#and then imagine the onslaught of guilt

[padfootastic]

i just remembered that canonically, sirius got to godrics hollow after hagrid.

which means that after he had his godson taken away from him (bc lbr that’s exactly what hagrid and dumbledore’s orders basically did) then he went into the house and saw james and lily’s dead bodies alone. no buffer in the form of harry crying out for his parents or even the godfatherly instinct of making sure his kid is alright.

he was there, with his brother and friend’s cooking body, all alone. stewing in grief and pain and rage and guilt. ALONE.

do we even know how long he was there? for all we know, he could’ve been catatonic right there besides james all day.

[assriels]

here i go again

pairing: cassian x reader x azriel

summary: your half of the bond snaps and you’re faced with a choice.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: more of cass’s inner monologue speckled with az and reader’s thoughts as well, some brief mentions of sexual content!, angst angst angst

a/n: i truly was not planning on writing a part two but the love that everyone has shown me on the first part has inspired me :’) ty everyone for making my first fic posting so memorable; ALSO because i’m a sucker for happy endings, i will be writing an alternate ending for this story that is not as angsty i promise

(banners by @/cafekitsune!)

part one

When the bond first snapped, Cassian had initially tried to continue on as normal, engaging in his usual banter and friendly affection that your relationship ordinarily dictated. But as the days stretched into weeks and then months, he wasn’t sure he could keep a lid on his emotions for any longer.

Six months, normally a small blip of time in a near-immortal’s life, felt like an eternity. Six months of picking up the scraps of his broken heart was torture of the purest kind. Six months of clinging to every ounce of affection you offered him, playing it over and over in his mind to placate the urges the mating bond so desperately wanted satisfied.

Occasionally, he’d gently tug on that golden string tethering him to you, but he’d be met with an endless, empty void; the bond hadn’t snapped for you. And maybe it never would, Cassian caught himself thinking more times than he’d like. Maybe your love for Azriel was so powerful it overshadowed anything that the mating bond could offer you.

Azriel was your chosen mate and maybe no Cauldron-born matchmaking could override your unyielding loyalty and dedication to the male you spent the last twelve years loving.

Maybe Cassian was destined for loneliness in perpetuity, forced to watch his mate – the one person he loved more than life itself – live in immortality with someone who was not him.

The night of Starfall, Cassian had taken your advice and met Feyre’s friend, a beautiful high fae female who had become a regular at Feyre’s studio. They’d hit it off that night, and eventually spent the night tangled beneath the sheets of Cassian’s massive bed.

And while Cassian couldn’t deny the charming allure and beauty of this female, she wasn’t you. He wanted her, absolutely he did, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t slept with others in the past while his heart belonged truly to you. But it was like the mating bond had imprisoned his desire, reserving it for the one person who could satiate it.

He couldn’t even finish that night, and an ugly mix of humiliation, guilt, and disappointment swirled in his gut for the next few days, even as his one time lover graciously accepted his onslaught of apologies and assured him it was alright, that it happens, that she wasn’t offended. Through it all the bond was screaming at him.

Wrong, wrong, this was all wrong.

Cassian quickly disposed of the notion that he could just ignore the bond after that night. If sex and distraction were going to do nothing to keep his desperate need for you at bay, Cassian was forced to find alternative means for managing this newfound revelation.

And so, despite the brief moments of hope the snapping of the mating bond sparked in him, Cassian resolved to continue his journey of getting over you. Admittedly, though, it was becoming increasingly more difficult, as if the bond was becoming impatient and was spurring him to make bolder and bolder moves towards you.

But Cassian was nothing if not respectful and he couldn’t ever imagine telling you of the bond and forcing your hand to choose between him and his brother. So, he slowly titrated his daily dosage of you, gradually spending less time with and around you in an effort to relieve himself of the aching pain of his longing. He was mindful of his words and actions, not wanting to clue you in to the raging conflict between his mind and his heart; he disguised his purposeful avoidance of you with excuses that he had suddenly become overwhelmingly busy.

It was a tactic he knew wouldn’t last for long, but it might give him enough time to figure out what he should do next.

But ever the keen observer – having picked up a thing or two from spending so much time with the Spymaster of the Night Court – you noticed the change, however slight, in Cassian’s behavior. At first, you had fallen for his ploy; with newborn fatherhood forcing Rhys to be partially out of commission, it made sense that Azriel and Cassian had been busier than usual.

As Nyx grew, however, and both Feyre and Rhys were more adjusted to life with a child, Rhys had resumed his usual duties – but Cassian was still busy as ever.

It only took one passing comment from Azriel for you to begin perseverating on the idea that maybe Cassian was avoiding you. Az had confided in you once about Cassian’s constant denial of his invitations to spend some time together despite the arsenal of ideas that Azriel threw at him.

Drinks at Rita’s? No... A flight around Velaris? No. Lunch with Rhys? No. Training? No.

Azriel lamented that every conversation ended with Cassian hastily making an excuse to exit; it wasn’t like him, and it was beginning to get concerning.

So, you decided to test the theory yourself.

It was a lot more difficult getting Cassian alone than you thought it would be, which was strange in and of itself. Your past with him had lent itself to many occasions where you’d find yourself alone with Cassian on an errand, training, eating meals. But lately, it was like Cassian was a ghost, disappearing as soon as you had your sights on him, seemingly vanishing out of existence before you could even mutter a greeting. It seemed like everywhere you were, Cassian had pressing business elsewhere.

(Once you had walked into the kitchen, and Cassian had left in the middle of making himself a meal, mumbling something about Rhys needing his help, his half cut vegetables abandoned on the counter.)

You had every intention of cornering him with Azriel’s help, but before you could execute your sneaky plan to ambush him during training, you quite literally bumped into him on your way from the library to the dining room; clearly, he hadn’t anticipated that you’d interrupt your usual perusal of the House’s libraries to make yourself a snack.

Cassian fumbled for words, flustered and taken aback at the suddenness of your presence, still unused to the heightened feeling of his emotions around you.

You were about to interrupt his awkward stumbling, but a feeling so visceral, so outrageously all-consuming flooded every nerve in your body and you felt like you would collapse onto the floor. It was like the world had suddenly decided to start spinning in the other direction, scrambling your sensibilities, and the only thing tethering you to your reality was a thin golden string that led you directly to Cassian.

Cassian was your mate? And by the feel of it, the bond had already snapped for him who knows how long ago. Why did he not say anything? How long had he known? What the fuck?

The questions repeated themselves incessantly in your mind before you had the wherewithal to erect the strongest mental shields you could as you made flimsy excuses for why you needed to leave. Funny how, as soon as you had the opportunity to speak to Cassian alone, you were the one spinning white lies to explain your sudden departure.

If Cassian had felt your awareness on his side of the bond, he didn’t let on, only stared bemused after your retreating figure.

You wound through the maze of hallways in the House with such precision that you had to have set a record for how quickly you made your way from the dining room to Azriel’s study; you hadn’t even meant to go there, body habitually routing its way to your lover in moments of distress.

Azriel.

Your heart twisted painfully at the thought of him, and you contemplated not telling him or Cassian that you had felt a bond whip into place. But you knew that would be a disservice to all parties involved in this sadistic twist of events.

You would talk to Cassian, have a discussion, figure out what this meant for your friendship and his and Azriel’s brotherhood, but you needed to collect yourself and unscramble the tangled web of thoughts knotted in your mind before you did any of that. You needed to talk to Azriel.

You stood outside his study with your forehead pressed to the door, not yet having the courage to open it.

In the past twelve years you’d been in a relationship with the Shadowsinger, you had many conversations exploring the what if’s of your future. The notion of the mating bond snapping between you and someone else – or him and someone else – had been something you both considered. Neither of you were naive enough to assume that it would be as simple as just choosing each other – what with the intensity of the mating bond – but neither of you really thought that it would happen either, often just assuming that it would snap between the two of you in due time.

You had been so incredibly enamored with each other since the day you met; everything had fallen so beautifully into place that it had been easy to throw all caution to the wind and fall helplessly in love. Mating bond be damned.

You knew that if a bond had snapped between you and anyone else, the choice would be simple. You and Azriel prepared for something like this — the swirling lines of complementary ink on both of your torsos had been proof of that — but never did either of you consider that it would involve the one other person that you both loved almost as much as you loved each other.

You had a long history with Cassian, and though nothing romantic had ever occurred between you, somehow the choice was now infinitely more impossible. It wasn’t difficult to admit that you loved Cassian, you knew him and cherished him for as long as you could remember. But could you love him in the way that the mating bond demanded? Could you love him in the way that he deserved?

Those were questions that you couldn’t answer, too confused as you contemplated the implications of your mate being someone you loved in an entirely different way than you loved Azriel.

So you opened the door to Azriel’s study, seeking safety and refuge with the one person who could help you make sense of this impossible predicament.

One look at you standing in the doorway told Azriel all he needed to know. The time he prayed would never come was finally here. The knit of your eyebrows and the quiver in your lip shattered his usually calm countenance as he tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling of dark uncertainty settling in his chest.

The sad, resigned smile that he gave you as he sat at his desk made tears well up in your eyes. You felt guilty and confused and so, so horrible, wondering what must be running through his mind as he looked at you, understanding intuitively that you had found your mate.

And that it wasn’t him.

You wanted to soothe the fears that were so clearly written all over his face, but you couldn’t find the words, afraid that if you opened your mouth nothing but nonsensical blubbering would come out. But you needed to say something, to explain the overly complicated cocktail of emotions roiling in your gut.

However, before you could even begin to string together a coherent sentence, he crossed the room in three long strides, resting his palm against your cheek as his thumb ran a soothing path back and forth across your skin. Azriel leaned down to kiss away the tears that had escaped before pulling your head into his chest.

The comforting warmth of the body you knew so well worked wonders on your nerves, your mind already clearing itself enough to tame some of the turmoil that had overtaken your consciousness. You allowed yourself to focus only on the feel of the strong planes of his body against yours, losing yourself in the luxury of his embrace.

“It’s Cassian,” you said after a few long minutes.

Though your words were muffled into the fabric of his shirt, Azriel had heard them loud and clear. He almost laughed at the sheer atrocity of it all; how could the Cauldron be so spiteful? You — the greatest love he’s ever known — and Cassian — his brother in all but blood — were mates.

He felt as though the Mother had taken Truthteller and carved a path through his chest, leaving him to piece together the vestiges of his heart after she had stolen you from it. But he wouldn’t let himself fall apart, not when you were so clearly in need of his unwavering stability.

“Does he know?” Azriel cursed the way his voice betrayed him; it sounded so small as it broke over each syllable of his question.

You tightened your arms around his waist, anchoring yourself to the steady thrum of his familiar heartbeat, “Sort of. It’s snapped for him, but I don’t think he’s realized that I know yet.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and somber. Neither of you said anything, only holding each other as a gentle breeze wafted through Azriel’s open windows. You wondered again what must have been going through his mind, wondered if he was as scared and sad and torn as you were. By the way his fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as his hand ran up and down the length of your spine, you concluded that he was.

Azriel wanted to stay like this forever, savor the moments before either of you had to make a decision. Infinite possibilities raced through his mind, and his heart warred with itself.

He loved you — gods, did he love you — but he also loved Cassian. Knew that Cassian was an honorable male, had a suspicion for years that Cassian loved you the same way that he did. But even then, Azriel wanted to be selfish. Wanted to beg you to choose him because if you didn’t he wasn’t sure what would happen to him.

You had been his lifeline since the day he met you; he didn’t think it was possible to love and be loved the way you had shown him, and he greedily didn’t want to live a life without it.

But he loved you so fiercely that your happiness was paramount, your decision to choose for yourself was of utmost importance and, arguably, was the only thing that mattered in this moment. Azriel couldn’t help but think, though, that you deserved the love and connection of a mate, deserved the love he’d seen blossom beautifully between Rhys and Feyre, and if that meant you’d leave him, then he was glad it would be for Cassian.

“I don’t know what to do,” came your small, rasped confession. You pulled your head away from his chest to look up at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, “Tell me what to do, Az.”

He gave you that sad smile again (and you quickly decided you hated that you were the cause of this forlorn look of his), his scarred hand coming up to tame the wisps of hair that had clung to your forehead, “I can’t, love.”

After a beat he added, “I think you should tell him, though. Soon. He deserves to know, and you both deserve the chance to…talk about it.”

You knew what he was dancing around saying, knew that he meant he would let you go if you decided that you wanted this mateship with Cassian rather than what you had with him. That it was all in your hands, and entirely your decision. Your heart twisted painfully as you were confronted with the bottomless depth of Azriel’s love for you; he would sacrifice his love and happiness for yours without contest.

“Az…”

“You have me,” he started again, his hazel eyes burning into yours with such unwavering loving conviction you were glad his arms were around you to keep your knees from buckling. “No matter what you choose, you have me. Mating bond or not, I’m yours. If you want to see where things go with Cassian, you should. I’d wait for you…even if you decided you’d never come back to me, I'd wait.”

His heartfelt confession made another round of tears burn your eyes as you nodded. You cradled his neck, pulling him down to kiss him. Both of you savored the familiar feel of your lips moving together in a practiced dance.

“I love you.”

Azriel knew you meant it; even if you chose to explore your newfound mating bond, knew that nothing could ever take from him the parts of yourself you allowed him the privilege of loving. And so he said it back, insistently ignoring the gnawing worry that it would be the last time.

It wasn’t that much of a shock when Cassian felt you tug oh-so-tentatively on the bond the week after he ran into you in the dining room. He had immediately noticed your shift in demeanor, the heat creeping up your cheeks as you made a beeline out of the room despite having just entered. He had felt something change on his end of the bond the moment your skirts brushed past him in your rush to exit. The bond had finally snapped for you, but he couldn’t reach you, your consciousness locked behind steel-reinforced shields.

A rush of conflicting emotion had erupted in Cassian’s chest at the realization, and it took every ounce of self discipline he had to not chase you down. He knew you would need time, would probably want to tell Azriel before anything else, so he waited and ignored the incessant nagging of the bond to seek you out. He would do this right, would leave the decision entirely up to you despite his overwhelming desire for you to choose him.

Truthfully, Cassian didn’t think that you’d open up on your end so soon after it had snapped, and he tried not to read too much into what that could mean. Instead, when he felt that gentle pulse from you beneath his ribcage, he tugged back in acknowledgement.

Cass…?

Your voice flooded every inch of his head and it was sheer bliss to feel you so intimately intertwined with his mind.

Hey, you.

He replied, heart thundering so loudly he worried that you’d hear it.

Can we talk? Meet on the balcony near the library? Maybe in an hour?

Cassian had never been so anxious, had never been so uncertain and nervous and excited in his life. Regardless of what happened — of what you said — he just wanted to see you. His avoidance of you these past few months was nothing short of torture, and just the thought of being near you again in a way that meant something sent Cassian’s entire being into a new plane of happiness.

Wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart.

You didn’t reply, but he felt you send a wave of fondness and appreciation towards him; Cassian felt like a starved man who had just been offered a loaf of bread.

He had intended on getting at least a little bit of work done in the hour before he was set to meet you, but Cassian found his mind drifting to thoughts of you as he flew around the perimeter of Velaris, running through scenario after scenario that could happen. His excitement was overshadowed by the looming possibility that you would reject the bond, and just the thought of it sent bile churning in his gut.

Cassian knew how much love existed between you and Azriel, had seen firsthand how much you both had committed yourselves to each other. Part of him felt guilty; Azriel was his brother and he didn’t want to be the thing that stood in Az’s way of keeping the love that everyone knew he deserved and that you so willingly provided. Cassian’s mind was twisting circles around itself as he thought about how this would end. Because while Azriel loved you, so did Cassian. And he would be a fool to give up so easily on the opportunity to show you just how much you meant to him, how much he adored you.

Before Cassian could make any headway in finding a solution for this impossible situation, it was time for him to meet you. So, Cassian fluttered his wings and made his way towards the House.

You were already standing on the balcony when he landed, pacing as you alternated between worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and biting your nails. Even with confusion marring your features, the golden hour light of the sun encased you in such warmth, that you glowed luminescent, and he wanted to freeze this moment and remember it forever.

Cassian tamed the urge to kiss the worry away from your raw, swollen lips and massage the crease out from between your brows, and instead said, “Hey.”

You looked up at him and stole the breath straight from his lungs with the radiance of your smile, though dimmed no doubt by the anxiety that plagued you.

“Cass,” you started, soft and the slightest bit hesitant. “Hi.”

An awkward silence that never existed between you two settled in the air now, neither of you wanting to be the one to broach the subject you knew tormented you both day and night. You had almost backed out of having this conversation three times within the past hour, but you knew that it needed to be done. For all of your sakes.

“We’re mates,” you said, and Cassian didn’t miss the way your statement sounded half like a question, as if you still couldn’t wrap your head around the notion. He nodded, stating more definitively, “We’re mates.”

Again, another silence permeated the too large space between you and Cassian thought he’d hurl himself off the ledge of the balcony to avoid the palpable awkwardness of it all. This certainly wasn’t what he pictured in his mind when you both finally had the conversation about your mateship.

You cleared your throat stiffly, not quite meeting his eyes as a cute blush betrayed your serious countenance, “I’m not really sure what to do, Cass. I’ve been thinking about this nonstop for the past week and…I just don’t– I don’t know what to do. I really just–”

Cassian aptly noted the way your emotions showed so clearly on your face. Maybe it was because he could also feel you unwittingly sending them down the bond, but he could tell that your stuttering and frantic fumbling for words was wrought from a week’s worth of anxiety and spinning your thoughts over and over in your mind, probably similar to the way that he had been doing for the past six months. He hated thinking that you felt even a fraction of the confusion and pain that he had endured for the past half a year.

Slowly, in the face of your pain stricken confusion, Cassian's resolve to fight for your affections was crumbling.

Your eyes finally met his, and the glassy sheen of tears that marred their usual clarity made Cassian’s heart lurch; how he wished you would never look at him with such an anguished expression on your face.

“I care about you, Cassian. I care about you so, so much,” you said, and he knew you meant it. He saw it in the way your brows twisted together in earnest and the way your fists clenched at your sides determinedly. He could feel the conflict storming beneath your ribs and wanted to do everything he could to chase it away, make it so that you never faced uncertainty for the rest of your days. But he let you continue, his pulse thundering so loudly he almost couldn’t hear you over the rush of his own blood.

“I just–” you trailed off then, unable to voice your thoughts as they were a tangled mess roiling around in your head, ricocheting off the walls of your skull.

What were you even going to say? You thought you had made a decision, thought you would tell him that you couldn’t accept the bond, that you could never leave Azriel like this. But one look at Cassian and the hope he so desperately tried to mask in his eyes left you floundering, the mating bond begging you not to sever it, not to hurt Cassian. You didn’t expect to be at such an impasse; how were you supposed to choose between instinct and desire? Love and connection? Weren’t they all one in the same anyway? But if they were, how could they be split between the two most important people in your life? What a cruel, cruel fate you all had been subjected to.

Cassian watched as you puzzled through your thoughts, and his desire to ease your worry spurred him to action. He knew the decision would tear you apart, would obliterate not only your relationship with Azriel, but his too, even though he knew Azriel would never hold something like this against either of you. But Cassian loved you both too much to tip the scales in his favor at the cost of ruining his family, of hurting you, of forcing you to make an impossible decision and living with the regret of hurting them both.

So, he chose for you. Despite the way that his heart screamed at him, begged him not to reject the bond, he did anyway. He used every ounce of self control he had to hold himself together and remind himself over and over again that this was the right decision. The future with you that Cassian so desperately wanted was a hair’s breadth away, and for a few precious seconds he allowed himself to sit in the bliss of the in-between, pretending that his next words would be I love you instead of—

“I don’t think we should do this, Y/N,” he said, forcing his voice not to shake, his eyes not to water with the pain of pushing you away. “Maybe…maybe the Cauldron got it wrong.”

He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. Because how could the Cauldron get it wrong when being near you, loving you felt so right?

The look you gave him at his words was a mixture of relief and…something else that he couldn’t place. Was it disappointment? Regret?

Cassian didn’t let himself dwell on it further because if he did, and if he convinced himself that he saw even a glimmer of disappointment at his rejection in your eyes, he’d take everything back and say fuck it, I love you, give me a chance. So he averted his gaze as you took his hand, iron willpower crumbling at the sweet euphoria that filled his chest at your touch.

“Cassian,” you rarely used his full name, but you did now and he looked up at you and into your eyes. When he finally met your gaze again, you pulled him into a wonderfully tight hug, “Thank you. I– thank you.”

Despite the searing sting your words left on his heart, Cassian let himself pretend that you were his for the last time as he reveled in your embrace, holding you so steadily, so delicately that if you didn’t know he loved you before, you must have known now.

You pulled away after a few moments but kept him close, holding his face in your hands as your thumbs brushed the apples of his cheeks, eyes searching his face in earnest, “You know I’ll always love you right, Cass?”

You knew it was a cruel and selfish thing to say to him, especially because you could feel the echo of his true feelings down the bond that was slowly, painfully weakening at Cassian’s unwanted rejection. But you needed him to know, needed him to understand more than anything that your love for him transcended the romantic and was existing in a plane reserved solely for him. You wanted him to know that you couldn’t ever thank him or repay him for his sacrifice born out of pure unadulterated love for you; you only wished you could do the same for him.

Briefly, you concluded that — in an alternate universe, another life — Cassian would have loved you with a ferocity that put the heat of the sun to shame. But in this life, you couldn’t tear your heart away from Azriel; your love for him was built on the foundational elements of trust and choice, and you would pick him time and time again.

In this life, you would be greedy and accept Cassian’s sacrifice of his own love for yours, and you would damn well make sure it was worth it.

As if he could read your thoughts — and maybe he could now — he nodded and pulled you in again with a parting kiss to your forehead.

“I know," he said, closing his eyes and leaning in to your touch, savoring the fleeting moments that you had been so close to being his, telling himself that he was grateful for the love that you would offer him, even if it wasn't in the way he so desperately desired. "I know."

[diejager]

Hi hi I love your monster fics you don't have to write anything about this I'm just a little curious on how you think the boys are react to their human reader getting turned into a monster and then reacting to the painful process and you can choose whichever monster and whichever way I'm just a little curious

Pairing: Monster!Task Force 141 x reader

Ce: mentioned torture, blood drinking, biting, vampire!reader, forceful transformation, canon-typical violence, imprisonment, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.7k

Let’s imagine you were contacted by Laswell before the MW2 campaign, freshly given the rank of corporal and still as dumbfounded that Price had asked for you. You had the time to connect with the other men - monsters - and get to know them, to see farther than the image they portrayed to others: broad, gruff and dangerous beasts of the 141.

Graves caught you and Alejandro, locking you in different isolation cells that were made to hold hybrids. You were bitten pale in the darkness of your isolation, your cries and whimpers of being sucked nearly dry reached the other men who were equally unfortunate. Alejandro seethed, growling and turning in his cell, he swore curses and threats at Graves and his gang of servants. He turned you the same night, weakened and dying, ichor dripping from your wounds. He used your moment of submission, of weakness to feed you his essence, a part of his being in his blood. He cradled you as he drank the last of your life force from your veins, making room for his own to fill the emptiness in you, to remake you into his own. Your body was wracked with jerks, limbs shaking and twitching, and you convulsed in a cry of pain, every fibre of your essence remaking itself into the thing he created: a thrall. 

Alejandro, the one who bared witness to your change and suffering in his cell, felt guilty for not being strong enough to escape, it weighed heavily on his mind that he had been the first to get captured and in turn, hadn’t been able to protect you. He’s the first to rush to your cell once he’s freed, if you jump on him in hunger or remained seated against the corner of your cell, restraining yourself from jumping Alejandro, he’d let you drink from him anyway. Partly a token of apology from him, for failing you and himself, and another part because he wanted to be the one to curb your hunger and rage from your transformation. It would be an honour to help you ease into the life of a monster, even though he seethed with wrath and dripped with threats. He’s a shifter, his bones crack and bend every time he shifts, so he understands the pain of changing, he - and Soap, he guessed - could relate and ease the first pains. With his shifting came enhanced strength and agility, easier to withstand your onslaught of attacks when you trained with him. He doesn’t use his claws or teeth on you (unless you’re playing bite with him like you do with Soap, he wouldn’t mind leaving a mark or two on you.), but will take your charpentes nails and practiced blood manipulation that you trained with Ghost. He doesn’t know how dangerous or potent his blood is to vampires and thralls, if his blood enhanced your abilities, made you weaker or sent you in a frenzied state that made you high and dazed, so he let’s you feed on him occasionally. 

Rudy - Rudolfo - was the seconds behind Alejandro, he bared witness to you cradled in his colonel’s arms. Shock and confusion were his first reactions, followed by devastation and guilt. Devastated that you’d been forced into the life of a monster, the world-shattering change happening under stress, anxiety, pain and betrayal. Guilt that he hadn’t been there when you were taken, vanishing in the dark before all of this happened, he couldn’t have done anything to stop Graves from turning you. Although he wasn’t one for violence - unnecessary violence that would cause the death of a person in the most painful and violent ways - he felt anger pulse under his skin, threatening to burst from his bulging (in anger like in animes cuz it’s funny to imagine that) veins. Rudy would be there to help you through the transition, being the one who’s closest to being a human, he could pave the way to control yourself. He would let you fed from him, his mostly human constitution would be nourishing and safe for you than the rest of the men on the Task Force. He might dangle this opportunity over their heads, brag about how he’s the lucky one in all of them when you aren’t looking. If he could - and if you’re comfortable enough - he’d take every feeding in public, smiling smugly in the frowning faces of the rest while you fed.

Ghost, all he could see was red the moment you were taken from him. He had to watch you convulse and cry, the little human from his Task Force - under his protection in las Alma’s - tumbling over the edge and flinch every time he tried to touch you. He knew the possibility that Graves would turn you - he’d made it apparent in his jokes when you first joined them - but that didn’t help the waning fear and anger that churned in his soul. He couldn’t do much to soothe you when you whimpered painfully, all he could do was to hold you as you clung to him, whining at how much your body burned and hurt, as if every fibre of your being was being ripped apart and put back in the wrong places. He knew the danger of having Graves’ thrall in his team, but he couldn’t let you waste on your own. Once he made sure Graves was dead (he’s as destructive as he is suicidal, Ghost would’ve bathed Graves under enhanced UV lights that would burn the vampire but he wouldn’t let Graves die. Stuck in a constant loop of burning and healing, having his blood rendered useless and weak to him. If only Soap hadn’t blown him up in a tank, Ghost would’ve had so much fun torturing Graves for the things he did to you.), he would help you control your powers, master them and use it against others; never again would he let you be captured. Wraiths were deadly creatures, hybrids even more so, so he wouldn’t let you drink from him, not until Laswell had some tests ran on his blood’s constitution for your safety.

Soap, in all his life, never felt more angry with himself and Graves. At himself for not reaching you in time, and at Graves for his transgressions. He sympathized with your transformation, the pain and anguish he felt from you. He held you tightly in a comforting embrace on the ride back to Alejandro’s safehouse, whispering sweet words to your trembling figure. The moment he had his hands on Graves, he made sure he died burning in his tank, sending it sky-high in a grandiose explosion. Every thrall would feel the death of their master, including you. So when you cried about feeling empty, he held you, telling you: “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, m’eudail.” while caressing you. Soap’s a cuddler, he’d cuddle you while you slept on his bed for comfort, letting you bite a him if he bites back. He’s mouthy too, he’d make the best of every situation he or people he cared got into. Now werewolf blood, some find it revolting - mostly pig-headed pure blood vampires like Graves and the like - and others drink it as often as human blood, but you feed from him when he bares his neck to you, smile cocky and posture relaxed. He also likes to show the others - both Rudy and him - their marks, two small puncture wounds on their neck and shoulders. Soap loves close-combat training and will fight you, let you run free with your vampiric strength that would break and kill humans. He’d laugh and chuckle when you try to chase after him and tackle him, it’d be like two kids playing rough.

Gaz felt guilty about not being in Las Almas to help you, only seeing you after you were rescued and trying to adjust to your new skills, and like the rest, he’s angry, feeling the agony oozing from your every pores. He regretted not following you that night to Mexico and now, leaving you locked in a cell where Graves’ influence wouldn’t reach you while they went to retake Alejandro’s base. Although he hated not being the one to end Graves, he was grateful that Soap went wild with explosive, truly the demolition expert of the Task Force. Everything he knew was from the four men’s retelling of the events prior and after your rescue, there was little he could help but work through comforting you with his calming and gentle tongue. He’d make use of his wings to wrap you in a soft and warm cocoon when his talons were too much of a risk to place on you. He knew you liked his fuzzy wings, so why not use them for your comfort. He could fight you, but his constitution meant that he had hallow, but sturdy bones, a thrall’s strength would hurt but not break them like Price, Alejandro or Soap. Gaz’s a bit sensitive, he knew that but still wanted you to be able to depend on him when you were hungry, he might whine here and there, but he liked the thought of having a bit of him inside you.

Price took it the hardest, it was his Task Force, his responsibility to take care of his pack - his dragon’s hoard - and you were the most vulnerable one and the baby of the team, so you held more weight in his heart. He was disappointed in himself for not seeing the trickery from Shepherd, the red flag of finding America ballistic missiles on the mission and not connecting it to the General or the USA. He blamed himself for your change and your temporary imprisonment while they went to kill the one who did it to you, who brought you so much suffering. Anger filed his quest and protectiveness made it successful, taking down your torturer so that you could live influence-free of Graves. Price, like a father-figure, protected and cared for his family and he failed. He could trust Gaz, Soap and Rudy to comfort you, to ground you to earth. He could trust Ghost and Alejandro to teach you, to help you protect yourself. And he, all he could bring himself to do without feeling shame, was to urge you to rest. Little acts that would give you more time to rest and less duties, he had experience and restraint, he would help where the others lacked. He’d refrain from letting you drink draconic blood, the power and potency of it would overcharge you for a time. Perhaps he’d let you take from him before an especially difficult and dangerous mission, but outside that, he’s known for his self-restraint.

[saturnyo]

Whiskey & Scars

Pairing: Tommy/Reader

Summary: Joel, the man you love, is dead. You were able to kill his attackers, but you were unable to save him in time. Reeling from the shock of losing him, you closed yourself off from the community, especially Ellie and Tommy. But after one nightly encounter, something new blooms between you and Tommy

WC: lil over 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of death, suicidal thoughts, mainly fluff

Grief in itself is strange. One minute you can be just fine, and the next you are a sobbing mess falling to the floor and unable to function. For you, you were numb. Everyone moved around you, helping Jackson repair itself after the onslaught of infected, while you felt as though you were stuck in place, unable to reconcile with the fact that Joel was gone. Anguish, regret, and sorrow are all that you know now.

The grey, morose sky explodes in anger as lightning and thunder crack like a whip, screeching into your ears. Dark clouds hover above, creating a moment of tranquility before the cold, jagged raindrops pelt down, slicing lines on your cheeks, red tears flowing ever so lightly. You stand right outside, knowing he is lying there on a table like a slab of meat. Thirty minutes have passed since you got here, and you haven’t gathered the courage to walk inside. The rain has drenched your clothes, making you feel weighted in the spot where you were standing.

Stinging pain is a jarring reminder of all that you have lost. Your heart fractures at the memory of Joel's bloodied, broken body lying there drained of life. You were supposed to be with him. You were supposed to be his patrol partner, but you switched places with Dina to try and help soothe the tension between Joel and Ellie after the New Year's party events.

Your last memory of him was the morning when it all happened. He was standing in his kitchen, messing with the coffee maker that had been on the fritz for a while. No matter how much you tried to tell him to see if he could find another, Joel was hellbent on trying to fix it. He’s a very determined and stubborn man, and you loved him for it.

The way his hands felt upon your skin as he whispered sweet words into your ears. How he cuddled you at night, holding you close, afraid that you’ll disappear. His lips worshipping your body in some form of a sacramental prayer as you moaned his name out into the darkness of your home.

If only you could reverse and freeze time…

The atmosphere was solemn in Jackson. Walls were still being repaired after the horde breached them, and many lives were lost, mainly to being bitten. The last few weeks were filled with funeral after funeral, mourning the losses of our fellow men. Ellie was still in the hospital, healing from the beating she took after the encounter with the unknown group. At first, you couldn’t stand to see her lying there in the hospital bed, injured but alive. Looking at her reminded you of the fact that she had almost died too. Reminding you of your morality and how easily it can be snuffed out.

Ellie became your comfort and your pain all at once. She was so much like Joel in the way she wouldn’t back down and how stubborn she was. You can’t imagine how she must be feeling with the way she and Joel left things and the argument they had on New Year's. The guilt she must also be racked with, consuming her until there’s nothing left..

The sound of horse hooves and hammers brings you back to focus, zoning in on the doors in front of you, taking careful steps as if you’d disturb what lies within. It isn’t anything evil or any monster you might read about in a children’s book, it’s something worse.

Dust dances in the air to the song of your pain as you see bodies lined up, white sheets draped over them to save anyone the pain of looking at the gruesome scene. On the right side of the room, you see Tommy. His head in his hands, staring at Joel as if he’s willing him to wake back up. His somber expression at seeing his brother just gone, as nature goes on around us, like nothing happened.

Tommy hears your slow footsteps thudding against the floor, looking up at you with a sign of understanding. He and you share the same pain. The pain of losing someone you love. You sit down beside him in silence, the void-like feeling is palpable, where neither of you knows what to say.

“They’re all dead,” you whispered, your voice deep and menacing. “We killed them.”

“Good,” Tommy muttered.

Silence falls over you two once more, a bit easier now. He stands giving you your space with Joel. His hand rests gently upon your shoulder, a smile comforting you in your suffering. Time stood still as if the world came to an end all over again. Seeing his body destroyed you, damaging your mind in a way it can’t be repaired.

Your trembling hands gently grip Joel’s, placing a light kiss upon it.

“In another life…I would have loved doing laundry and taxes with you,” you cried. Choking wet sobs echo throughout the building in a cacophony of misery. The overwhelming desire to end it all to be with him is strong. But you couldn’t. Not only did you not want to leave Ellie behind, but you also knew Joel wouldn’t want you to try the same thing he did when he lost Sarah. That’s the only thing providing you comfort right now, the fact that he finally gets to see her again.

Getting up, saying one last goodbye before walking out the door and into the world broken and shattered

The tipsy bison has become your second home in the recent months since Joel’s death. Each night, you wander into the familiar sight of Seth standing behind the counter. He spots you as he places a glass on the counter, pouring whiskey for you, a routine that both of you have become accustomed to. He’s become not a friend but an acquaintance as of recent. You still didn’t like him, especially after what he said to Ellie and Dina, but he apologized to them, and he seems genuine. Plus, Tommy asked you to give him a chance before you tried to beat his face to a bloody pulp. You and Tommy have been estranged more recently as well. With the weight of building Jackson back up and dealing with so much death surrounding you, it was hard to find time to sit down and take a minute. It was just you in the bar at the moment, as it was after closing, but Seth made an exception for you. The low hum of music played on the speakers a familiar tune that you used to love. Something from before the outbreak, which seems like a lifetime ago.

The door opened, cutting through your half-drunk state as Seth once again walks out from the back to tell who walked in that he was closed. You didn’t spare a glance and stayed focused on your glass in front of you. It made everything easy to forget and damn you sure wanted to.

“Oh hey Tommy, what do you need?” Seth spoke.

Hearing Tommy’s name made you finally glance away from the bar as you saw him standing there, a slight look of disappointment as he stared at you. You hated it. He and everyone else look at you in pity. You wanted anything else other than fucking pity.

Anger or even hatred

Just god forbid not pity.

“You can head home, Seth. I’ll close up for you,” Tommy answered.

Seth took him up on the offer and quickly started to leave. Before he walked out, he told you goodnight and to stay safe. His footsteps faded away, as you hoped Tommy would do the same and just leave you the hell alone. But of course he wouldn’t. He sure is a miller just like Joel.

So goddamn stubborn

“Are you here to lecture me?” you asked.

You heard him sigh deeply, obviously growing impatient at your antics. He recently had to take you off patrols for showing up drunk. An explosive argument happened between you two in front of Jesse and Dina, and Ellie. He yelled about how your reckless actions could get them killed. Your heart ached as he said that, feeling as though he blamed you a bit for his brother’s death. Ellie looked at you as you stormed off. You’ve grown distant with her as well, and your heart ached at the thought of it, but she just reminded you too much of Joel, especially Tommy.

“What are you doing y/n? This isn’t going to help,” he began to lecture you.

“You heal the way you want, and I’ll do it the way I want, ok?” you fired back.

Another song plays out through the bar, slicing through the tension between you and Tommy. Whatever anger you had between each other dissipated as the weight of the world seemingly fell onto his shoulders. The song is slow and intimate, charging the air with emotions that threatened to spill out. A weight settles between the now and before as you stand up, walking to the dance floor, as you start to sway to the music. You knew you probably looked crazy to Tommy, standing there as he watched you, but you needed the distraction.

Warm hands fall onto your hip and grip your hand as you see Tommy has started to slowdance with you.

He’s close. Way too close, but the overwhelming scent of his cologne and the warmth of his breath upon your neck as you gently lay your head on his chest is the first time you felt serenity in months. Stepping closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, no words are spoken, and none are needed. Anything that needs to be said is spoken with your eyes. The feeling of being within someone’s arms again feels like heaven compared to the living room couch you’ve been sleeping on. After Joel passed, you couldn’t bear to move out, but you also couldn’t bear to enter the bedroom that you two used to share. So the couch was your last option.

Tommy’s brown eyes hold an immeasurable amount of pain and responsibility as everyone looks to him for guidance. You know he’s barely been given to properly grieve, having to juggle people constantly coming to him on what to do. And there’s you. Adding more stress on top of it as you act out, drinking away your sorrows.

The soft sway of your bodies moving together in perfect sync as the world slowed down around you. If you could bottle up the feeling this moment has made you feel, you would keep it forever. It could sustain you for the rest of your days, making you feel safe and…wanted. His eyes crinkle at the sides as he gives you one of his signature smiles again, and this time, you aren’t sure if it was the alcohol or not, but the way his voice sounded made a certain ache start to grow between your legs.

“How do you think all of this will end?” You gestured to everything around you, distracting you from the growing feelings that have started to bloom.

“I’m not sure but..” he hesitates, “but what do know is that you aren’t alone. I have your back.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You begin to notice the way his hair is pushed behind his ears as his curls bend around them. His skin is tanned from hours of hard outside work, evident by the rough calluses on his hands. The lines of age show on his forehead as he starts to think deep in thought, and the lines that form on the corner of his mouth when he smiles widely. He’s handsome, a type that makes your mouth water and weak in the knees.

The sudden realization that you wearing a short sundress that falls barely below the curve of your ass and cupping your breasts pushing them up together as they sit there perfectly makes you slightly self conscious. You weren’t even thinking when you put on that outfit before you left your home earlier that night; you just grabbed the first thing you saw in your drawer. Tommy’s gaze follows yours as he takes you in, his pupils dilating and his breath hitches, wondering what the hell these new thoughts he had about you were.

Tommy couldn’t understand his feelings for you at first. You were his brother’s woman, his girl, so you were off limits. It’s not like he was waiting for something to happen so he could swoop in, no, he would never do that. But the last couple of weeks, seeing you walk around Jackson as your hair swayed behind you, the green of your eyes shining just right in the sun, and the look of your lips almost brought him to his knees. But you didn’t feel the same way. Both of you were still mourning, so he distanced himself away giving you your space to heal, but unknown to him, something was growing within you too.

Whether it was because of the alcohol or the music or both, you gathered to courage to kiss him. Your hands drift into his soft curls, holding on like he were your liferaft, preventing you from drowning underwater. Tommy didn’t kiss you back at first, making you feel as though you completely misread the situation. Embarrassed and ashamed, you start to pull away, heading for the door before he grabs you, pulling you back in and smashing his soft lips onto yours once more.

A moan escapes his lips as he backs you up against a nearby table. His hands hurriedly drift underneath your dress, gripping your thighs, making marks upon your skin. You hop onto the table, wrapping your legs around Tommy’s waist, urging him to continue. You were desperate, and so was he. You were oxygen, and he needed you to breathe until suddenly a bottle falling off the table snapped you two out of your daydream.

“I-I’m sorry,” Tommy stammered. “I shouldn’t have done this. Fuck-this isn’t right.”

He gently helps you back off the table as the lust you two felt goes away. The moment you two were in is gone as reality comes into focus. You straighten out your dress and fix up your hair as Tommy stares at you, a feeling of disappointment and sadness radiate within his big brown eyes.

“Tommy…” you whispered.

His hand cups your cheek as his thumb lovingly caresses your face. Savoring what’s left of the moment, you lean into his touch, not wanting it to end. You leaned in closer, your knees nearly touching, as if you and he were drawn together by an invisible force. A quiet chime of a clock nearby distracts both of you for a moment, making you giggle

He stops for a moment, looking at you in a way different from how he has ever before, at least not that you have noticed. Tommy stares at you as if the entire world begins and ends with you

“What is it?” you asked

“Nothing, it’s just…you are beautiful,” he whispered

In that moment, inside the rustic bar surrounded by music in the dead of night there was a still silence inside your mind. Not an uncomfortable one but peaceful.

“I’m here, baby, like I said, I’ll always be.”

You put your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling the cedar scent clinging to his shirt.

“Home,” you murmured silently to yourself. “I’m home.”

[little-star-library]

If you have the time, I’d like you to imagine if you will:

You and Astarion are in the middle of a small clearing just outside of camp and he has you pinned against a tree, staring you down with an intensity of his eyes, but there’s a flash of worry that crosses over his face before he replaces it with his usual mask of facade.

Only moments ago, he witnessed you speaking with Karlach in what sure as hells looked like something that was far more than friendly conversation. The two of you were speaking in hushed tones, giggling at each other’s anecdotes and inside jokes. He’s only just beginning to know you and has successfully bedded you already to ensure his protection and alliance, so why does he all of a sudden care about who you talk to? He was never one to get jealous over someone, surely, but there was a vague flash of possessiveness that overtook his mind and it was overwhelming to say the least.

“So, my dear,” he drops his voice into a low rumble. “Care to explain what you and Karlach were up to earlier?”

“I’m sorry, but what?” This took you by surprise and you honestly don’t know what brought this on.

“Oh come now, don’t be coy.” Astarion scoffed, taking a step closer to further intimidate you and trap you under his hardened gaze. “I saw everything that was going on between you two, your little whispers of shared delight. You were practically oozing into a puddle by her side.”

Oh. Now you understood what this was about. You didn’t think that he was one to actually care with his ‘devil may care’ attitude and you weren’t going to apologize for some friendly banter with one of your fellow companions. You felt like you were never in the wrong in the first place and it wasn’t his business to know who you were conversing with. But this was an advantage for you to see if he actually wanted something more than just a one night fling and a plan started to brew in your mind.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re actually jealous.” You matched his gaze and your lip twitch into a little smile in defiance. He grimaced at your response and his fangs gleamed in the low light of the setting sun with a disgusted curl of his lip. That was all the confirmation you needed and you couldn’t help but feel bad now that you caught him, but you wanted to see how far you could push him in retaliation for his blasé remarks he made of the last night you spent together.

“You know,” you teased. “You’re pretty cute when you’re angry.” That was the last straw by the look on his face, clearly unamused by how nonchalant you were about the situation.

“Oh really?” He leered, grasping your chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your jaw until there was nothing but a few inches of space from his lips making contact with your own. “Well I’m about to be fucking gorgeous.”

“You already are.” Your breath hitched at the sharp inhale he took in, expecting him to yell at you for being so infuriating, but you were pleasantly surprised when Astarion pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss that left you shuddering from head to toe. You melted instantly in his embrace and instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck to further deepen the embrace, but it was shortly lived as he curled his fingers through the hair at the back of your neck and yanked your head back to glare at you with a look that held such a ferocity it made you weak at the knees.

“You’re truly insufferable.” He was seething at this point and a pang of guilt dropped low in the pit of your stomach for not taking him seriously. It was clear now that this was something that was gnawing away at him. “Pretending to be so oblivious to the rather obvious onslaught of flirtations from the others, it’s a rather pathetic act to uphold if you ask me.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion.” You huffed out a laugh, trying to maintain a cool demeanor to not upset him more. “But you know that I only have my eyes set on you, right? I would never stoop so low to lead you astray like that and I quite enjoy spending my time with you. If you say that I’m ‘oblivious to their flirtations’, then I can only say that part is true because I’m not actively looking for it. That’s because I’m not interested in them. I’m interested in you, if you’ll still have me.”

Your confession had him pause unexpectedly and his stiff demeanor began to roll off of him in an instant as you saw the light in his eyes soften and his shoulders slumped lower. Of course he was quick to assume that you were anything but loyal to him, however that lingering sense of jealousy in the back of his mind began to fade as he flitted his narrowed eyes across your facial features in search of any hints of deceit and found none. Your face only reflected your reassurance of your feelings as you smiled softly up at him and he suddenly forgot why he was upset at all. You were too kind and sweet for your own good and Astarion felt as if he could never really deserve someone as devoted as you were, but here you are.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He chuckled lightly at the absurdity of the present situation, clearing his throat to chase away the anxious tension. “You don’t have anything to apologize for and I should be the one begging for your forgiveness. And I really am sorry, darling. I suppose I did get a tad carried away and assumed something was…off, to put it plainly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you grinned cheekily. “You had your reasons and I understand where you’re coming from, honestly. And if there’s something on your mind that’s bothering you, I also hope you know that you can always come to me if you need to talk. We don’t have to rush into anything you’re not comfortable with yet and there’s no hurry to make anything official between us if that’s what you want, but I’m here for you nonetheless.”

You once again stunned him into silence and you could swear that you saw the faintest blush bloom across his cheeks when you raised up to the tips of your toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. He really was cute in his own way. Through your eyes, you saw a man slowly learning to become his own person and you knew all too well how painful it could be when you feel like you were always being taken for granted. But you also witnessed a good number of his quirks that began to shine through as you grew closer to one another over time and you hope that one day he can see that he deserves to be loved and cherished just like anyone else does.

“Thank you.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, his touch gentle as he took your hand in his own to kiss at the back of your knuckles. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

You could tell that there was more on his mind, but didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words presently and that was okay. As long as he knew that he had your support, then that was enough for you.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 4 - Saturday Night | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.8k

"Layla..." you called her that same morning after you darted away from the guest room, heart racing and mind swirling with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Your body was littered with remnants of Trent as scurried up to your bedroom.  

"What? You're making me nervous!" she replied, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

"I fucked him last night, Layla," you admitted, barely able to contain the shame and guilt that washed over you.

"Ermmmm, are you talking about...?" Layla trailed off, clearly aware of your long-time crush on Trent but shocked that you might have actually gone through with it.

"Yes," you confirmed, cringing at the admission.

"Oh my fucking god!" she screamed, and you had to pull the phone away from your ear, stifling a giggle.

"I know. But I'm such an idiot," you sighed, feeling a mix of exhilaration and dread.

"Were you drunk?" she asked, sounding almost hopeful.

"No, we were totally sober," you replied, feeling a little prouder that it hadn't been a drunken mistake.

"I let him fuck me. And then I scampered up to my room like a little girl this morning. What do I do?" you confessed, panic rising in your chest. “Also… ‘let’ is probably not the word to describe what happened. I begged him… he had me begging, lays.” You whined recalling how Trent had you acting in that bedroom.

“Lol so the dick was as good as you imagined.” Layala laughed. "Did you talk or was it like a quickie?" Layla asked, jumping around with questions, her voice lowering as if she were afraid someone might overhear.

"Erm... it definitely wasn't quick. It was roundsss, Layla, but we were trying to be quiet. I mean, It was literally in the house.. Jack was upstairs," you explained, feeling the embarrassment creep up your neck. 

"God, that’s fucked up. But girlie, maybe this is the shift! We’ve been waiting for this man to move on you," she encouraged, though you could hear her excitement laced with a tease about how long this had been building for bubbling through the line.

"I don't know, my brother would murder me. What if... maybe it was a one-off thing for him," you said, uncertainty flooding your voice. “Maybe he just wanted to do it once and then call it. Like get it out of his system.” You reflected back wondering what this meant for Trent versus what it meant for you. Maybe different things. For you, this had been years of longing coming to a head, finally he gave you a chance and took you to bed. You worried that for Trent maybe he was simply just horny that night and once he knew you’d kiss him, he finally took you up on a bigger offer. 

"Well, like how was it?" Layla pressed, her curiosity growing slicing through the onslaught of panic in your own head that she couldn’t hear.

"Lay.." you said, using her nickname as a cautionary warning.

"Like how good though?" she insisted, practically bouncing with anticipation and a dirty smirk.

"Layla... I was literally in heaven," you admitted, unable to hide the smile creeping onto your face. "I’ve never felt like that in my life. His hands on me– within the first minute, I was moaning like an embarrassing mess. He had me on the verge of blacking out. The way he felt... oh my days... he made me squirt, I was just for him in the best way possible," you confessed, feeling a thrill at your own words.

"Oh my god!" Layla squealed, her excitement palpable even through the phone. You’d never reported that happening with other men so Layla’s shock was fairly merited. 

"Shhh!" you hissed, glancing nervously toward the door, half-expecting Jack to burst in and demand to know what was going on. You could almost hear his protective big-brother instincts kicking in. Layla was silent for a moment.

"You need to figure out what's next. If it was that good for you… Y/N, he must’ve loved seeing you like that. If there are two things that boy loves, it’s winning and it’s you; having you begging for him… he must’ve been in heaven too. I’m sure of it. Don’t overthink this, maybe it's worth the risk. Plus, if the boy knows what he’s doing…." She sang cheekily. You pondered her words, the reality of the situation settling in. What if this was just the beginning? The beginning of a very dangerous relationship but also potentially the beginning of more very good sex. “Maybe you should see it through. Talk to him or have sex with him, whatever you’re feeling.” She laughed. You giggled, falling forward and hiding your face. 

“I’m so fucked…” You whined.  

“Literally.”  Layla teased, as you noticed yet another visible love bite on your skin.

A few days passed and you were laid sprawled out on your bed, phone in hand, staring at Trent’s pictures on google. It felt so silly, googling him like he was some distant crush you’d never met, but here you were, scrolling through articles and match reports. You wanted to know every detail—how his last game went, what people were saying, the headlines, the photos, the videos. Seeing him on the field in action, looking focused and sharp… and sexy stirred something deep inside you. And then, almost on autopilot, you dialed his number. The ringing made your stomach flip. 

“Hey, pretty girl” When he answered, his voice was warm but fairly surprised.  You froze, suddenly unsure of what you’d meant to say. Why did you just call your brother’s best friend? But his soft laugh on the other end nudged you, and then he spoke again, this time with a hint of something more in his voice. “I’m glad you called. Been thinking about you.” Oh yeah, because he fucked you the other night that’s why you called him. This was a disaster but his words hit you right in the chest, and you let out a quiet, shaky breath, smiling despite yourself. The playfulness between you two was easy and effortless, like slipping into an old habit. The conversation flowed naturally, flirty in a way you couldn’t resist.  When he asked what you were up to you told him you were already in bed, feeling the silence hang heavy between you. He chuckled softly. The moment hung between you, that delicious tension settling in as you lay there, holding your phone to your ear. Hearing Trent’s voice through the speaker, warm and inviting, made your heart beat faster. You took a breath, steadying yourself.

“In bed, yeah?” he murmured, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice. The way he said it was casual enough, but there was an edge—a hint of suggestion that wasn’t lost on you.

“Mm-hmm,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the little catch in your breath betrayed you. This wasn’t like your usual banter, and you could both feel it.

“Well… that’s a shame,” he said, a hint of a chuckle in his tone. “Because I’m not there.” He teased.

“Not here yet,” you corrected softly, biting your lip. The words slipped out before you could think, surprising even yourself. You really wished he was in your bed right now. A guest bedroom didn’t have the same intimacy your own bedrooms would’ve. You hoped you’d get to have in him in your bed again one day.

“Yet?” he echoed, his voice dropping a bit. The way he said it sent a thrill through you. He sounded… interested. Was he interested?

“You sound a little… distracted, T.” You laughed softly, trying to keep things light. 

“Distracted? I mean, that’s a bold assumption for someone who just called me in bed.” He smiled and although you couldn’t see it, you could hear it.

“Touché,” you admitted. He let out a low laugh, and then his voice softened, almost as if he were drawing closer to you through the line. 

“I’ve been thinking about you, you know… Not just tonight, either.” A little breath caught in your throat, and you felt heat bloom in your cheeks. You’d been thinking about him too—more than you wanted to admit. And yet here he was, saying it so easily, without hesitation. You felt that familiar ease between you two, but now it had a sharper edge to it, something thrilling and dangerous. “Wish I wasn’t stuck in Milan right now… but since you’re in bed and… since you’re all cozy,” he continued, “maybe you could let me see what I’m missing in that bed?” You hesitated, heart pounding. It was so simple, and yet the thought of it felt electric. 

“You mean right now?” You asked almost in shock. There were moments lately that felt like a rubber band to the back of your neck. It almost confused you that Trent was talking to you like this now. Your brother’s best friend essentially was asking for photos. Your head was spinning at his composure. 

“Yeah, baby” he said, his voice almost a murmur. And it was back… suddenly you were ‘baby’ again. “Just a little something to tide me over. Unless you’re too shy? But I didn’t think you got shy when you’re in bed,” he teased, knowing exactly how to make your pulse race.

“I’m not shy.” You let out a quiet laugh, your confidence swelling

“Good.” His voice dropped, that familiar warmth and playfulness making your skin tingle. “Be a good girl and send me a photo.” His voice was soft, coaxing, and it sent a thrill through you. The anticipation made your fingers tingle as you bit your lip, considering it. It felt thrillingly new, even after all these years of knowing him—this version of him, of you, of you two together. You bit your lip, and after a quick glance around your room, you sat up, ripping off your hoodie, adjusting your hair and holding your phone up for a quick snap. You knew it had to be just the right mix of casual and tempting. You could see your nipples through the sheer tank top but the soft smile made it cute, innocent. You weren’t about to send him a nude out the gate but just something to get his mind thinking about being there with you. When you hit send, there was a pause on the other end, and then Trent let out a quiet groan.  “Nah, you’re killing me, you know that?” He groaned. You laughed, feeling emboldened by his reaction. 

“Think you’d want to see me when you’re back? Come be cozy in bed?”  You giggled teasingly. 

“Honestly?” he replied and your heart skipped a beat in the worst way, expecting the worst. A rush of worry maybe he was about to change his mind, “I’m not sure I can hold out much longer” He exhaled, sounding half-playful, half-serious, and you could feel his anticipation echoing back at you. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You smirked realizing he had been trying to play it cool since you two had sex. You weren’t sure what to think of that, a part of you wondered if he was embarrassed it happened but then the sexual tension of the current moment overruled any cautionary thought you were having. The line went silent for a moment. “There better be space for me in that bed once I’m back. yeah?” He added. The way he said it made your cheeks flush, a promise tucked into his words.

“There always has been, T,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with the quiet assurance in your voice. And with that, you both hung up, your heart racing as you lay back, feeling the anticipation buzz through you.

Layla was away for work down in London when you and Trent hooked up so it was a couple days' time until she got to come over and properly debrief. Once she was back in town Layla was immediately at your house, practically bursting with excitement as soon as she stepped through the door. You barely had time to breathe before you were pulling her into your room to spill all the details.

“Lays… look at me, look at this! He did this. Trent did this!” you said, lifting your little flouncy shorts just enough to reveal the cheeky bruise left on the inside of your thigh. You emphasized his name just to really hammer home that Trent Alexander-Arnold, long time crush, Jack’s best friend, sexy footballer left that on you. You were both giggling like teenagers as you collapsed onto your bed, recounting the details of that night.

“Oh my god!” Layla squealed, eyes wide as she burst into laughter. “That’s very secondary school of you getting love bites.” She teased. You couldn’t help but giggle, the thrill of the moment still fresh in your mind, not caring for her teasing joke. “I’m kidding, girlie, that’s actually kind of nuts considering...” She tilted her head as if you were supposed to know what she was implying. 

“Considering….” You inquired. 

“Y/N, this is the riskiest hook up you both possibly could be involved in, and while I don’t think Jack often sees that much of you… for T to be so in wrapped in the moment of finally getting you into bed, so into fucking you, claiming you, that he’s leaving marks… He’s so into this! He’s down because he’s risking a lot here.” She explained. You fought the sly smile pulling on your lips. The days that followed the night with Trent were a whirlwind of excitement and nervous energy but hearing her explain it like that felt like new insight. After you first had called her, Layla had insisted on analyzing every text message Trent sent you since that night. You were practically glued to your phone, reading and rereading his messages as you waited for more. But now, she was finally here with you so you could share your love bites. You and Layla had planned to drive to Selfridges this afternoon for some shopping for the new season. Whilst on the way there you received a text that made your heart race the second it pinged. 

“He texted meee!” you squealed, showing the screen to Layla, who couldn’t look right away because she was driving but she believed you. The sheer volume of your exclamation made her wince, only one person was eliciting that sort of response from you lately. 

“Oh my god, Y/N, get a grip!” She softly laughed. “You’ve had his number for years!” she teased, rolling her eyes mocking you lightheartedly of course but unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips. She was excited, you were excited. Trent’s text was casual at first, but as you read on, you noticed the subtle undertones. He asked if you and Layla just might happen to want to swing by a club in Manchester this Saturday night, specifically around midnight, and specifically to come join a certain table with him and his friends It was meant to sound nonchalant, but the specifics made it clear he wanted to see you.

The casual tone didn’t fool either of you as you read the full message allowed to her. The exact time and place felt a little too intentional, making it clear that he wanted to see you. Layla smirked, nudging you. You blushed, excitement and nerves churning in your stomach.

“Girl, he’s planned this. With teammates and not his boys i.e not Jack…” Layla remarked, leaning in closer to reread the message for herself at a stoplight. “You know what this means, right?” She smiled. 

“What?” you asked, your heart pounding. Naively, you were struggling with this new relationship with Trent. His ‘older brother’s best friend’ persona was so seared into your brain, the ideas that normally were flowing for you with previous men and what they wanted from you… weren’t coming as easily for some reason. You were overthinking your instincts. It’s not that you didn’t have the desire. You just were so afraid of him not liking you that way, you almost didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Trent. You were scared.

“It means he’s not just interested; he’s invested. He’s making plans to see you. You have to go!” Layla cooed. You felt a rush of excitement mixed with a hint of anxiety. You couldn’t shake the thought of what if it was all just fun and games for him? But the way he texted, the way he seemed to genuinely want to see you in a setting like that, made your heart flutter.

“Do you really think I should? He also said you too Lays, so you have to go with me,” you told her, biting your lip nervously.

“Hell yes! We and by we, I mean you, are not going to let an opportunity like this pass you by. By the way… It’s obvious, T thought the first time was good too,” Layla said cheekily, her enthusiasm infectious. “We need to get you ready. Find an outfit that’ll make him forget his own name!” You laughed, feeling a little giddy at the idea. 

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I need to at least give it a go. But I’m still freaking out! Fuck!” You whined, burying your head in your hands almost embarrassed by your nerves. “I have to be careful though… like I can’t do too much. I’m scared he’ll be like… ‘what are you doing?’ or ‘who are you trying to be?’ You know?” You explained once the idea of fashion and outfits came into your mind.

“I get that… we need to be cool, calm, collected… and fucking sexy. Ugh a yellow shopping bag couldn’t come at a better time!” Layla said, pulling into the car park for the department store dreaming of filling the boot with those shopping bags. The thought of seeing Trent again filled you with a mix of excitement and nerves, but you couldn’t help but feel hopeful. You couldn’t help but feel a bit eager for another night with Trent, no matter the consequences at stake. You and Layla spent the entire afternoon bouncing from one brand’s section to another in Selfridges, rifling through racks, holding up options and critiquing each one. Layla was relentless, pushing you to try looks you had a hard time wrapping your head around that somethings so sexy could be for Trent. After some trial and error, you finally found the outfit. You took a deep breath and tucked off into the changing room, slipping lace fabric against your skin, watching how it transformed you. When you stepped out, Layla’s jaw dropped.

“Oh my fucking god, he’s gonna pass out.” Layla laughed almost in disbelief as you stepped out of the changing room in a sheer black lace dress. [index ref] It was strapless and pushed your boobs up, hugging you in all the right places.  It was dangerously sexy. The dress was just the right side of bold. I mean, it was obvious but in a cool way. You checked yourself out in the mirror, feeling that same rush of excitement and  hint of nerves you’d felt since you got the text.  “This is perfect. It’s so fucking good — ugh I can’t wait to see his face. Nonchalant, my ass, he won’t be able to keep his hands off,” Layla grinned, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Do you really think this is enough?” you asked, adjusting the dress one more time, tilting back and forth to catch the way it moved on you. Layla smirked deviously making it very clear she had more ideas. 

“Yes, but we’re not done… We’re getting you lingerie. If you want him to never think of you as Jack’s sister again, we have to make sure this look, this version of you is seared into his brain Saturday.” She grabbed your hand and dragged you to find La Perla navigating through the store with a determination that made you laugh despite your nerves. The idea of buying this all for your brother’s best friend was fucking insane but you didn’t want him to be just your brother’s best friend anymore. The delicate lace and silky pieces of lingerie were making you blush, remembering how gently he pulled your own panties off you that first night. And so with Layla’s guidance, you started sifting through options, feeling bolder with each choice. At first, you stuck to safe-ish options, something that could pass as an everyday piece—but Layla wasn’t having it. She held up a set that was anything but modest: something lacey that felt both elegant and dangerously seductive. You stared at it, feeling a jolt of confidence and a hint of nervousness.

“Actually just this,” Layla said, putting back the set and grabbing just a scrap of fabric, holding out to you with a smirk. “We do this, no bra, and the dress, that’ll erase any idea that you’re a little sister. You’ll walk in, and that’s the only thing he’ll remember.” You felt electric, standing there, imagining the look on Trent’s face when he saw you in the skimpy piece of fabric you were about to ludicrously pay £200 for. By the time you left Selfridges, you had everything you needed: the perfect dress, heels that made you feel powerful, and a pair of panties that would stay with him long after the night was over. Layla squeezed your arm. “By the way, Y/N… You’re not Jack’s sister, you’re you. That’s why he’s interested. And Trent is not going to forget it.”

That Saturday night was a whirlwind of desire and temptation. Trent’s private table was an oasis of luxury, tucked in the club’s exclusive area surrounded by footballers and bottles of liquor. The lights were dim, casting a seductive glow over the scene, and the air was thick with anticipation.  When you walked into the club you were escorted to the area and Trent's usual composure shattered. He'd planned to keep it cool, but the sight of you in the dress threw his carefully crafted nonchalance out the window. His eyes traveled over you, taking in every curve with a hunger that made him feel both exhilarated and guilty. You were Jack's sister-his best mate's sister-but right now that was being erased. You were here… he wasn’t and now all he could think about was getting you close to him. Close to him so he could get his hands on you and those clothes off you. To keep things casual, he greeted Layla first, introducing her to his teammates so it wasn’t too obvious. But when he finally turned to you, it felt like the room silenced, as if nothing else mattered in that moment. Without a word, his arms wrapped around you, and his hands fell low, cupping the curve of your ass with a daring boldness that sent a surge of adrenaline through both of you. You nestled into him, breathing him in. The scent of him, a woody velvet encircled you wrapping you in the comfort of him. You didn't kiss though, you couldn’t, not out in public, but his touch told you everything. He wanted to. You wanted.

"You look so fucking sexy." He murmured, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. You could feel his perfect pout move against the shell of your ear. The words came out low, rough, igniting a blush that you couldn't hide. You draped your arms over his shoulders, letting your fingers trail down his neck as you pulled him closer, eyes gleaming. 

"It can be all for you," you taunted, leaving the promise hanging in the air before slipping away to greet Layla and the others. As you moved away, Trent exhaled, watching you move to greet some of his mates with an exasperated smile. It was going to be a long night, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could play it cool.

You and Layla seamlessly joined Trent and his teammates. It was easy. The energy of the night igniting a fire between you and him though. His eyes stayed locked on you, a mix of longing and mischievous intent as you danced with Layla. He wasn’t one to really dance so for the time being he continued on his quest to play it cool, leaned back on a couch watching you move. Even with distance between you two, the electric connection tether you to him. Your pulse quickening with every glance.  In the dim light of the nightclub, the bass thrummed like a heartbeat in the air, creating a pulsing rhythm that matched the intoxicating sway of the crowd. The atmosphere was thick with a heady mix of laughter, music. The club’s DJ mixed a seamless transition of songs rolling one into the next, a 2010 classic you knew Trent loved. You smirked at him and strutted over, reaching out to him. Your hand extended, unsure if he’d take it. But he did, he grabbed your hand as you pulled him to stand up. Against his usual reserved demeanor to avoid dancing,  he couldn’t resist you. The club pulsed with the rhythm of Jeremih’s mid 2000’s ‘Put It Down on Me’ vibrating through the floor and mingling with the heat of the room. As the beat of the music wrapped around you, you positioned yourself directly on top of Trent, your back pressed against his chest. The heat from his body radiated through the thin fabric of your dress, every movement heightened by the press of his strong frame. The boundaries between flirtation and something more had long since blurred. The pulsing bass of the club surrounded you, and as Trent's hands settled on your waist, every nerve in you ignited. He pulled you in, letting his fingers slip down, dragging you flush against him as you dragged your own hands down his strong arms before placing your hands overtop of his, guiding them over your body as you moved. You could feel his breath near your ear. The look in his eyes was electric, and as his hands caressed you, a thrill of anticipation for what could happen bloomed between you two. You pulled back just enough, tilting your head back to give him a shy, knowing smile that hinted you weren't about to play it safe tonight, that you didn’t want to. As the night wore on, Trent kept you on him and the drinks kept flowing, the boundaries blurred to a point where it felt like they didn’t exist at all to you. Any attempt to keep things casual had faded as you stayed pressed against him, feeling the heat of his body as you moved together to the rhythm. Your hips swayed, and Trent's hands seemed to find their way to every curve, guiding you as if the whole club had melted away, leaving just the two of you in the moment. The music wrapped you both in its seductive embrace, and every glance he stole felt like a secret promise. You found yourself feeling utterly alive under the spell of his charm. The longer his hands were on you, the more you wanted him, the more deliberate the way you moved against him got, you could feel him against you. 

"You're gonna get me in trouble," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice was low and teasing, but you felt the strain behind it, like he was barely holding back, on the verge of breaking. But he invited you tonight, he wanted this even if he was implying that you needed to be cautious. A smirk tugged at your lips as you glanced back at him, feeling bold. You reached up behind you, letting your arm drape back around his neck as you grinded against him, feeling his hands grip you tighter, the friction sending waves of pleasure through both of you. 

"Good," you whispered back. Your tone was playful, a little challenging, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as they met yours. You let your free hand guide his up your body, tracing his touch from your hip slowly traveling up your side, over your ribs, the curve of your tits and finally resting on the curve of your throat. The placement of his hand was intoxicating, and Trent’s resolve wavered as he struggled to keep his composure.  Trent’s breath quickened, his other hand’s fingers tightening around your hips as you guided his hand to stay on your neck as you arched into his touch more. He squeezed his eyes shut fast, fighting the surge of desire that threatened to overwhelm him. His fingers gently squeezed your neck, sending a shiver through you. Trent closed his eyes once more for another second, as if willing himself to stay in control, but you knew exactly what you were doing and he knew he wasn’t going to manage much longer, not like this. Every little touch, every brush of your skin, sent his mind spiraling back to the night you'd spent together. And so you continued, your hand guiding his, bringing it from your neck up to your lips. You took his hand in yours and slowly dragged one of his fingers over your lips, letting it linger there. Then, feeling daring, you kissed his finger before slipping it into your mouth with a teasing grin. You took the finger into your warm, wet mouth, your tongue circling it seductively. Trent's eyes snapped open, the tension clear in his expression. Trent’s breath hitched, his control slipping as the warmth and wetness of your mouth made his pulse race. 

"Y/N..." he cautioned, his voice husky. He was trying to keep it together, trying to hold his composure, but you could tell he was barely hanging on and you wanted him to falter. The air around you was charged, electric with the intensity of the moment. The nightclub’s atmosphere seemed to amplify the tension, every beat of the music syncing with the quickened rhythm of your hearts. The intimacy of the gesture, the way you drew him into your world with such daring confidence, left Trent in a state of heated disarray. The private area, the pulsating music, and your body pressed against his created a searing contrast to the cool sophistication of the setting. He could barely think straight as you continued to tease him with your movements and your touch, each moment building towards a crescendo of irresistible need.

"Get me in trouble," you whispered a plea, your voice a soft taunt, challenging him to let go. You felt his breath catch, and for a split second, it seemed like he was going to give in, pull you closer and damn the consequences. His fingers dropped to tighten on your waist, his gaze intense, and you could feel his resolve crumbling with every second. The thrill of it sent a rush through you, knowing you'd pushed him to this point, both of you teetering on the edge of what came next.

Layla was watching with barely concealed amusement, a grin spreading across her face as she took in the scene, proud of her handiwork considering the dress seemed to be more than effective but then again, his fingers were in your mouth moments ago so it was a toss up what really was sending Trent over the age. But she wasn't the only one who saw you two– Trent's teammates had also noticed, exchanging looks that ranged from amused to confused. One of them leaned over to Layla, eyebrows raised.

"That's his mate's sister, right?" He asked earnestly. Layla chuckled, shaking her head. 

"Oh is she ever," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That is one, sexy, ticking time bomb," She laughed. The music pulsed around you, bodies moving under the lights as Trent leaned in close, his expression intense. He’d had enough. 

“You’re leaving with me. Right now.” He murmured seriously, the command laced with an impatience you could feel from a mile away.

“What do you mean? Why? ” Feigning innocence, you tilted your head. He bit back a smirk, annoyed but undeniably amused by your act. So he decided to play along.

“I mean, you just look a little hot, baby… Think you have too many clothes on.” He told you, making up a farce.  His gaze trailed over you, lingering with obvious intent.  His arm wrapped around you letting his massive hand run over your collarbone over to your shoulder and then down your arm brushing over your skin, slick from the club’s heat.

“I’m in a mini dress, T baby, I think I’m okay.” You whispered with a shrug, biting back a little laugh. He moved in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as his fingers gripped your waist. 

“I said, you have too many clothes on." He said more commandingly. A thrill ran through you, your pulse quickening. "Let me help you, yeah?” He cooed cheekily.

“Maybe you’re right. I think I need you.” You gave him a sly smile then glanced over to find Layla. After making sure she was all set for the night, she told you to go and you hugged her goodbye promising you’d check in to make sure one of the other boys got her home safely. She wasn’t exactly keen about leaving since she had hit it off with one of the other boys there. She shot you a knowing grin and a wink as you slipped away with Trent, his hand gripping yours with unmistakable possession as he led you through the crowd. You quickly mouthed a ‘love you’ to her, her smirk only widening as she watched you and Trent disappear. Trent tugged you closer to him, his hand dropping to your lower back to keep you close and protect as he guided you through the crowd and toward the exit. As he led you out to the private exit, his hand firmly grasping yours, you felt a giddiness wash over you. It felt surreal to leave somewhere like this with him. The alcohol and the adrenaline from the night's adventures had left you feeling fearless and carefree. You giggled as he dragged you along, your high heels clicking against the ground. 

"Hey, slow down, needy boy" you slurred, attempting to match his long strides. "I can barely keep up with you.” You giggled. Trent needed to leave out the back for his car service to pick him up. He did it often but especially tonight, he couldn’t risk paparazzi. He looked at you, his expression torn between frustration and desire, his hand still warm in yours.

"I fuck… I couldn't... God, fuck baby… I hate that I can’t just…" he started, stumbling through thoughts you had a hard time connecting. His voice was rough as he struggled to find the words. But then his gaze met yours, and in a second, he was leaning in, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that made everything else disappear. The restraint he'd held onto all night finally snapped, and you felt his hands tighten around you, pulling you close in the back exit halls as if he couldn't get enough.  “I need to get you home. Been dying to kiss you. I couldn’t take it anymore. Been driving me crazy all night." Trent chuckled, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“I want to go home, baby.” You playfully whined,  your eyes sparkling with mischief. The cool night air hit you like a shock, but Trent's firm grip anchored you, his urgency undeniable. As soon as you were outside, he pulled you into him, glancing around once over as if checking to make sure no one followed towards the car.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me when we get home?” He asked you and you nodded slowly but desperately.  The lights from the club cast a hazy glow around you, making everything feel surreal. You got into the black car equipped with security that had waited for you two. The drive back to his place felt like an eternity. You were dying to get there but terrified to go at the same time. His hands were subtly all over you during the car ride building up the tension even more than you thought possible. The heat radiating off your bodies, and the way his gaze lingered on your lips had you desperate for him. As you approached his house, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of nerves and anticipation. 

With a swift movement, Trent unlocked his front door and pulled you inside, his eyes dark with desire. The moment the door closed behind you, he crashed his lips against yours, hungrily devouring your mouth. His kiss was aggressive, demanding, and it took your breath away. You responded eagerly, your hands gripping his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. He pulled back momentarily, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any hesitation. 

"Are you sure about this, Y/N? I don't want to push you too far. But I’m having a hard time controlling myself here" He asked earnestly. A wave of desire washed over you, and you knew you wanted this as much as he did, maybe more. 

"Stop asking," you whispered, your voice laced with need. "Just fuck me, T. I want you to fuck me again. Make me cum again." A devilish grin spread across his face, and he wasted no time in taking control. His hands roamed over your body, unzipping your dress and roughly pulling it down, exposing your bare skin. He traced his fingers along the curve of your waist, down to the swell of your hips, and then back up, cupping your tits.

"You're so fucking sexy," he growled, his lips finding your neck, nipping and suckling on your sensitive skin. "You promised you’d be a good girl f’me. Yeah?"  He smoke against your skin. You nodded as you arched your back, offering yourself to him, your breath coming in shallow gasps. 

"T, baby… don't hold back. I’m serious. I’ll do whatever you want. I want it rough. I want to forget everything but your touch."  Trent’s eyes lit up. This was all still so new and he was more than excited to hear you talk to him like that. His hands moved with purpose, completely removing your dress freeing your heavy tits. He palmed them, squeezing and kneading, his thumbs teasing your sensitive nipples. 

"Fuck, your tits are incredible," he groaned, his lips moving to capture a nipple, sucking it into his warm mouth. You moaned loudly, your head falling back as pleasure coursed through your body. His mouth felt incredible on your sensitive flesh, and you couldn't help but beg for more. 

"Oh fuck, please. I need more." You cried out. He released your nipple with a pop, leaving it aching and tingling. 

"You've always wanted me, haven't you, baby?" he teased, his voice laced with a hint of dominance. "Admit it, you've been craving my cock inside you since the other week." He growled.  Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal. You weren’t sure you were ever going to get over how sexy it was to hear Trent talk like this to you, and it sent a thrill through your core. 

"Yeah huh... I've always wanted you. You know I have,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I want you to use me,T." You weren't thinking it in real time but you almost didn’t recognize the words coming out of your mouth, you’d never been this down for a man before, so willing, so submissive. 

“Fuck… Wear these just for me, baby?” He asked lust burning behind his dark mahogany eyes as he admired the La Perlas you’d worn exactly as he said... just for him.  You hummed confirming. “Such a good girl for me.” Trent snickered, his hands moving down to the waistband of your thong roughly pulling them off you, exposing your glistening folds. You gasped. "I’ll buy you more baby, don’t worry. I know you… you like to be dirty for me. You’ve been craving my touch, my cock, huh?” Your skin was on fire under his touch, your pussy throbbing and dripping with need. 

"Please, Trent," you pleaded, your voice hoarse. "Touch me, I'm so wet for you." He didn't need any more encouragement. His fingers delved between your legs, finding your swollen clit, and began to stroke and tease. 

"Fuck, you're so fucking wet," he grunted, his breath hot against your ear. "I love how you get so turned on by me." Your body trembled as his fingers worked their magic, circling your clit, sliding into your slick heat.

"Yeah– I fuck.. Oh my god. For you baby. Oh God, yes," you whimpered a jumble of words, your hips thrusting against his hand. "Right there, please, don't stop." You moaned. Trent's touch was relentless, his fingers plunging deep inside you, curling and stroking your sweet spot. 

"That's it, baby, cum for me. I want to feel your pussy clench around my fingers." Your orgasm built rapidly, your body coiling tighter with each stroke of his skilled fingers. 

"I'm gonna cum, baby!" you cried out, your voice hoarse and raw. He increased the pace, his thumb rubbing your clit in firm circles. 

"That's it, let it all out. Cum for me, pretty girl.” He cooed as your release hit you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as pleasure consumed you. You cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you. “Good girl.” He gently praised you kissing your neck. As your tremors subsided, Trent gently removed his fingers, leaving you feeling sensitive and sated. He picked you up and brought you up to the bedroom, his eyes locked on you, your chest heaving as you came down, kissing his neck "Get on the bed f’me, baby," he commanded, his voice thick with desire. "I want to taste every inch of you." And so you did as he asked, your body still buzzing from the intensity of your climax downstairs. You laid back on the soft sheets, your eyes never leaving his as he stood before you, his erection straining against his trousers. With deliberate movements, Trent undressed, revealing his toned, sculpted body. He pulled his shirt over his head and your jaw slacked as his muscles flexed. Your mouth went dry as you took in the sight of him, his cock thick and hard, straining towards you. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your thighs, his eyes smoldering with hunger. "You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his hands caressing your inner thighs, spreading you open. "I'm gonna eat you out until you beg me to stop." You nodded. You were borderline delirious. The first time you had to be quiet, you almost had to be quick before but so far… this had been a complete 180 from that and it was proving to somehow be even better. His head lowered, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. He teased you, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs, kissing over the faded remnant of his last visit to your core, making you squirm with anticipation. Finally, his tongue found your aching clit, flicking and swirling, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

"Oh God, Trent," you moaned, your hands threading to grip his hair, holding him close. "Your mouth feels so good. Don't stop, please." He chuckled against your skin, his smugness palpable but you didn’t care, the vibrations sent shivers down your spine, it felt too good. 

"You taste so sweet, baby. I could do this all night." His tongue delved deeper, penetrating your wetness, licking and sucking, driving you wild. You were lost in a haze of pleasure, your body responding to his every touch. His fingers joined his tongue, thrusting into your tight hole, stretching and filling you. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, please, baby!" you cried out, your hips bucking against his face. Trent's mouth and fingers worked in perfect harmony, driving you to the brink of another mind-blowing orgasm. Trent could feel his cock getting so hard from hearing and watching and making you cum. He was almost about to explode himself but he needed to experience it again. He was obsessed. 

"Cum for me again, baby," he urged, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Let me feel you squeeze around my fingers. Be my good girl again." Your body obeyed, the sensations overwhelming you as you tumbled over the edge once more. Your cries filled the room as your pussy clenched and spasmed around his invading fingers. As your tremors subsided, Trent slowly withdrew his fingers, leaving you breathless and spent. He rose above you, his cock poised at your entrance, ready to claim what was his. "You're so fucking responsive, baby. I love how you cum for me." You reached up, running your hands over his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath your touch. 

"I need more of you, T. Please, I need you inside me. I want to make you cum now, baby." You told him as he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock teasing your wetness.

"Tell me what you want, baby. I want to hear you beg." Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but your desire overrode any inhibitions. 

"Please, T," you pleaded, your voice thick with need. "Fuck me, hard. I want to feel you deep inside me. I want to be a good girl for you.” Your words went straight to his cock. He smiled deviously and with one swift thrust, he slid inside,  filling you completely, in your lustful haze forgetting condoms existed. Your eyes widened at the sensation of his thick shaft stretching you, taking you by surprise. "Oh my God," you gasped, your body adjusting to his size. 

"You like that, huh?" he grunted, his voice strained. "You love my cock inside you, don't you, baby?"  You nodded, unable to form words, your body already building towards another climax. Trent began to move, his hips thrusting in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each stroke hitting your sweet spot you’d never known before. “Take my cock. That’s it.” He growled, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open for his possession. The pleasure was intense, each thrust sending sparks of ecstasy through your body. You matched his rhythm, your hips rising to meet his, your breasts bouncing with each impact. 

"Oh fuck, baby. You’re so deep." you chanted, your nails digging into his back, marking him as your own. Trent's eyes rolled back as he pounded into you, his control slipping with each thrust. Your mind turning to mush. You couldn’t think of anything else but the roll of Trents hips. Each thrust clouding your mind more. His lips coming to kiss and suck on your exposed collarbone. 

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby. I want you to cum on my cock. I need to feel you– Fuck!” Trent grunted. You were wrong the first time, that wasn't the best sex either of you had ever had… this was. Your body was on fire, your pussy clenching and milking his shaft, desperate for his release. 

"Cum inside me T," you begged, your voice hoarse. “I want you to fill me up, please." You whined. His thrusts starting to become sloppier.  Hearing you say that made his mind go blank. He tried to ask you ‘what?’ Or ‘are you sure?’ But he couldn't process what you were saying. It turned him on too much to even think straight. “Please, I need you. I want to feel you cum.” You demanded wrapping your legs around his waist tighter, holding him to you. 

“Baby…” Trent grunted, not sure what to do. He felt like he was glitching; he couldn't process both minds. 

“I’m on birth control, please T… Do it, baby. Please.” You whined pathetically. It’s all you could think about. It’s all you wanted. You wanted to feel him. So you clenched around him and he moaned. He reached down between your body’s to rub your clit in sync with his rough pace. 

“Yeah? Alright, I’ll give you what you want, baby.  I’m gonna… fuck…” He babbled through words. You nodded as the knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter. 

“Oh fuck…” You whined as he hit your g spot again and again relentlessly. You gripped his biceps, nails leaving crescent marks on his tanned toned arms. 

“Doing so good, baby. I got you. I’m gonna cum. Shit! Squeezing me so fucking tight.” He grunted still thrusting into you as his abs tensed. His eyes rolled back a little with deep breaths. He let out a guttural roar as he plunged deep, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself inside you. Wave after wave of his hot cum filled your depths, triggering another earth-shattering orgasm within you. Your body quivered as your pussy tightened around him. Your bodies convulsed together, locked in a blissful embrace as pleasure consumed you both. He slowed almost to a halt as his cock pulsed inside your warm pussy. He pumped you full of his cum, painting your insides. He caught your lips with a sweet kiss.  As your tremors subsided, Trent collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He turned towards you though just in time to see your eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "You okay? Did so good f’me. You were incredible, baby.” He kissed your temple pulling you tight to him. He smiled, his eyes full of affection. You hummed but couldn’t get any words out just yet, completely spent. You snuggled closer, your fingers tracing the contours of his face.  He captured your hand, pressing a tender kiss to your palm. Trent kissed your forehead and rolled off the bed. “Stay right there f’me. One minute” He cooed softly.

“You’re perfect,” You giggled quietly as Trent returned with a warm towel gently wiping up your thighs and sensitive core. He was so soft as he worked his way around, cleaning you up, leaving kisses on your warm skin after it was wiped clean. He laid down next to you and you just stared at him appreciatively. 

“Okay… all good, baby?” He tenderly asked. You nodded, pulling him into you. As you lay there, entwined in each other's arms, you knew that this night had changed everything. The secret you shared would bind you together, and the passion that ignited between you was burning brighter than ever before.

Naively, you hadn't exactly anticipated waking up naked and tangled in your brother's best friend's sheets after the club, feeling the steady rhythm of Trent's heartbeat under your cheek. As reality set in, you let out a quiet groan, a mix of bliss and uncertainty. You really liked Trent, but what were you both doing? What were you thinking? Sure you didn’t kiss at the club but anyone could've seen you together last night. Not to mention what happened in the privacy of Trent’s bed last night. This wasn't fair to Jack. Yet, the warmth of Trent's arms around you made it hard to think of anything else. Then suddenly you could feel those gorgeous brown eyes fixed on you. 

"Stop staring at me," you giggled sleepily, sensing Trent's gaze on you as you lay draped across his chest.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his fingers tracing light circles on your bare back, pulling you from every nagging worry.

"Stop," you muttered shyly. "Also, you've 100% seen me sleep before..."

"Not like this," he replied, his voice soft but teasing. "Not in my bed, not on top of me, not naked... definitely not after we had sex." His smirk made you both laugh and blush, but you didn't pull away.

"Did I live up to your expectations?" you teased, hiding a bit of genuine curiosity.

"Surpassed them," he whispered, tilting your face to look at him. "From the first kiss," he added, his eyes warm, making you feel seen in a way that felt new and thrilling. You cuddled closer, sighing into his warmth, a quiet, affectionate 

"My T..." escaping your lips in a soft murmur. Trent's lips curled into a smile. 

"Yeah? Yours now?” He teased as a wave of embarrassment and surprise washed over you. You felt the urge to pull back, realizing what you'd just said. You felt it, you felt he’d been yours for forever but now with your arms around him it felt more real. You just regretted saying it aloud massively.  But before you could say anything more to backtrack, he beat you to it. "Good. I like that." His voice was a gentle reassurance, grounding you in the moment. You couldn't help but smile, pressing closer into his embrace, thinking that maybe-just maybe-this was worth all the risk. You stayed in bed, savoring the lingering warmth and thrill of the night before, feeling like you were tangled up in the best and most complicated decision of your life. Trent stretched beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. He groaned, dramatizing his soreness. 

“I gotta run to training, baby,” he murmured, sitting up, his voice hesitant. “But you know, like… where stuff is, or… I don’t know,” he added with a shy laugh, glancing over at you.

“It’s fine,” you assured him, trying to mask the slight guilt you felt for even being at his place. “I can let myself out.” You shyly told him. But Trent shook his head, looking at you earnestly. 

“Nah, I don’t mean that. I meant…” He paused, then took a deep breath. “If you want, you could… hang out, y’know? Till I get back.” A small, hopeful smile played on his lips. He wanted more than just a hook-up, but he also didn’t want to push you too much, too soon. There was a fine line here. You knew each other so well already so it was hard to find the right medium. 

“Okay…” you replied softly, rolling over and nuzzling deeper into his bed, feeling the comforting scent of him on the sheets. It was the softest, most comfortable place you’d ever been, and every inch of you wanted to stay wrapped in that feeling. Trent leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder blade, lingering just a moment. He rested his forehead there, warm and content. The quiet promise hung between you both, and when he finally pulled away, the smile on his face mirrored your own. This was everything you’d ever dreamed of.

That night and the following day made everything very real for you. You would text but it was tense. Not in a negative way, just in a dangerous way. It was flirty but cautious. Neither of you knew what the other wanted out of this. It was insane you were doing this, risking it all, but it felt far too forward to just jump into something like dating. It was hard not to wonder if this was all just a physical thrill for him. He could get any girl, so why just use you for that… But in any case you weren’t exactly going to stop him. The two times you had sex were the best of your life. The days after would unfold in a series of stolen glances and held-back smiles, a mix of excitement and uncertainty hovering between you and Trent. Now that you both knew how good the sex was, you made sure not to spend too much time alone, knowing full well how easily things would spiral. Whenever he’d text you something cheeky, it’d leave you grinning and tense all at once. The messages bounced back and forth, his words flirty but guarded, your responses mirroring the same cautious playfulness. Both of you circled around what you wanted, but neither quite daring to define it. The tension simmered, unspoken questions lingering. Did he just want something physical? Was this a fling, or was he holding back for the same reasons you were? A small part of you worried, wondering if he saw this as a thrill, something exciting but ultimately fleeting. But another part of you couldn’t let it go—not when the chemistry felt this real, this undeniable. Not after some of the things he’d said to you. So you found yourself slipping further into it… into him, savoring the anticipation, not ready to pull back even as you held on tightly to the ‘what ifs.’ For now, neither of you were stopping, and maybe that was all that mattered.

One evening, you returned home from a dinner with friends, laughter still lingering on your lips when you saw him there…Trent, perched at the kitchen island next to your brother, Jack. The ease you'd felt moments ago fizzled into something else entirely, a mix of excitement and nerves. You hadn't expected him to be here tonight, and the realization set off a charge between you that felt impossible to ignore. Trent's eyes found yours the second you walked in, and you saw something flicker in his gaze. The cocky confidence he usually wore so easily faltered; he swallowed, letting his eyes flutter closed for just a second, as if seeing you threw him off balance. He knew he should've texted to give you a heads-up, but he didn't know the rules any more than you did. Were there rules at all? There had been no conversations, no ‘what are we doing’ talks, only late-night touches and whispered promises that lingered like secrets. Now, here he was, in your space again, and the unspoken tension between you felt all the more real with Jack in the room. 

Jack was hunched over, engrossed in a tub of ice cream as he scooped out of it directly with a spoon, clearly settled in the comforts of his own home. You walked over and playfully swiped a bit off the lid, the cold against your finger a welcome distraction as you licked it off. The whole time, you could feel Trent's gaze tracking every movement, his stare so intense you almost felt heat radiate off him. When you glanced up, his eyes were fixed on you, almost as if willing himself to look away. You sucked on your finger pretending to be innocent purring a ‘yum.’ He shut his eyes briefly, as though watching you was more than he could bear. Once the ice cream was cleanly off your finger and you knew Trent was locked in you casually peeled off the sweatshirt you had on, too aware of the way your shirt underneath it clung to your frame and you wanted to show him just that. As you pulled the jumper over your head, the fabric of your top underneath rose up, you watched as Trent's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the bare skin revealed beneath the hem. He mouthed ‘stop; at you, his eyes pleading, though his lips hinted at a smirk, like he was caught between amusement and frustration. You couldn't help but return the smirk, leaning into the innocence of the moment while savoring the effect it had on him. As you moved to brush past Trent's kitchen island stool, your hand slid against the cool countertop, steadying you as you sent him a flirtatious look. Jack, completely oblivious but mildly annoyed by your stealing swipe, reached for the ice cream tub and turned to walk back over to the freezer to put it away with a small grumble. Tren wasn't having your teasing though. As Jack’s back turned, his hand shot out, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer with enough possessiveness to make your breath catch. His fingers pressed into your side, holding you in place as he leaned in, his voice low and rough against your ear.

"Stop it," he whispered, his words a command masked in a tease, his breath hot against your skin. His smirk was still there, but you could sense he was barely keeping his composure. You swallowed, feeling his grip tighten ever so slightly, each inch between you charged with electricity. “Thought you liked being a good girl f’me?” His voice was soft, teasing, and you felt his fingers flex against your waist. He chuckled under his breath. His fingers slid from your waist just as Jack shut the refrigerator door, your cheeks flushed as you stepped back, trying to steady your breathing and maintain the playful pretense. But the truth was, every touch, every glance was unraveling the control you'd both been clinging to. Jack turned back around, oblivious once more, but you and Trent exchanged another look, the kind that said everything you couldn't out loud. The thrill was undeniable, but beneath it all was a question that neither of you wanted to ask-was this just a game, or was there something more? And with Jack so close, both of you knew one thing: the stakes were only getting higher.

You headed up to your room, turning down the invitation to join Jack, Trent, and their friends who’d since come over for another movie night. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, but being in the same room as Trent right now—so close, yet unable to act on how you felt—seemed like torture. And in addition to that torture you couldn’t do this to Jack. The touches in the kitchen were already unfair. Not in his own home. You needed space to cool down, away from the tension that always sparked whenever Trent was near. But once upstairs, your phone buzzed. It was Trent, and just seeing his name on your screen made your heart race.

The message read, casual but with an undertone you couldn’t quite place. You smirked, already forming a response in your head.

You replied, keeping it short and sweet, trying to play it cool. You didn’t want him to think you were avoiding him, even if part of you was.  Seconds later, another buzz. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was a little inside joke between you two. Trent always teased you about your habit of talking through films, but secretly, you knew he liked your commentary and questions. And now, you definitely knew he liked your company. Your fingers hovered over the screen as you typed out a response, trying to ignore how giddy you felt.

His next message came in almost immediately, and it stopped you in your tracks. 

Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to read it twice just to make sure you weren’t imagining things. Was he really asking what you thought he was asking? You stared at your phone, biting your lip as a wave of nervous excitement washed over you. This wasn’t a casual hangout invite—it felt like something more. Something you’d both been skirting around for too long. Your mind raced as you considered how to respond, trying to balance your excitement with the need to not come off too eager. You didn’t think it was a date but it was hanging out alone and not some sort of drunk lustful afterthought. 

You finally typed, keeping your tone light, though inside, your pulse quickened. You didn’t want to give away how much this meant to you—not yet. You were relieved Trent’s reply came fast.

You flopped back onto your bed, covering your face with a pillow to muffle the excited squeal that escaped your lips. Your legs kicked the air as your mind raced. Was this really happening? The thought of being alone with him, away from prying eyes, sent a thrill through you that you couldn’t quite suppress. You typed out your next reply, trying to keep your cool. 

You typed feeling mildly braver.

Trent texted back, simple, direct, and flirty… and perfect. All of it somehow made it even more exciting. You tossed your phone onto the bed, rolling over as a grin spread across your face. You couldn’t even play it cool on the outside, inside, you were buzzing but your texts read calm… at least you hoped they did. Regardless, Trent and you had just decided the line was officially gone and you couldn’t wait to see what happened now.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 5 - Together or Apart xx

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Help Me Hold Onto You

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Ended relationship)

Setting: Alexandria after 6 year jump

Warnings: Angst, More angst, No happy here, mentions of pregnancy

Summary: Daryl comes back after his 6 year absence to talk to you after a misunderstanding during one of your visits to his camp. He receives quite the shock.

A/N: Feeling blah. Needed to channel negative energy. Sorry!

Moodboard by @dannyo000

Daryl gnawed on the skin of his thumb while staring at the edge of the crop rows. Michonne had told him you would be there and that he should really go see you. She was, in fact, rather insistent. He nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot. Would you even want to see him? Things hadn’t exactly ended amicably after your final visit to his camp when you had stumbled upon him with Leah. Even allowing the other woman’s name to occupy his thoughts for a mere second brought an onslaught of guilt and self-loathing. He had been caught in a moment of weakness, not putting a stop to Leah’s advances when it was your lips he craved. 

Idiot. With a heavy sigh, he trudged forward, scanning over the individuals hard at work maintaining the surplus of crops in the community. It was your hair he noticed first, no longer flowing wildly down your back but cropped off just below your shoulders. His eyes studied the visible skin below the spaghetti straps of the sundress you were wearing. He had always envisioned you in a dress. It was not the right color and looked to be a little longer than the one his imagination supplied, but it was hard to tell while you were kneeling in front of the tomato plants. 

The familiar spread of freckles were shining with a sheen of sweat from work in the midday sun. With narrowing eyes, he took in the way your shoulder blades seemed more pronounced and your arms were much slimmer than the last time he saw you. He could see the muscles flex beneath your skin as you dug in the soil. Even from his limited vantage point, you appeared—frail. 

Forced to steel his nerves, he stepped closer, only coming to a stop when a few feet separated you. “Hey, Y/N.” The archer eyed you carefully, even took a step back when your movements froze and a visible tension seized across your body. 

“What are you doing here, Dixon?” 

Your cold tone forced his heart to freeze and drop into his stomach, twisting a knot that made him nauseous. What the hell had Michonne been thinking? Daryl closed his eyes briefly, inhaling through his nose. Words were failing him, any and all logical responses lost in the tension. “How, uh—how are ya?” 

“Fine. You done?”

You had yet to move, to even look at him. He had definitively fucked this up royally. One kiss—a kiss he neither wanted nor reciprocated—had destroyed this precious relationship that had taken years to build. The archer sighed. “No. M’not.”

You stood then—with quite a bit of difficulty, he noted—but kept your back to him. “Just save it. I’m not interested.” Your gardening gloves were peeled from your hands and tossed roughly to the dirt. “Unless you’ve got other business here, you can go.” He watched you pivot away from him, but he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. 

“Damnit, woman, m’tryin’ to fix this!” Daryl was careful not to raise his voice, to not be so quick to anger; something he was still learning to control after all these years. 

Your steps halted, eyes hesitantly peering back at him from over your shoulder. Pale skin gave way to dark circles around dull orbs. You really didn’t look well. He opened his mouth to inquire and was quick to close it when those same eyes narrowed angrily. 

“There’s nothing to fix, Dixon.” 

It was more than clear that you didn’t want him there. He could feel the anger permiating the air in waves, the knot in his gut twisting tighter. He was treading dangerous ground. He could push you, say what he needed to say and hope for the best. Or he could obey your wishes and go, maybe try again in the future. Maybe not. 

You were still watching him as the breeze picked up, cool but not chilling the early autumn air. He was still weighing his options when your shorter hair blew to the side and revealed the back of your neck. Light reflected off a silver chain there and hope rekindled in his chest. You were still wearing the necklace he had gifted you during one of your nights on the riverbank. 

“Y/N, I—”

You rounded on him so quickly that he stumbled back a step, hands out in a placating manner as you reached for him and shoved him back further. “You stupid, selfish, cowardly pig! How dare you! I can't believe you came here now with this shit!” Your shoves continued but Daryl had stopped blocking, taking each hit with an unreadable expression. You stopped, breathing heavily, and stepped back to throw up your arms in exasperation. 

“Y/N.” It was almost a whisper, so quiet and full of emotion that if you hadn’t been so angry with him, you would have gathered him into your arms and never let go. 

But you were angry. “What?” You bellowed. “What do you want?” 

Daryl couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. His heart was slamming a tattoo into his ribs. The world around him was blurry, voices fuzzy like being underwater. Except yours. Except you. The archer finally managed to bring you into focus, just as realization of what you had revealed became evident on your pale face. 

Yes, you did indeed look thin and sickly but that wasn’t why Daryl couldn’t seem to look away. He couldn’t even seem to blink. Your dress, loose as it was, still managed to hug your swollen stomach. The bump was not large but still evident, your small hands now twisting into the fabric of the dress nervously. 

His mouth moved but he couldn’t force his voice to work, so he clamped his lips shut. The anger was still evident in your expression, and he somehow noticed that you were trembling but he couldn’t look away from the area beneath your fisted hands. 

“How?” Daryl heard the words but didn’t remember speaking. “Ya said ya couldn’t—”

“Does it matter?” 

“S’it—” he shifted uncomfortably, pointing and withdrawing only to point again. “S’it mine?” Daryl finally forced his gaze away from your belly to lock eyes with you. It wasn’t long before your anger dissipated and morphed into something else, tears springing to your lashes. “Y/N.”

You flinched but he needed an answer and he needed it now. 

The people had heard the commotion and hushed whispers were hissing all around the two of you. Daryl could see Michonne from the corner of his eye. She had kept her distance but had apparently wanted to stay in the vicinity in case things got heated. The archer couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t still end that way. 

“It is.” You finally acknowledged, inciting a collective gasp from the onlookers. Your hands had dropped to your sides to take up twisting the fabric there. 

Michonne stepped forward after a few more unnerving moments of silence, motioning toward the small crowd that had gathered. “Okay, everyone! Nothing more to see! Let’s get back to work!” 

The two of you remained stoic as the people dispersed back to their activities, neither moving a muscle even as Alexandria’s leader stepped up to plant herself between you. “I think this should continue somewhere a little more private.” When neither indicated you had even heard her, Michonne leaned into Daryl’s line of sight to catch his eye. He seemed to snap out of his trance and gave a jerky nod. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” You replied quietly when the same was done to you. You swayed a little when you took the first step. Only through sheer force of will did Daryl not reach out to steady you. It didn’t matter. Michonne had already taken hold of your upper arm. 

“Can you make it there?” The sword-wielder asked with obvious concern. “I can end this right now.”

A rush of panic surged through the archer’s chest, nearly suffocating him where he stood. What was wrong with you? Was something wrong with the baby? His baby? “I’ll make sure she’s alright.” With a deep breath, he stepped forward and reached for you, careful not to touch. Neither of you needed that right now. His hand hovered as Michonne held fast. 

“Y/N?” The other woman questioned. You only spared Daryl a glance before facing your friend and nodding. Michonne returned the motion and let go to step back out of the way. Just as you started to leave, Daryl staying close by, Michonne called out his name. It was a clear warning. 

Take it easy on her.

He nodded without looking back and continued to follow. The community looked so different compared to his last visit. The rebuilt homes were less alluring, most having been constructed on top of anything that had been left of the previous structure. The place still had its appeal but it gave off more of a farmland vibe now than a prestigious community. 

The tension had seemed to fizzle out along with your energy. You walked slowly at his side, shoulders slumped and head down. Your face was hidden by a curtain of hair when he risked a sidelong glance. Daryl half wondered if you were even paying attention to where you were leading him. Just as he opened his mouth to ask, you pivoted to the left and crossed in front of him to ascend the few steps of a porch. He followed close behind but chose not to hover. You pulled open the screen door and pushed the main door inward, letting the first slam closed behind you. You had left the other open, for him, he assumed, but it felt wrong to just walk in.

Daryl pulled a cigarette from his vest pocket, along with a book of matches. When the tip had sizzled down and the first draw of smoke entered his lungs, he shook out the match and laid it on the small table next to a chair. Forgoing the obvious seating, the archer hopped up onto the railing and stared into the house. He couldn’t see you but could hear you moving around. You hadn’t come to investigate yet so you had to know he was still there. 

Daryl finished his cigarette and stamped it out on the porch, crossing the two steps to the door. The uneasy feeling was still there. It weighed heavily on him that he couldn’t just walk in like he would have before Rick—

Clearing his throat to swallow down the new flood of emotion, he raised a fist to tap on the screen door with his knuckles. You appeared from around a corner at the end of a short hall, briefly locking eyes with him. Averting your gaze, you jerked your head to invite him in. 

The home was simple inside, all mismatched furniture and mostly bare walls save for your handheld crossbow hanging next to the door. Looking for too long felt intrusive, so he lowered his eyes to the floor and proceeded down the hall and into what turned out to be the kitchen. 

You were standing there, on the opposite side of a small island with one hand wrapped around a glass of water. The other hand was sitting atop your rounded belly, mostly hidden from where he now stood. 

A few awkward moments passed with Daryl staring at the part of your hand he could see and you watching him uneasily. “Where’s Dog?”

The archer’s eyes slowly raised to your face, where he found he couldn’t seem to keep them. Leaning against the side of the refrigerator, he began to pick at his palm. “Jude’s got ‘im.” You nodded and took a sip from the glass. More silence followed before Daryl couldn’t wait any longer for the answers he felt so strongly he was owed. “How long?”

“What?”

He didn’t really feel like repeating himself but if he wanted you to answer, he’d have to be willing to communicate past the unsettledness. “How long ya known?”

Your lips formed a small “o” and you nodded. “About three months, I guess.” Your fingertips busied themselves tracing shapes on the countertop.  

“An’ ya never thought to come back and tell me?” There was an edge of agitation to his voice. Hell, he was agitated. 

“Oh, I thought about it plenty of times.” You snapped, expression hardening when he looked up to meet your eyes. Your hand was wrapped so tightly around the water glass that it was a wonder it hadn’t yet shattered. “But then I always seem to remember that you have plenty of things to occupy your time.”

Daryl wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what you meant. “Ya don’t even know whatcha saw that day.” It was taking some serious control to keep his tone level now. Everything inside him screamed that this would not end well but he pressed on anyway. “Ran away an’ didn’t even gimme a chance to explain.”

“I saw plenty, Dixon!” You wisely pushed the glass away from yourself. “That woman’s tongue down your throat! You wanna explain though? Go ahead! Explain!” You hissed, rounding the island. You stopped yourself a few feet from him. “Who is she?”

Daryl was listening as he worked hard to keep himself in check. His temper was itching to flare. ��Name was Leah. She’s not ‘round anymore, Y/N.”

“So sad for you, I’m sure.” You mocked, crossing your arms. “So what is this? She left you so you thought you could just come back here and we’d pick up where we left off?”

“S’not like that.” Daryl sighed. He straightened his stance and dared a step forward, his heart nearly sinking when you stepped back. “There weren’t never nothin’ with ‘er.”

You seemed to consider that, your eyes almost seeming to shake back and forth to hold his gaze. “It doesn’t matter.” You shook your head and started to turn away but the archer quickly crossed the distance between you to lay a hand on your shoulder. Your skin was so cold. You both stared at his hand before he quickly removed it. 

“Y/N, I—I stayed away cause I didn’t think ya’d wanna see me.”

“You were right.” You answered quietly after a few moments. His heart sank. “I didn’t. And I don’t.” You did walk away then but stopped in another doorway, keeping your back to him. “I won’t keep you from your kid, Dixon. They’ll need their father.”

Daryl swallowed hard, feeling a familiar sting in his eyes. 

You reached out to place your hand on the doorframe. You looked tired. “I’m due in the winter. You can be a part of this, as much or a little as you want.” You took a step into the room and paused again. “That day in the woods, when I saw you with her—I was coming to tell you about the baby.”

And then you were gone. 

The archer sniffed, forcing back the fierce assault of emotion that threatened to take him to his knees. He wiped furiously at his eyes with each arm and paced to one side of the kitchen and then back. He couldn’t leave it like this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This isn’t what he saw when he would envision your future. It was all wrong. Daryl looked to the door where you had been and took a step, his body freezing afterward when he remembered Michonne had made it clear he shouldn’t upset you. 

Clenching his fists, he spun toward the hall and all but ran out the door, slamming it closed behind him. 

[storytimewithnina]

The Mission (Charles Xavier Imagine)

Summary: When a high-stakes mission leaves Y/N, Charles Xavier’s beloved wife, gravely injured, Charles must confront his deepest fears.

Words: 2,442

In the dimly lit corridors of the X-Mansion, the air was thick with tension. The X-Men had just returned from a dangerous mission in the heart of Genosha, where they faced off against an unexpected onslaught of Sentinels. Among them was Y/N, Charles Xavier’s wife—a powerful telepath in her own right and a fierce member of the team.

The mission had been going smoothly until the Sentinels unleashed a new weapon, one that disrupted telepathic abilities. With their mental defenses compromised, the X-Men were forced to rely on their physical skills and instincts. Y/N fought bravely, her mind racing to find a way to counter the telepathic block, but in the chaos, she was struck by a powerful blast, leaving her gravely injured.

Now, the X-Men trudged back into the mansion, their uniforms singed, their faces grim. Wolverine, usually stoic and reserved, was the first to make his way to Charles’ office. His footsteps were heavy, his jaw clenched with a mixture of anger and concern.

Charles sensed Logan’s presence before he entered, his heart already pounding with unease. When the door opened, Logan’s expression confirmed his worst fears.

"Charles," Logan began, his voice rougher than usual. "It’s Y/N. She got hit pretty bad out there."

Charles felt the world shift beneath him, his hands gripping the edges of his desk as if to steady himself. "How bad?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Bad enough," Logan replied, his gaze meeting Charles' with an intensity that spoke volumes. "She’s in the med bay. Hank’s with her now, doing everything he can."

For a moment, Charles couldn’t speak. His mind raced, replaying every moment they had shared together, every mission where he had felt her presence beside him, her strength bolstering his own. But now, that presence was faint, slipping away like sand through his fingers.

"I should have been there," Charles muttered, guilt gnawing at him. "I should have—"

"Don’t do that to yourself," Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "We all knew the risks. Y/N knew the risks. She fought like hell out there, just like she always does. She wouldn’t want you blaming yourself."

Charles nodded, but the pain in his chest didn’t ease. He knew Logan was right, but it didn’t change the fear that gripped him, the fear of losing the woman who meant more to him than anything in the world.

"Take me to her," Charles finally said, his voice stronger now, laced with determination.

Logan gave a single nod, turning to lead the way. As they moved through the mansion, Charles prepared himself for what lay ahead, steeling his mind for the possibility that he might not hear her voice in his thoughts again. But deep down, he clung to hope—a hope that Y/N, his beloved, would pull through as she always had, defying the odds, and that they would face the future together, side by side.

As Logan led Charles down the quiet halls toward the med bay, he kept his pace steady, knowing that every second felt like an eternity to Charles. The flickering lights above cast long shadows, and the only sound was the faint hum of the mansion’s machinery.

"Logan," Charles said, his voice tinged with urgency, "tell me what happened out there."

Logan took a deep breath, not pausing as he spoke. "It was supposed to be a routine mission—scout the area, disable the Sentinel factory, get out. We’ve done it a hundred times. But this time, they were ready for us. The Sentinels—they had some new tech, something that messed with telepaths. As soon as we got close, Jean and Y/N—hell, even I could feel it—they were hit by some kind of mental static. It was like a psychic scream, loud enough to rattle your skull."

Charles listened intently, his hands gripping the arms of his wheelchair, his mind already racing through possibilities.

"Jean was the first to go down," Logan continued, his tone darkening as he recalled the events. "Y/N tried to shield her, tried to push through that noise in her head, but it was too much, even for her. She kept fighting, though, stubborn as always. We managed to take out a few Sentinels, but one of those bastards caught on to what she was doing, saw her as the biggest threat. It fired a shot straight at her—a blast I’ve never seen before, like it was designed to hit telepaths."

Logan paused, his jaw tightening as he remembered the moment. "She tried to dodge, tried to shield herself, but it was too fast. She got hit square in the chest. The force of it… it threw her back, knocked her out cold. By the time I got to her, she was barely breathing."

Charles felt a cold dread settle in his stomach, the image of Y/N lying unconscious haunting his thoughts. "And the others?" he asked, his voice a strained whisper.

"They rallied around her," Logan said, a touch of pride in his voice. "Jean, Scott, Storm—they held the line while I got Y/N out of there. We finished the mission, destroyed the factory, but it was rough. Everyone’s banged up, but nothing like Y/N. She was the priority."

Logan stopped walking as they reached the med bay doors, turning to face Charles fully. "She’s tough, Charles. You know that better than anyone. But that hit—it did a number on her. Hank’s doing everything he can, but…"

"But it’s bad," Charles finished, his voice heavy with emotion.

Logan nodded, his eyes reflecting the weight of what he’d just relayed. "Yeah, it’s bad. But if anyone can pull through, it’s her."

Charles took a deep breath, drawing strength from Logan’s words. He knew his wife was a fighter, but hearing the raw truth from someone who had been there, who had seen her in the thick of battle, brought a mixture of fear and hope that he struggled to balance.

"Thank you, Logan," Charles said quietly, his voice steadier now. "For bringing her back, for telling me."

Logan gave a slight nod, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the gravity of the situation. "She’s gonna need you now, Charles. More than ever."

With that, Logan pushed open the doors to the med bay, leading Charles into the sterile room where Hank McCoy worked tirelessly over Y/N’s still form. As Charles moved closer to her bedside, he reached out mentally, hoping to feel the familiar warmth of her presence. For now, there was only a faint echo, a whisper of the woman he loved. But he held onto it, refusing to let go, knowing that she was fighting to come back to him, just as she always had.

As Logan stepped into the med bay, he cast a quick glance at Y/N, lying motionless on the medical bed, her breathing shallow, with monitors beeping steadily around her. Charles wheeled himself closer, his heart pounding as he looked at his wife. Her usually vibrant face was pale, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut.

Logan hesitated for a moment before speaking, knowing how much Charles needed to know, but also how hard the truth would be to hear. "It’s bad, Charles," he began, his voice low and gruff. "The blast wasn’t just energy. It was like… it targeted her mind as well as her body. Fried her nerves, messed with her brainwaves. Hank said she’s got internal injuries—serious ones. Her brain’s in overload, trying to heal itself, but it’s like everything’s scrambled. She’s in and out of consciousness, but she hasn’t really woken up."

Charles felt his breath hitch as Logan continued, the weight of every word sinking into him like stones. "Hank’s done what he can to stabilize her, but that blast—it was designed to do more than just hurt. It was meant to incapacitate, maybe even kill. Right now, she’s in a coma. And with the kind of damage she’s taken…"

Logan paused, his voice tightening with uncharacteristic emotion. "She might not wake up, Charles. And even if she does, we don’t know what kind of shape she’ll be in."

Charles felt a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The thought of losing Y/N, of never hearing her voice in his mind again, of never seeing her smile… it was unbearable. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain composure.

"Is there anything more we can do?" Charles asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Logan shook his head slowly. "Hank’s doing everything possible. We’re looking into other options, but right now, it’s up to her. Her mind’s strong, and we’re hoping that’ll be enough to pull her through. But…"

"But we have to be prepared for the worst," Charles finished, his voice barely a whisper.

Logan nodded, his expression grim. "Yeah, we do."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the reality of the situation settling in around them like a heavy fog. Finally, Charles reached out and took Y/N’s hand in his, feeling its warmth despite everything. He closed his eyes, reaching out to her with his mind, hoping against hope that he could find her there, that she could hear him, feel him.

"Come back to me, Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with all the love and fear he felt. “Please, come back.”

Charles Xavier sat beside Y/N's bed, his heart heavy with a mix of hope and dread. The steady hum of medical equipment filled the silence, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors counting each precious second. He held Y/N’s hand in his, the warmth of her skin a fragile thread anchoring him to the present, to the possibility of a future where she might wake up and smile at him again.

His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, were clouded with worry as he gazed at her pale face. The woman who had always been his strength, his anchor, now lay motionless, her mind distant, unreachable. The connection that had always been there between them, a comforting presence in his mind, was faint, like a radio station fading in and out, barely discernible amidst the static.

“Please, come back,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his love, the raw fear of losing her. The words seemed to echo in the stillness, as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for her response.

But there was nothing—only the steady beep of the machines, the sterile scent of antiseptic, the cold touch of uncertainty wrapping itself around his heart.

He reached out with his mind, searching for any trace of her consciousness, any sign that she was still fighting, still holding on. But what he found was a fragmented echo, a ghost of the vibrant woman he had known, a faint whisper that seemed to slip through his mental grasp like sand through his fingers.

Charles swallowed hard, his chest tightening with the weight of the unknown. He had faced countless battles, stood against some of the most dangerous forces in the world, but this… this was different. This was personal. This was Y/N, the woman who had stood by his side through everything, who had been his strength when he was weak, his hope when the world seemed darkest. And now, she was slipping away, leaving him alone in a silence that was more terrifying than any enemy he had ever faced.

As he sat there, holding her hand, he heard the soft creak of the door opening behind him. Logan’s heavy footsteps approached, the familiar scent of cigar smoke mingling with the antiseptic air. He could sense Logan’s hesitation, the way the usually gruff man softened his presence, trying not to intrude on the intimate moment.

“Charles,” Logan said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “She’s strong. Stronger than any of us. If anyone can fight through this, it’s her.”

Charles didn’t look up, his eyes still fixed on Y/N’s face, searching for any sign of life, any flicker of movement. “I know she is, Logan,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m terrified. I’ve never been this afraid.”

Logan placed a hand on Charles’ shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from the hardened warrior. “You’ve got every right to be. But you’ve also got to believe in her. Just like she believes in you.”

Charles nodded, but the fear still gnawed at him, a relentless, cold knot in his stomach. He knew Logan was right—Y/N had always been a fighter, always determined, always pushing through whatever obstacle stood in her way. But now, it was up to him to be strong for her, to hold on to the hope that she would come back to him, that they could face whatever came next together.

The minutes stretched into hours, the night creeping slowly toward dawn. Charles remained by Y/N’s side, refusing to leave. He spoke to her softly, his words a lifeline thrown out into the darkness, recounting memories of their time together, stories of their love, of their shared dreams. He hoped that somewhere in the depths of her mind, she could hear him, that his voice would guide her back from the brink, back to him.

The medical monitors beeped steadily, a constant reminder of the fragile balance between life and death that Y/N now walked. Charles never let go of her hand, never stopped believing that she would open her eyes again, that they would find their way back to each other.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Charles felt a subtle shift in the air, a faint stirring in Y/N’s thoughts. It was like a spark in the darkness, a glimmer of hope that he clung to with all his might.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “If you can hear me… if you’re there… please, come back to me.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Y/N’s fingers twitched in his hand. It was the smallest of movements, but to Charles, it felt like a miracle.

His heart surged with hope, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. “That’s it, my love,” he encouraged, his voice growing stronger. “Come back to me. I’m right here, waiting for you.”

The connection between them, though still faint, began to grow, the fragmented echoes of her thoughts slowly piecing themselves back together. Charles could feel her fighting, could sense her determination to return to him, to the life they had built together.

And as the first rays of dawn broke through the windows of the med bay, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting Charles’ with a mix of exhaustion and relief.

“Charles…” she whispered, her voice weak but filled with the warmth he had longed to hear.

Charles felt tears well up in his eyes, his heart swelling with a joy he had feared he might never feel again. “I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, Y/N. You’re safe now.”

As Y/N’s fingers tightened around Charles' hand, it was a bittersweet moment of relief and profound sadness. Her grip was barely there, a fragile whisper of the strength that once was. Charles gazed at her, his heart heavy with the sight of her vulnerability, knowing that she was far from the vibrant person she used to be. The toll of the battle, the pain, and the exhaustion were all too evident.

Charles had always been the guiding light for others, the one who could see the path forward even in the darkest times. But now, faced with Y/N’s fragile state, he felt a gnawing fear unlike any he’d ever known. The path to recovery was uncertain and fraught with difficulties, and he was acutely aware of how powerless he felt.

He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here, Y/N. I need you to stay with me. I don’t know what the future holds, but I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Y/N’s response was a faint, almost imperceptible nod, her eyes filled with a mix of pain and determination. It wasn’t a promise of recovery or a sign of immediate strength, but it was a glimmer of something—something that gave Charles a tiny, fragile thread of hope.

The silence between them was heavy, filled with the beeping of the medical monitors and the quiet thrum of the hospital machinery. Charles pressed his forehead against hers, the tears that had been welling in his eyes finally spilling over. He let them fall freely, each one a reflection of his raw fear and heartbreak.

There were no grand declarations, no assurances of overcoming this challenge. Only the quiet, painful reality of their situation, and the unspoken vow that they would face it together, no matter how daunting. The bond they shared was a flickering light in a sea of uncertainty, and as Charles held her hand tightly, he clung to that light, hoping it would guide them through the darkness.

As dawn’s first light seeped through the med bay’s windows, casting long shadows on the walls, Charles stayed by Y/N’s side. The future was daunting and unknown, and the journey to recovery would be long and fraught with obstacles. But for now, in that quiet room, he focused on the present—the quiet strength of their bond and the faint, but unmistakable, presence of the woman he loved.

[bonesxbows]

Baby, I Believe In You (Amir Beckett X Reader)

My Masterlist

The universe seems out to get you, with how one thing leads to another and the anxiety seems to just pile up. You can't catch a break. One more altercation and you might crack into a million pieces. But Amir can notice the signs better than anyone else in the Hex. And he plans to repay you for all of those moments that you've helped him.

(WARNINGS)

anxiety

anxious thoughts

(kind of) autism spectrum reader

threats of violence

stealing

mildly depressing thoughts

Amir flavored ADHD

This one's real personal. You ever have a right proper shit day at school? Yeahhh. That's what inspired this. I still haven't gotten Amir's character down perfect as I'm still new to writing him, but I did my best. Any negative comments will immediately be deleted. This is my main coping mechanism, so please keep that shit to yourself

POSITIVE comments and kudos are much appreciated. Ty for reading :)

Banners by @strangergraphics

You had woken up with hopeful energy buzzing through your system, a thrill set in your veins, ready to sink your teeth into whatever the day decided to throw at you. You were not, however, prepared for the onslaught that the universe apparently had lined up that day; a buffet of emotionally draining tasks that you were force fed one after the other. 

At first it had started off with something minuscule, a supply run needed from within the city for a new wave of refugees due to arrive at the Mall any day now. You were more than willing to offer your help when you spotted the ‘bounty’ on the Hex’s board. Within minutes you were out in the field with Aoi by your side, the two of you combing through the piles of leftover rubble discarded in the abandoned buildings of Höllvania. By the time the both of you had more scrap than you knew what to do with, your mind was laced with the ecstatic feeling of pridefulness for a job well done. It had been the most successful scrap run the two of you had seen in a good long while. 

You were almost giddy as you pulled your Atomicycle into the Mall’s garage. Yet as you slowed to a stop, there was no Arthur to be found. He wasn’t in the garage where you expected to find him to turn in your ‘bounty’, nor was he anywhere remotely nearby. You eventually found him in the food court, chatting with Quincy. 

“Hey…Arthur? Aoi and I just got back from that supply run you had posted and-”

“Did Aoi not tell you?” He cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. 

A sudden burst of anxiety swept away what was left of your thrilled mood. Replacing it with a churning pit of imaginative guilt. “...Tell me what?”

“Those refugees got held up a day. At least. A week, at most. Not that we can’t use the additional supplies, but it wasn’t necessary. Thanks for the effort though, Drifter.” He told you simply before returning back to his conversation with Quincy, as if you were no longer standing there. 

“Oh…Right. Okay…” You let a muttered and half-silent reply spill from your lips as you slowly stepped backwards away from the pair of ex-soldiers. Had you…done something wrong? Miscalculated, in some way? Misheard his instructions? 

Was this your fault? Somehow?

You weren’t sure of yourself as you made your way back to your bike, prepared to unload the haul of scrap that was, to quote, ‘no longer needed’. You worked silently, your fingers slow and your mind disconnected from their motions as you tried to work through what had actually just happened. 

Your confidence for the rest of the day may have been shaken, but it was not broken. A few hours later and you were raring to go again, the need to step foot outside of the Mall outweighing the fright of making another mistake. You couldn’t sit still. Something you and Amir had greatly in common, you were coming to figure out. 

Before you could, though, you came upon the whole group of the Hex, gathered around the sliding doors to the garage. Blocking your exit. They were locked in their own conversation, or argument, from the looks of it, unaware of your presence as you approached. The only one who even sensed you, and gave you any sort of acknowledgement, was Amir. He hadn’t been paying attention at all, if anything he had been looking for an excuse to slink away from the group, and the calling of your void song through the air caught his bored consciousness almost immediately. 

His head perked up, his glasses caught the light as he swiftly turned his head to face you. A smile grew on his face as he took in the sight before him. “Hey, sweetie.” He called out only loud enough for you to hear as you came up closer to him. 

“Hi, sparky. What’s…what’s going on?” You asked, turning your gaze to the five other protoframes, who were still mid-deep in an argument. 

His insides turned into a giddy and mushy mess from the nickname you had chosen for him. But he held those feelings down for now and focused on answering your question. “Dunno, honestly. Stopped paying attention halfway through. Lettie’s pissed about…something. Probablyimportantwiththewayshe’schewingArthurout but it’s just sooo boring.” He explained to you, whispering about half of it in your ear so the rest of the team couldn’t hear him. He huffed out the last word underneath his breath in a way that truly told you just how annoyed he was with being forced to partake in all of these team missions. 

You had to hold back a giggle at his silly antics. Though that didn’t stop a small smile from painting its way across your face. A small mercy that you graciously accepted after the events of this morning. “Lettie? I haven’t heard about anything-”

“How many times have I told you, you aniñado tonto! The medical center needs to stay sanitary!” She raised her voice, effectively cutting your question off before it could even leave your mouth. “How do you expect me to do my job if you can’t even do yours?”

You could feel the struggle in Arthur’s sigh within your bones. “Look, Lettie, it’s just temporary. Our storages are full. We’ve got nowhere else to put the supplies. Least til the refugees start to show.” 

Oh. Oh. So that’s what had started this argument. The smile that Amir had brought to your face slowly morphed back into a guilty frown. Your body took over, subconsciously pulling you into the nearby shadows and trying to slink your being behind Amir’s to hide. Gratefully, he didn’t seem to mind. 

“You want me to just sit back on my el culo and pray that these refugees will show up sometime soon? Tienes que estar bromeando, does anyone else have any other bright ideas?” Lettie was furious, though you knew she had a right to be upset. Her reasoning seemed sound enough. 

You couldn’t help but feel like this was partly your fault. You had been the one to bring back those supplies to begin with. You felt responsible to make this right, to offer any help you could to the situation. So you took a step out from behind Amir, peeking out from the shadows to face the music in front of you, despite the gnawing pit that continued to grow in the bottom of your stomach. 

“Maybe we’re overthinking this? Is there anywhere else we can move-” 

But you were never allowed to finish voicing your idea before Lettie scoffed loud enough to silence you. “Aoi already suggested that, babas. Bring something more original to the table next time.” She practically spat out, a sinister, patronizing smile glaring at you. 

Your nervous system immediately froze up, shutting down within seconds once your mind had processed what had actually been said to you. You blinked, repeatedly, your fingers twitching, trying to find any purchase on a grounding source as you tried to ream your brain for some way, any way, to respond. But you came up blank. Nothing but small, half-silent stutters made it past your lips. You fell quiet. Embarrassed. Defeated. Your blunted nails dug into the sides of your arms as you hugged yourself aggressively, your hold tightening as you tried to fight back tears that threatened to spill. 

You didn’t hear Amir come up behind you until his metallic fingers landed on your shoulder. You jumped from his touch, though you hadn’t meant to. Your head whipped around to face him and you were met with the most concerned worried look you had ever seen on his features, set with a frown across his lips. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but somehow you were quicker than him. “Sorry, I…I didn't mean…I’m sorry. I…I need to be alone right now.” Your words were a rushed mess, syllables crashing into one another, creating one run-on monstrosity that could’ve rivaled Amir’s anxious sentences. 

Before he could even reach a hand out to stop you, you were already halfway down the hallway, disappearing into the void as you seemed to step straight into thin air, becoming little more than a shimmer against the backdrop. Gone right before his very eyes, like a rogue assassin from one of his Fables and Frontiers games. He was left standing with the rest of the group, yet still set apart from them and their little argument, wondering what exactly he had just witnessed. 

He had never seen you shut down like that before. 

You were unsure how long you had spent in the backroom. Minutes, hours, maybe. It honestly didn’t matter. You had stopped caring. You wanted to be left alone. Curled up amongst your floofs and purchased pillows and blankets from Velimir. Wallowing in self-pity, maybe, but no longer having to worry about the possibility of making mistakes and the persecuting eyes that followed. 

Even through the layers of soft fur and fluff you could hear the gentle ping of your POM-2 alerting you of a new message. One that you *really* didn’t feel like reading. So you ignored it. Hoping it would go away on its own if you paid no attention to it. But the signature “ping!” rang out again. And then again. And again. And then a fifth time before you finally groaned and begrudgingly made your way over to the monitor. 

You had slightly expected it, but the sight still brought a small breath of relief to you. All five messages were from Amir. All within the last few minutes. 

H16h V0I7463: Heyyy, babycakes. I haven’t seen you in a while. Are you…doing okay?

H16h V0I7463: DumbquestionAmirofcoursetheyaren’t

H16h V0I7463: What happened earlier, that wasn’t your fault, okay? Lettie’s just…like that sometimes when she’s upset

H16h V0I7463: I know what it’s like. Those feelings. Hellyouknowwellenoughyou’vehelpedmesomuchrecently

H16h V0I7463: You know where to find me if you need to talk. Or need someone to listen. Or just wanna, you know, distract yourself

One more message popped up by the time you had caught up with the last one. 

H16h V0I7463: Love you <3

You wanted to sigh. You wanted to give up. To say no. To message back and say you were tired. Not feeling well. Any sort of bullshit excuse that would allow you to stay within the safety of your plush cocoon. But…but yet an arcade date with Amir sounded so nice. You weren’t lonely, per se, but a small part of you knew being alone wasn’t a permanent solution to the turmoil churning in your skull. You had spent enough late nights with Amir to know that, personally keeping his own mind worms at bay long enough for him to get some rest. 

Maybe…maybe it would be okay? Being around Amir would make it okay…right? 

You seemed to trick yourself into thinking so, at least, as your feet unconsciously led you out of your backroom and through the Mall towards the arcade. 

The whole of the Mall was quiet, except for a few civilians roaming about aimlessly. They seemed to pay you no mind, though, as you passed by, a blessing you were exceptionally grateful for. Currently you did not want to be perceived, looked at, or even acknowledged. Not by anyone but him. Your comfort zone. Your protoframed safe space. 

You could hear Quincy’s rifle firing off at the other end of the mall, the ringing echoing off the linoleum and bouncing to your ears in a way that had your feet quickening their pace. A moment later and the darkened neon lights of the arcade were visible. The sounds of Quincy’s rifle fell away to the blips and bleeps of the gaming cabinets, your eyes and ears all but tuning out everything outside of the arcade. Your damaged nerves from earlier that day seemed to be immediately soothed by the calming atmosphere as soon as you stepped inside. As if you had walked into an entirely different world. 

You took a calming deep breath. Your emotions calmed in your mind as you listened to Caliber Chicks 2 play out its main menu theme song. When you rounded the corner and spotted the machine, you found the cabinet…surprisingly empty. Abandoned. No Amir in sight. No streak of flashing lightning frantically running back and forth between the arcade machines, trying to complete two levels at once. 

You stopped in front of the screen, your eyes drawn in by the colors zipping back and forth. The only thing that pulled you away from the music and the moving pixelated pictures was the sound of continuous metallic clinking. A new noise that was not a constant in the familiar peace of the arcade. 

You had never heard that kind of noise before. “Amir?” You called out, assuming the new noise had been from the seemingly missing protoframe. Yet no one answered you. So you followed the sound, the clinking became louder and more frantic as you approached. It wasn’t long until you found the culprit responsible; a lone civilian dumping the arcade coins out from the belly of one of the machines into a concealed bucket. How she had managed to get the thing opened you weren’t entirely sure, even Amir wasn’t able to find the keys to open up the machines’ inner workings. 

She had yet to notice you, though her hands worked as if she was worried about getting caught. How had no one *else* noticed her by now? You really did not want to deal with this…but yet…this was wrong. What she was doing was wrong. This whole situation was wrong. And this was Amir’s arcade. Your boyfriend’s safe space. And someone was violating that. 

You had to do something. 

You rapped your knuckles on the nearest arcade machine. The woman nearly jumped out of her skin, coins scattering to the ground as her hands froze mid pour. “What’s, um, what’s going on over here?” You asked. Though your voice came out less confident than you had hoped. 

She finally turned to face you, dropping the container of coins onto the ground with a clattering thud. Her eyes shot through you with radiating malice. A look that made you take a step back, instantly regretting your decision to confront this person. 

“‘What’s going on here’ is none of your business, if you know what’s good for you.” A smile crept onto her face that shot an arrow of fear through you. One that you tried to ignore. Why was she reminding you so much of the name that you would not speak? 

“I…um…” You stuttered over your words, tripping over your thoughts in your mind before they could even make it to your tongue. 

“You didn’t see anything here. Understood? Snitch, and we’ll meet here again under different circumstances. 11:15 sharp.” She was in your face now, her sinister smile twisting into a threatening toothy grin. You were at a loss for words. Your fingers felt like ice chips, frozen in place to the metal of the gaming cabinet. She took your silence as an agreement. She turned around to seize her haul before someone else came across the scene, giving a swift kick to the bottom half of the arcade to close its underbelly. She kept a pleasant expression as she passed you, stopping only for a moment to utter one last intimidating statement. “Happy New Year, by the way.” And then she was off. Exiting the arcade before you could recompose yourself to stop her. 

Before you could even begin to process what had just happened, you heard his voice. 

“Sweetstuff! You actually showed up! I didn’t know you were coming, you never responded to my messages- not! Not that that’s a problem or anything, but I…” His words trailed off once his eyes landed onto the mess behind you, arcade coins scattered about the carpet and the collection bin from within the machine left discarded on the floor. His mind reeled as it tried to put together the pieces before him, like a scenic puzzle for him to solve, with you at its center. “Woah, babe! Get a little ‘up close an’ personal’ with the cabinet there? Ya know, I have a few extra coins you could’ve just borrowed if you wanted to play, or a little ‘zap’ always gets them moving too. No charge required for you.” He played the situation cool, a half-confident smile on his face, his real worry and concern hidden behind his glasses as the dim lights of the arcade made the orange-tinted glass more opaque. But despite his joking mannerisms, your demeanor didn’t change. His worrying anxieties began to grow. 

“I…I didn’t…uh…” Your mind went blank. What were you supposed to do?

“Sweetie? Are you…okay?” Amir bit back his nerves and asked the burning question that he felt like he had to ask. But when he took a step closer towards you, you stepped back from him. You had never done that before. Had he done something wrong…? No. He had barely seen you recently. Surely this couldn’t have been his fault. Right…?

“I’m…fine, Amir. I…” You sighed through your nose. You were just so tired of everything at this point. “Can we just, play some Caliber Chicks? Please?” Your arms wrapped around your body in a tight self-hug as you spoke. You were nearing your breaking point. Reaching your limit. 

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. Of course we can.” He tried again this time, outstretching a hand slowly towards you. You grabbed it, but he could sense your hesitancy. The tentativeness shaking in your fingers. He had felt those feelings one too many times himself to know how to recognize them. He led you to the right cabinet, slower than his usual pace, repeating the same mantra in his head. The one that you had taught him, Take it slow, Amir, more so for your sake than his own. The soft, synthetic music flooded your ears once again as he pulled you to a gentle stop in front of the game. You tried to regulate your breathing along to the melody. “Haven’t seen anybody around for a while, so we should have the majority of the arcade to ourselves.” He said as he worked on loading up the game for the two of you. 

You simply nodded along. Oh how little he knew. 

“WOO! New highscore for Agent Lightning!” Amir stepped away from the controls as he victoriously pumped his fists into the air. An excited smile overtook his features. It was instinct, an impulse, something he never gave a passing thought. Though now that he actually stopped to think about it, he couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t adorably giggle at his goofy antics. Except for right now. You were as quiet as one of Lettie’s rats. Silent. A dead and defeated stare in your eyes as the colors of the screen flashed and reflected across your pupils. His elation suddenly fled from him like a ghost. A cold chill crawled into what was left of his bones. 

Something was definitely wrong. And in like, a super bad way. Worse than anything he had ever seen before. 

“Hey baby…” He calmed down as much as he could, approaching you like how he remembered you approaching him after one of his nightmare-filled nights. “Do you…” He paused, clearing his throat. Be more reassuring, Amir. He criticized himself in his head before trying again. “What do you say to going back to your backroom? Just the two of us? We don’t even have to…do anything, if you don’t want.” He watched as you nodded. Slowly at first, but then more assertively. Vigorously. Almost as if you were trying to silently tell him something. Something that he all too easily could recognize the feeling of. 

Tears were shining in your eyes, reflecting off the neon lights in the arcade. Though you were desperately trying to hold them back, your body shaking from the effort, a few tears slipped through and spilled down your cheeks. You had gone back to hugging yourself, your arms wrapped so tightly around your own body that he was afraid you might break something important. And it was subtle, but he could see that you were rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. A move that he did a little *too* often, if you were picking it up from him. 

So, without saying a word, he outstretched his arms to his sides, wiggling his fingers in a way that invited you in for a hug. The second you saw what he was offering your head impacted with his chest with enough force to make him let out an airy ‘oof’. But he was quick to recover, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. One that felt a thousand times better than what you had tried to imitate with your own arms, despite the static running against his chitin skin. 

Before you realized what was happening, and before you could even think about voicing an objection, Amir had stooped down to scoop you up within his arms. You were bundled against him as if he was carrying nothing more than a mere stack of storage boxes, though with more care and attentiveness towards you over the storage crates. Once he was sure he had you securely he was off. No trace left of him in the arcade but a flash of neon blue lightning. 

It seemed by the time you had blinked the two of you were at the door to your backroom. The void glow shimmering in your presence. It opened for him as soon as he stepped closer. He went to set you back down on your feet again, but as soon as you felt his grip loosening you crawled further up his carapace, clawing at the straps of his auxiliary equipment to pull yourself up, with your legs hooked around his torso and your ankles crossed behind his back in a locking pattern. 

“Hey, hey! Alright, calm down, it’s okay. You don’t have to go anywhere. Please stop climbing me like a jungle gym. I’m only so tall.” He tried to soothe you, releasing his hands from you and placing them into the air in surrender as you practically attempted to meld yourself to him. 

Eventually you stopped when you heard his voice and realized he had stopped trying to put you down. “Sorry…” You muttered into his ear. 

“It’s alright. Didn’t mean to make you freak. Upstairs?” He asked. His hands slowly found their way back to holding on to you once you calmed down enough to let him. You merely nodded in response. He felt the motion against his neck and zipped up the stairs quick enough that he wasn’t entirely sure if his feet ever actually touched a step. 

This space he was more or less familiar with, spending countless nights here with you. Nightmares present or not. But now he had absolutely no idea what to do. This was your space, and usually you were the one to guide him around whenever he visited. But now he was the one in control. The one who was supposed to have the confidence to know how the fuck to handle the situation. Usually that was you. 

He rocked back and forth on his heels as he chewed his bottom lip. The couch, surely, right? Was that a good place to start? Which one? Should he offer you one of your floofs? You did love those things. Would one bring you more comfort over another? Which one? WHY were there so many?? 

Focus, Amir. They need you. 

Nearest couch it was. 

He carried you over to the cushioned furniture, not even bothering to try to place you down again and instead opted to sit down with you in his lap. He felt you nuzzle against his chest, making yourself comfortable, once he was settled. He still couldn’t see your face. An anxious bee buzzed in the back of his mind that you were silently crying. He subconsciously smacked it away as best as he could. 

What would you say to him in a situation like this? “Do you…do you wanna talk about what’s going on? Totallyokayifyoudon’twantto, I would understand. But I-”

You cut off his rambling by poking your head up in front of his. He let out a relieved breath, that he didn’t know he had been holding, when his eyes met yours. No tears. 

“Bad day.” You whispered. Void energy flared behind your eyes with an ethereal glow. 

Amir couldn’t help but bounce his leg as he racked his brain for how to respond. What would he want if it was him in your place? A distraction? Talk it out? Cuddles? He couldn’t decide. 

So you decided for him. “I feel…I feel like I’m not good enough.” You thudded your head against his chest again. He was going to start becoming concerned about your skull if you kept doing that. “Whatever I do isn’t good enough for someone else.” He could feel you curling your fingers, your hand now aggressively formed into a fist when he looked down to check on you. “Why?! Why is nothing I do ever good enough? What more do I have to do?” Your voice sounded raw. Distressed. Angry. On the verge of boiling over. 

He had to turn down the heat. Somehow. “You’re ‘good enough’ for me, babycakes.” He said softly. 

You went quiet. 

…Did he say the wrong thing?

“I don’t need you to be perfect, hon. I just need you to be you. Just like how you always encourage me to be me. Isn’t any different. So what if we’re a little messed up? If no one else understands us? I don’t need anyone else to understand me but you.” He continued, letting his mouth take over before his brain could stop him. 

He could worry about regretting it later. 

You focused on his words. Replaying the events of the day over in your mind, though you really didn’t want to. He had been the first, and only, person to contact you after the incident with Lettie, hadn’t he? Like he understood what had happened. Even though you hadn’t told him anything. Hadn’t spoken a word to him other than ‘sorry’. 

He still understood through the silence. 

“I…” You popped your head up again. Wide eyes focused on his. “You understand, don’t you? The looks. The way they think. The criticism. Gods, the criticism. It’s the worst when it’s the silent kind.” You flopped backwards against his bicep, his arm instinctively coming up to catch you before you fell over completely out of his grasp. 

He couldn’t help but laugh, albeit dryly. “The silent type is always the fuggin’ worst. If you hate me just tellll me, instead I gotta think about it for the rest of the day!” He remarked rhetorically. 

His over-dramaticness made you smile. It was small and barely there, but still a smile nonetheless. He considered that a win. The giddy feeling that rose inside of him made him want to run around the room and, quite literally, bounce off the walls. But he held that feeling in for now. It could wait when you were more important. 

“Exactly! See, you do get it. I just…I wish people weren’t so…” Your exhausted mind struggled for an appropriate word. 

“Judgemental?” Amir supplied. 

You sighed. “Yeah.”

He leaned over slightly to nuzzle the tip of his nose against yours gently. “Well, I’d never judge you, baby. If I ever do, evil Amir’s taken over and replaced me. Promise.” 

You let out a giggle. Soft and barely there, but he still heard it. Your fingers were hesitant as you went to push up his glasses into his hair, but he let you. Staying still and letting your hands roam wherever they pleased. Once the orange shades were out of the way you leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his lips.  Maybe this could be enough. He could be enough. You didn’t need validation from anyone else.

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 31: Taking a Turn

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

After he left the hospital, Cillian tried to call Danielle but, as he had expected, she did not pick up the phone.

Following three attempts to reach her, he gave up and made contact with the bank in an attempt to figure out the make and model of the car that she had bought. After a lengthy exchange with an employee, he found out the name of the agency through which Danielle had purchased the car and after ringing them, he got the details he was hoping for. 

His heart sank as the make and model matched those of the car that had been following you and whilst he realized that Danielle was upset and hurt, he had never considered her to be a woman who could kill.

"Do you need any more assistance, sir?" the employee asked.

"No, that will be all. Thank you," Cillian muttered, cutting the call as a barrage of thoughts consumed his mind, conjuring a whirlwind of uncertainties, fears and danger.

He sat there, in his car, the engine humming in the background, and stared blankly out the windshield, contemplating his next move.

He knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions, but the evidence stacked against Danielle was enough to incriminate her.

He took a deep breath, unsure of what to do, conscious of the risk he was about to take.

Cillian pulled out his phone and dialed the first number that came to his mind. It was the phone number of his divorce lawyer, Ari, and whilst Cillian knew that Ari did not handle criminal cases, he was certain that he could provide him with some much-needed guidance.  After all, the situation he found himself in was as far from normal as it could be.

He couldn't believe that the woman he had once loved and admired had stooped so low and he knew that he had to tread carefully now. 

"Cillian," Ari's voice echoed through the speaker as he picked up the phone. "What can I do for you?"

Cillian took a deep breath, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions and concerns that were sure to follow. "Ari, I need your help," he began, his voice low and tense.

"Alright, tell me what's going on," Ari replied calmly, his tone level and measured and Cillian hesitated, unsure of where to begin, knowing that the revelations he was about to make would change everything. 

"It's Danielle," he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt and regret. "I think she has been following Y/N and I have reason to believe that she intentionally hit her before driving off," he continued, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Cillian could imagine the surprise and confusion on Ari's face.

"Y/N?" Ari asked, trying to recall your name. "She is the women you have been seeing, correct?" he then asked, still processing the information that Cillian had presented to him.

"Yes, that's her," Cillian confirmed. "She was hit by a car and is in hospital now with significant injuries, man. She could have died," Cillian told his lawyer with a shaky voice who sighed deeply before responding. 

"And you think that Danielle caused the accident, intentionally?" Ari asked, his voice laced with disbelief, though Cillian could hear the skepticism in his tone.

"That is a very serious accusation. Have you spoken to her about it?" he continued.

Cillian sighed, running a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray, his composure crumbling. "She hasn't been answering any of my calls or messages," he admitted, kicking himself for not having done anything about his ex-wife's obsessive behavior sooner. "The car that hit Y/N is the same make and model she recently purchased  for our son," he added, anxiety tinging his voice.

"I see," Ari replied, his tone now more guarded. "Cillian, I understand that you're upset, but accusing someone of attempted murder is a very serious matter. Do you have any other evidence to support your suspicions?" he asked, seeking clarity.

Cillian sighed, frustration building up in his chest. "Apart from a series of threatening messages towards me, no, I don't. But I have a feeling that this is not a coincidence," Cillian replied, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

Ari sighed, taking in the information. "Okay, I hear what you're saying, Cillian. But we can't just go to the police with a hunch," he said, trying to reason with his client.

Cillian nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "You're right. I just...need to know that she's not going to hurt Y/N again," Cillian finished, his voice laced with desperation.

"She doesn't have a separate bank account yet and I can probably get copies of the statements for her credit card to see if it has been used in the past few weeks. If she did it, she would have had to be in London," Ari suggested, trying to help Cillian to figure things out. 

"If we can prove that she has been in London then maybe it is enough for the police to question her, but again, Cillian, I must insist that you tread carefully. It would be terrible for everyone involved if this turns out to be a misunderstanding and it would most certainly impact your divorce proceedings against her," Ari warned, concern coloring his voice.

Cillian nodded, understanding the weight of the consequences. "I understand," he told Ari who then told him that he would be calling him back in about an hour or so, after looking through the bank statements.

Cillian agreed and after hanging up, he didn't move an inch. He just sat there, his thoughts and emotions at war, his mind racing with a thousand scenarios, each more terrifying than the one before. 

As the minutes passed, the surroundings began to fade away until there was nothing left but the deafening pounding of his heart. It echoed painfully throughout his entire body, a painful reminder of his fears.

Eventually, he drew a shaky breath and forced himself back to reality.

Cillian cast a glance over his shoulder and out the window. The bustling streets of the city were a welcome distraction from the turmoil that raged within. The sun was beginning to set, brilliant hues of orange and pink painted the sky and cast long shadows over the buildings. He watched as people hurried to and from, pursuing their daily lives until, suddenly, the phone rang again. It was Ari.

"Cillian, I've got some news," his voice was serious, the tone of his voice reason enough to set Cillian's heart racing.

"Danielle has been taking frequent trips to London over the last month but she wasn't there on the day of the accident. She used her card in Dublin that day," Ari informed Cillian, his voice grave.

Cillian's heart sank as he took in the news. He was so sure that Danielle was the culprit and the fact that someone else could have hit you  made him feel slightly relieved and, at the same time, frustrated. He needed answers, and fast.

"There is something else I found though ," Ari continued, snapping Cillian back to attention. "There was a transaction on your account ending 0865 this morning for 189 pounds. It was a charge from CemClean, a car detailing business in Chelsea,"  Ari informed Cillian, the significance of the information not lost on him.

Cillian frowned, puzzled by the revelation. "I didn't go to Chelsea today," he wondered aloud, his thoughts racing as he tried to piece together the puzzle which is when, suddenly, he remembered that he had given his card to Max who wanted to catch a taxi back home from the hospital when he had left. 

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[purplesimmer455]

Later that night, Megan’s reading a romantic comedy about a woman named Morgan who’s a wedding planner living in LA. After she’s unintentionally caught in a situation that puts her career at risk and causes her to face an onslaught of hate on social media, she heads back to her small mountain town and ends up working to save her ex-girlfriend Rachel’s tree farm*. She gets up to the part where Rachel flirts with Morgan, causing the latter to become flustered and Megan to grin, when she gets a call from Iseul. She closes her book app, slips out of her bedroom so she doesn’t disturb Tess, and heads down the hall to the dining room.

Megan picks up the call. “Hey Issy.” She says, her voice a bit husky from sleep. “Hey Megs, sorry to disturb you. I had half a bottle of nectar and couldn’t sleep and I wanted to hear your voice.” Iseul says, her voice slightly tired and slurred. “I don’t mind, I couldn’t sleep so I was reading this cute Winterfest romcom about two women saving a small town tree farm.” Megan says and Iseul laughs. “Of course you were, Megs.” She says teasingly, her voice a bit more awake and playful. “So, is everything okay?” Megan asks gently. There’s a long pause. “No, Grace and I broke things off and she’s out with her friend Cara. I couldn’t do it, Megs, I can’t marry her when I’m in love with you.” She says before she can stop herself. “Is…” Megan trails off, her face flushing. “I know, I shouldn’t have said it.” Iseul says, and Megan can imagine her biting her lip and running a hand through her short hair. “Issy, I’m with Tess,” Megan says gently and Iseul sighs.

Megan sighs too, leaning against the kitchen door. “I know, Megs. I wish I wasn’t because I don’t want to come between you and Tess anymore than I have.” Iseul says, a note of guilt in her voice. “Iseul, I-I love you too but I have an amazing life and kids with Tess, and I’m happy,” Megan says, more for herself than for Iseul, and she hears Iseul sigh again. “I should go.” She says and Megan nods automatically. “Yeah, I’ll talk to you when I get back okay? Bye Issy,” she says softly and Iseul says bye to her. Megan jumps a bit as she sees her daughter Emily coming over to the dining room. She hopes Emily didn’t hear the conversation between her and Is, and thankfully Emily just smiles sleepily at her before heading to the kitchen to get water, and Megan heads back to her own room, her thoughts racing.

[kissboybyler]

And Palm to Palm (a sweet sin is sealed)

bylerweek2025 Day 7!! (slightly late submission) @bylerweek2025

Prompts: Engagement Rings, Champagne, Promises

Passage is from Mike’s POV

Graduation night was all about going wild, sucking all the marrow out of life for one last time, unapologetically, not a care in the world about the guilt and the sin that such a relentless night would inevitably entail. They say that these are the best years of your life, but how exactly? How is a suffocating little town like this, bland and one-dimensional, even after enduring the onslaughts of the very apocalypse, the best that things would ever get? Mike didn’t want to believe that. But there’s a difference between wanting and knowing something for sure.

Want is but a flimsy thing, carefully monitored by the anxieties, the urgensies of fantasy and imagination. Want could be based on a lie, hidden from the world forever, and nobody would have to know, for want is never truly clear and never truly steady. It’s an ever-changing current, a tide, calculated, sure to change forms, and yet- and yet nothing can ever be the same again. Want, mother of yearning and desire, daughter of disappointment. She’s but a flimsy thing, and Mike’s first ever unrequited love.

Knowing, though, is tricky. Sophisticated and steady, something meant to be trusted. Something that doesn’t encourage or hide, something that prides itself in its way of squashing poor, weak humans and their silly aspirations. She’s a fearsome thing to behold, a god meant to be worshipped by everyone- everyone but lovers.

And where wanting and knowing collide, a celestial event is born. Interstellar, a war between the stars abiding the realm of knowledge, where billions of signals unite to result in a secret movement. The center of everything, that which humans rely on to call themselves able to do anything at all. But, see, in order for this universe to exist and thus assist mankind, it must first rely on the workings of another, equally strange and eclectic cosmos. Sweet home of Chaos and birth-giver of life. Of odd shapes and pools of crimson, that which the body couldn’t function without.

Knowing without wanting….what a peculiar way of understanding the universe.

Nothing really mattered, though. They still had the chance to be kids, just for one day, just this one, last day. And fuck it, cliches or not. Whomever thought of such a thing? Everyone’s just as stupid for the same few sinful desires. Purity is but an idealization of reality, but only because its meaning is a thing tainted by the beliefs of the elders. What an illogical world, this is.

Mike grabs the large bottle of champagne from the kitchen counter and finds his way towards the school that would soon be nothing more but a biter(sweet) memory. Who really cares, though? If anything is meant to last, it will. School was always meant to end but this- he can have this. And not just for one day.

He finds the familiar face of the boy he’d abandoned a whole universe for, uncaring of the upcoming unbalance. But of course- he should have seen this coming. That nothing would ever feel off, that even though he’d let go of something the world had deemed as vital, his voice never once faltered at the face of this new universe before him. It feels as if- all the missing pieces could be found in the wanting in Mike’s heart, and the knowing in Will’s head. It doesn’t really make any logical sense, but whomever spoke of logic?

Will uncorkes the bottle of champagne, a soft pop breaking the deafening midnight silence, and they take turns sipping at the funny, bubbling liquid. They are all soft touches and widening grins, lethargic, lazy movements and drunk laughter. It is a teenage dream, and no sin could ever taint that.

“Can I tell you something? ,” Mike whispers into the night, shifting his body a little closer to the boy next to him.

“Sure ,” Will’s voice echoes, a sweet melody to Mike’s ears. He smells of alchohol and something sweet and syrup-y, something fresh, something that reminds Mike of home.

“You know how sometimes you feel like you know something but don’t have the words to describe it?,” Mike asks, Will’s infinitesimal nod urging him to go on. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve known this thing forever, ever since I began to realise what having a concience meant, or like- began to just think for myslef. And I know that words are pretty and they confirm and seal things, but they are not enough, you know? But like- neither are actions. Actions without words- they are like when you solve an equation without ever understanding how you got there. Actions without words- i dont really like them, because yeah sure you can do things but I care about what you’re thinking and feeling, your whys are so very important, always. But also- I feel like promises, they should be something that lasts, not just something hovering in the air between two people, right? Because then you can just lie afterwards and call the other person crazy and get away with things. What I’ve been meaning to say is-” out of breath, Mike dares to look the beautiful boy next to him in the eyes, finally met with those hazel gems he’d give his own life for.

“Here.”

Mike bends his body to the side and picks up a few leaves and branches. He snaps one of them in half and gently takes Will’s palm in his.

“May I?”, he asks, ever so gentle. Will’s awe-struck, pink-tigned face, a soft and genuine answer.

Mike twirls the small branch around the boy’s ring finger, making a small but tight knot, reveling at the strange beauty of Will’s soft finger encircled by the almost thorny branch.

“Can I-”, before Will has time to finish his question, Mike’s respective palm in laid before him, a small chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes lighting up the entire night sky.

And palm to palm, is holy palmers’ kiss.

An artist’s fingers, sealing a promise with a knot, and thus bringing soft lips to the poet’s palm.

A secret, two perfectly aligned universes, the artist and the poet-

-a sweet sin and a promise sealed with a kiss.

[teymars]

Imagine reader giving birth to twins boys

they become 14YO, and they are famous in the clan as troublemakers and Neteyam and reader have to deal with them ..

Ah isn’t that CUTE!!!

THIS IS SUCH A CUTESIE IDEA !!

-no warnings, just some fluff, family dynamics & sweet Dad(dy)!Neteyam (also mentions of bullying + fights if that counts??)

Loud caterwauling blasted throughout the camp, reaching you and Neteyam from within your family-hut. You glanced at your mate, resisting the incredible urge to roll your eyes, there were only two possible candidates for the source of that noise.

“Pshh, I’ll go sort it out, again.” Neteyam sighed, chucking his hands up in defeat. He quickly rose from his spot next to you and hightailed it to the awaiting ‘crime’ scene. For the past few weeks, your twin 14 year-old sons had been causing fights consistently amongst the clan’s young trainees.

You crouched for a moment, subconsciously counting down the moments before your lover’s deep, authoritative voice boomed over the ruckus outside. “BOYS, GET OVER HERE!!” The scolding your two son’s were now receiving increased in volume as Neteyam dragged them both by the neck, back into your hut.

“Ma ‘Teyam-” he cut you off swiftly “How many times do I have to repeat myself to you two?? You can’t just go around fighting people!” Neteyam bellowed, his tail thrashing angrily behind him.

“Sorry, Sir. It was my fault.” Tsyalu, the youngest twin, piped up bashfully. He tried hard to avoid his fathers menacing gaze. “That’s bullsh- ugf’ come on bro, you and I both know Rahaylo deserved it!” The eldest, Myerìn, blurted without shame, barely managing to dodge using ‘foul language’ infront of both his parents.

“Enough, I don’t care wether it was ‘deserved’. Tsy, you have to stop taking the heat for this skxawng! And YOU-” Neteyam gestured to a smirking Myerìn “-need to quit causing trouble, you read me??” Both boys nodded silently before stalking off to different parts of the hut.

You had observed the scolding, originally aiming to hold back a chuckle of amusement, until something in Tsy’s gaze and the way he spoke left you irked. You sat quietly beside him, assisting in preparing the fruits for dinner. Thankfully neither him nor his brother had been injured in the skirmish, you noted.

“What is the matter, sweet child?” You cooed, stroking the side of his cheek as slight tears swelled in his defeated eyes. “It’s nothing, mama..” the boy assured you, trying to hide his face. “Don’t be silly Tsyalu, you can tell me what’s wrong.” You encouraged, faintly aware of your husband’s ears flicking in interest at your conversation, as he watched from his place by the fire-pit.

“Well, we only keep fighting-” he broke off in a quiet sob “-be-because Rahaylo has been bullying me..” Both you and Neteyam fell stock-still at his words, feeling an onslaught of guilt overcome you. “Yea, and Dad told us to stick up for ourselves, so we did.” Myerìn informed, rather nonchalantly. Neteyam looked almost shell-shocked, having realised the poor communication that led to all this.

He moved closer to where you and both your sons were now crouched, reaching down to rest a hand on each boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, boy. I had no idea.. why didn’t you say anything about this though? Violence is not a good way to solve these issues.” Neteyam offered, sounding solemn. “I- we didn’t want you to think we are weak, we thought you’d be proud of us, because we are brave like you.”

“Oh, Tsy..” you whispered, feeling ashamed that your children ever had to feel that way. “I am proud of you, both of you. So is your mother.. we just don’t want to see you both fighting all the time.” Your mate assured them, providing both with a warm embrace. “It is okay to come to us when somebody causes you trouble, we will help you, I promise.” He continued, allowing you to curl up at his side, joining the family hug. They both hummed in understanding.

“We are pretty brave though, right Dad?” Tsyalu whispered. “Just like you?” Myerìn added, hopefully. “Of course you are! You’re the bravest little warriors this clan has ever seen.” You and Neteyam chirped, nuzzling both boy’s foreheads affectionately. The twins smiled contentedly, feeling relieved as they relished within their father’s hard-earned approval.

“Sooo, who won?” Neteyam mused, smirking at his sons pridefully. “Neteyam!” You chided, smacking the back of his head playfully.

“Oel ngati kameie, my sons.”

Sorry this is a little short, I hope it lives up to what you had in mind! 🤍

Neteyam be getting some insane flashbacks 😭

[in-amor-veritas]

Hi! For spotify drabbles, whichever strikes your fancy the most:

7, 17, 87

87!

Thanks for sending a request 🥹💕

You got

July: Noah Cyrus (ft. Leon Bridges)

this song is kind of perfect for fighting wilmon fjdjdhdjdd so have a quick little unedited angsty s3 post birthday/breakup scene 😭

Simon’s phone lights up in the dark of his bedroom, casting pale blue shadows on the ceiling and onto the walls. It buzzes again, but he hesitates, afraid to reach for it and see what could be there.

Lying on his side, Simon stares steadfastly at the wall, trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach as the room goes dark again.

From somewhere in the house he hears the clock, faintly chiming. Twelve strikes. Midnight.

It’s no longer Wille’s birthday.

Thinking of Wille makes the twisting in his stomach unbearable, roiling and sick as he’s suddenly unable to push the memory of his swollen tear streaked face staring into Simon’s eyes in disbelief. He had looked so lost, so hurt and abandoned and Simon feels so guilty because he did that. He had abandoned him.

There’s the self preserving voice of reason that rejects that deep inside, that reasons that it was what he had to do, it was what was best. Logically he knows this, had seen just how broken and ripped apart Wilhelm and his family was because of the confines of their lives, how deep it had gone and he had known he couldn’t allow himself to be pulled in.

He couldn’t sacrifice himself willingly, couldn’t pretend he wasn’t in danger when the house was burning around him.

Simon can’t save Wille. He tried to do everything right and it still had suffocated him. He couldn’t save Wille when he himself was already drowning, when Wille is a time bomb waiting to go off.

Yes he knows deep down it was the right thing for himself.

But it feels—

It feels like he had been the one to personally sign the execution order. It feels like he had taken Wilhelm’s fragile heart and crushed it in his own hands, blood and muscle and sinew alike.

It feels like he’s left him locked away in that dark cavernous palace without a soul to listen to him or care. Alone and unloved and unwanted.

Simon wasn’t sure he had tears left in him to cry but he’s not surprised by the new onslaught. Turning into his pillow to try and keep them muffled and not alert his mother he cries curling into himself as tightly as possible, letting the waves of guilt and nausea wash over him again and again.

He loves Wilhelm. Simon loves him so much, he doesn’t have enough space in his body for all the love he has for him—but love isn’t enough. And it hurts. Love hurts more than he could ever imagine.

There’s nothing more that he wants in the entire world than to storm the palace, pull Wilhelm out from that place and take him somewhere far far away where no one will ever find them. There’s nothing more that he wants than for Wilhelm to know how loved he is. How wanted.

But Wilhelm’s at the epicenter of a raging storm and he can’t see the exit, he can’t see how the winds and the rains will eventually tear them all to shreds, he can’t see that it already has.

There’s so much he wants for Wilhelm so many things he needs to tell him, to thank him for. He doesn’t know how to say them all but somewhere between his crying and the time stretching by he starts to tuck them away, carefully like the precious things they are.

Eventually, Simon sits up, wipes his eyes and reaches for his notepad, the melody caught in his throat, the paper blurry through his cried out eyesight.

There’s so much he wants Wilhelm to know.

[inloveinsickness]

❝ IF NOT FOR YOU ❞ — semi eita

— 02. sweet nothing

“they said the end is comin', everyone’s up to somethin', i find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings. outside, they’re push and shovin', you're in the kitchen hummin', all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothin'”

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“join us for a jam sesh later? we can show them the song, rest of the boys are going to be there.” the end of that sentence is laced with a tinge of bitterness, and eita likes to think that it’s hidden behind a forced cough and a minuscule amount of cellphone static.

he wants to show off what you’ve been working on because he’s proud, he always is, but as much as he refuses to admit it, he wants you all to himself just as it’s always been since the beginning. if inviting you over to band practice (“we’re not a band, we just play together sometimes and perform my songs at gigs”) with the guys is what it takes to see you, or hell, even just hear from you, he’ll make do.

the lyrics of the song are really sweet, he thinks it might be the first love song you’ve written fully. a part of him wonders what, or rather who, inspired you to write it, but perhaps it’s not his place to know. it won’t stop a part of him from wishing it was him though, and frankly he’s not sure what to make of that information just yet.

you had a rough skeleton of an idea for the instrumentals but pretty much gave him free reign with this one which he’s not going to say no to, making sure to sprinkle in a little bit of his own taste into it — heavier instruments are more of his forte, having countless alternative and rock musicians listed as his personal inspirations. the final product's a fine mix of you and him, perfectly balanced and no more of one or the other. he’s very proud of it, proud of you, as with everything that you do together.

his thumb hovers over the send button, the preview of his short voice message looping while he contemplates deleting it. it’s starting to get grating with how long it’s been going for, his pathetic voice doing nothing but making him overthink even more. he doesn’t know if he’s being presumptuous to imagine it but it seems like you’re... avoiding him?

it’s been more than a week with barely any texts or random voice memos, you're usually blowing up his phone with silly memes and song demos, or even as simple as asking how his day has been. nothing since the last time he came over and finished the song with you. he noticed something seemed up at the time but didn’t press, now the guilt eats at him for not at least trying to ask. you always did keep your troubles to yourself, preferring to handle them on your own and keeping him in the dark about it until it either got too much and eventually bubbled past the surface, or fizzled over and only coming out casually in conversation once it’s a thing of the past. but who's he to judge, he's not any better.

maybe he’s reading too much into it, you’ll tell him with time as you always do, right? maybe he’s blowing it out of proportion, maybe you just had a bad day before seeing him, or you’re just tired, or— enough, now i’m just overthinking again.

finally releasing his bottom lip from the onslaught of his teeth, he bites the bullet and hits send, tossing his phone on his nightstand. as he lays back down on the stiff mattress, the arm thrown over his face shields the glaring sunlight breaming down on his face. it’s way too bright in comparison for the thoughts swirling in his head and with a sigh, he uses the foot hanging off his bed to tug the curtains close.

give her time, she’ll come to you when she’s ready.

i just hope she’s okay.

well shit.

the realisation that there even a slight possibility that you're in love with eita hits you like a splash of ice cold water to the face. you won’t lie and say that you didn’t have your suspicions, but it’s been just so long, brushing it off as the closeness of childhood friends. he’s your best friend, the first one you contact with good news, the first name that comes to mind when asked to invite a plus one, the first person you think of when you see those tiktoks of lovesick poems captioned “who do you picture when you read this?”, the list goes on.

in some way or another, this is what you always wanted, someone who understands your ins and outs and to spend your years with. eita was always the only option you’ve considered, but god you’re scared.

you feel a little sick to your stomach, the thought of it all weighing too heavily on your mind. there’s just too much at stake here, and you’re hell bent on not letting whatever the hell these damned feelings are jeopardise years of what you’ve built together. unknowingly in a similar spot, you find yourself curled up in bed, head swimming with worst case scenarios and make-believe narratives that say this is doomed for disaster.

light knocks on your door gently pluck you from the stirring storm in your head and with an muffled “i’m coming in!”, hitoka shuffles into your room and audibly coos at your deposition.

“hey, you left your phone out on the counter and it went off a couple times. i think semi messaged you too, thought you might want to see it.”

speak of the devil.

with a small smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching your eyes, you take your phone from her hand with a mix of gratitude and dread, “thanks hitoka. i- can i ask you something?”

“yeah what’s up? everything okay?” she sits by your side, her pretty, youthful features plagued with concern.

the posters on your wall suddenly seem like the most interesting things in the room, your eyes meekly darting around and refusing to meet hers. a wave of embarrassment washes over you from head to toe as you mull over your thoughts, collecting and trying to put them into words without sounding like a total idiot. this is stupid, you open your mouth for a moment and close it in the next, the words stuck in your throat and you’re already regretting bringing it up. you’re not ready for this conversation as much as you want to and it festers and grows and feeds on the seeds of doubt sprouting.

her small, smooth uncalloused hand closes over the back of yours in assurance and comfort, the small action causing a surge of peace and calm to flow through you, “it’s about him, isn’t it?”

nodding in shame, you hesitantly speak up, quietly, “hypothetically if i did have feelings for him—what if he doesn’t feel the same way? i won’t be able to look at him again.”

hitoka sighs dramatically, “first off, it’s a hundred percent not hypothetical who are you even kidding, surely not me. second, have you seen the way he looks at you? i’m surprised you haven’t caught on sooner.”

when you remain silent, she takes it as a cue to continue, squeezing your hand, “listen, i don’t know him as well as you do by a long shot, but i know feelings when i see it, and that man is very into you. and don’t even come at me with that ‘but we’re best friends’ bullshit, you don’t act that way with kenma and vice versa.”

you stifle a laugh at that last part, feeling a little tension release from your muscles after listening to her perspective. she’s nothing but truthful and supportive especially when it comes to anything (especially serious) concerning you and your heart swirls with warmth that you have someone like her to talk to about these things, the boys aren’t much help but you still love them dearly.

“i’ve been running away from him for days, i haven’t spoken to him since the last time he came over.” you mumble, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling, eyes fixed on the rotating fan and letting it blur in your vision as your hand still remains clasped in hitoka’s.

you feel the weight of guilt on your shoulders for shutting him out so abruptly, the sudden rush of feelings leaving you dumbfounded in its wake. your instinct was to hide and let it pass, hoping he wouldn’t catch on, but you never stopped to consider what it might look like to him. truthfully, the longest you’ve ever been apart was when your family went on holidays overseas, never if you could help it — you miss him.

remembering that he sent a message, you opened it up, letting the sound of his voice flit through the still air within your four walls. it sends a tingle down your spine and causes a soft involuntary smile to stretch across your lips, it’s like music to your ears.

“i swear to god, you two are disgusting.” hitoka lightheartedly complains as she rolls her eyes, getting up to leave you be. “go see your man before i throw up.”

“shut up, it’s not like we’ll be alone!” you retort, flipping her off as she’s shutting the door with a click, hearing a yeah yeah yeah echo down the hall.

taglist. open (link to form) @wyrcan @cheesypuffkins87 @peachyugoose @tetzoro

@twiishaa @samuel1004 @blueparadis

notes. hi it’s been a while since we've seen our two blindly lovesick pals :3 no fun facts this time, just a little filler chapter !! they’re so stupid and lovesick PLEASE— also band lineup in the next one ! big love to @mikiruie for beta reading < 3

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[numberonetacostan]

shrimpy moment ! 🦐🦐

imagine if taco just ran off early on in s1. never to be seen again. (this is wayyy before the finale, so no one knows about the reveal and etc.) everyone shrugs it off (with some grief from people like pickle) and continues on with the show

kinda in the same way marshmallow left the competition and lived in the mansion ! except taco went into the woods

later on in s2 mic finds her in the woods and just refers to her as a cryptid. a woodland cryptid. a creature. they befriend each other and mic brings her (" that object in the forest ") up in conversation every so often

eventually knife/some other objects get curious and follows her to visit the Cryptid and. hey wait a second isn't that just taco. we thought you were dead wtf and she's like .......Hi

Hiiii!!!!! Welcome back shrimpy!!!!!!!!!! Thanks for sending in more ideaaaaa!!!!!!^^

SHRIMPY. SHRIMPO. SHRIMPTASTIC. YOU CAN NOT SAY TACO RUNS OFF MID-SEASON 1 WITHOUT SAYING WHY!!!!! (/lh ofc!!!) So many possibilities!!!!!!!!!!!!! A sudden panic when she realizes she doesn't even know what she wants the money for (she was just programmed to want it)??? Sudden onslaught of guilt after noticing hey, she does feel attached to this pickle guy, Oh No????!!! Angst!!!!!!!!!!!

Bdjqjshwjwheh Mic makes friends with a cryptid in the woods!!! Okay, I have an idea for this, hear me out. Taco and Mic start talking normally and become friends!!! Mic opens up more about the competition and how it makes her feel, and Taco goes on about how the game impacts people and how bad it is and all that??? Like her Truth or Flare monologue (That monologue my beloved)!!!! That plants seeds in Mic's head, and eventually she decides to quit on her own??? Not because Taco killed someone, but because Taco was able to convince her of the inherit poison of the competition, and Mic wants out!!! Lol she can go join Taco in the woods. Taco is less evil in this I think because she isn't bitter about losing the million.

Sorry shrimpy you wanted Knife and I'd say probably Soap going into the woods with Mic and finding Taco!!!!! Soap... would not recognize Taco. They probably don't talk about her a lot in the hotel. Soap could befriend Taco too!!!! Give her much needed bathing supplies!!! Hooray Taco can get clean!!! She'd like Soap immediately for that, and I think Soap would like her too!!!! Knife would be really fucking confused that Taco has just been. Out here. This entire time and that she's british now. She still wouldn't like Knife much?? From what she's seen of his brutish-ness, and since he's a fellow s1 competitor she wouldn't be nearly as open to him as she would be to Soap. If she's to go back to the group at any point though, Knife would definitely be key to it!!! Depending on her reasoning for leaving, the fact that Pickle (loyal!!!!) still misses her would definitely push her to go back?? I'd say they'd be confused about her suddenly being british but it's Taco so, eh, par for the course.