she was faint with need and years of suppressed wanting. She found steadiness in his shoulders, slipped her arms around them to hold herself upright, to bring him even closer to her.

It was a first kiss that was a decade building and she felt every moment of that decade in how she knew him, in how he knew her. How precious this was.

How much more she wanted – that she could feel he wanted.

He tore his lips from hers only to lower them to her neck, delicate nibbles as he tugged away blouse and shawl.

Her hands worked independently of her brain, leaving his shoulders to work on undoing his shirt buttons. Impatiently, she pulled shirt and vest from his trousers and slipped her hands onto the warm skin beneath.

“Oh god,” he said, as she explored his soft stomach, the trail of hair from his belly button. “Oh, Audrey.”

His fingers were at her blouse buttons, deft and sure as they undid them, as their lips met again, fierce and longing. The blouse fell open and she shuddered as he cupped her breast through her bra.

“Siegfried…” she whispered, pressing shamelessly into his touch.

His lips left hers to trace over her face, lingering, learning.

“We mustn’t…” he said, even as his fingers found the edge of her bra. “Not here,” he said, as he lowered his mouth to the mound of her breast. “Audrey.”

She was a ball of mindless nerves. “I don’t care.”

Then she sighed as his lips moved away, leaving her skin cooling rapidly. His hands found her waist and held her firmly. “I’ve thought about this for too long for it to be a tumble in the garden. In November!” he added.

Her brain slid back into action, overriding her desperate sense of need. She took her hands from the warmth of his soft skin and onto the safer ground of his shoulders. “I suppose you’re right.”

His face lit up. “It's not often that I hear those words from you, my dear.”

“But -” she leant into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t want to wait. Not any longer.”

“And you won’t.” He lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. “The house is empty. Come to bed, my love.”

She studied him. “You’re sure?”

“That the house is empty? That I want you desperately? Of both those things.”

“Well then.” She slipped her hand into his and smiled, knowing that the love and longing she could see in his eyes were vivid in her own too. “Lead the way.”